Shift Happens (A Carus Novel Book 1) Read online

  A large black wolf trotted into the clearing to confront me. He had a white-tipped snout, white boots and mitts and would have looked cute had he not been the most intimidating Werewolf I’d ever seen. Standing tall and solid, power rolled off of his body. His eyes bore into mine. I sniffed the air. The strong Werewolf scent of rosemary swirled around me, strong and seductive, laced with sugar. A weird fuzzy sensation spread out from my chest. Whoa.

  Alpha.

  My other form growled low, demanding release, straining against my skin. The energy of the wolves built—layers upon layers of excitement and impatience. The air pulsated with anticipation. They could sense the imminent kill.

  Let me out! My other form repeated, throwing her power against my built up walls, howling in defiance.

  When the energy of the Werewolves surged, I finally released her. My wolf form flowed out fast, wiping out the feline in little more than a heartbeat. Smaller, weaker and the size of a natural wolf, a Shifter in this form was no match for a Werewolf, especially a dominant one. I had time to meet the eyes of the Alpha for only an instant before the pack leapt forward. My limbs shook. It went against every instinct ingrained within me, but I rolled onto my back—submissive.

  Praise for J. C. McKenzie

  First in the 2013 Emerald City Opener Writing Contest

  Third in the 2013 Golden Acorn Writing Contest

  First in the 2013 Southern Heat Writing Contest

  Third in the 2013 Great Expectations Writing Contest

  Second in the 2012 Golden Gateway Writing Contest

  Second in the 2012 Dixie Kane Writing Contest

  Shift Happens

  by

  J. C. McKenzie

  A Carus Novel, Book One

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2014 by J. C. McKenzie

  Originally published by Wild Rose Press

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by AmazonEncore, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and AmazonEncore are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  eISBN: 9781503992085

  Cover Designer: Debbie Taylor

  This title was previously published by Wild Rose Press; this version has been reproduced from Wild Rose Press archive files.

  Dedication

  To Scott,

  with every breath and beat of my heart

  ~*~

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  “Accidents happen. That’s...

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Epilogue

  A word about the author...

  Acknowledgments

  We often hear, “it takes a village to raise a child.” In the writing world, it takes many loved ones and professionals to support a writer and salvage whatever sanity remains after they finish a project.

  It also takes a lot of coffee. At least for me. I frequented the Starbucks at Royal Square during my maternity leave and wrote while my baby slept in his stroller beside my table. I’d like to thank the staff at that location for being incredibly awesome, providing a perfect writing environment and saying my child is adorable, because he totally is.

  I would like to thank my critique partners and fellow writers for their support, feedback and advice: Jo-Ann Carson, Kelly Atkins and Lloyd A. Meeker. I would also like to thank my beta readers: Hannah Myles, Jackelyn Ford and Anna Kearie. Their critiques and comments made Shift Happens a better book.

  My editor, Lara Parker, rejected the first version of this story, and for that, I’m very grateful. She took the time to point out what I needed to work on, and my writing strengthened because of her kind words and sage advice. I’m also very happy she didn’t say no the second time around! Thank you, Lara. It has been a pleasure to work with you.

  A big “THANK YOU” also goes out to my publisher, The Wild Rose Press, and the cover artist, Debbie Taylor, for making this dream a beautiful reality. I love the cover, and I’m very happy to be in “The Garden.”

  This book would not have been possible without the love and support of my family—my mom, my dad and my sister. Mom, you are my first editor, critique partner and fan. Your support has been phenomenal and immeasurable. Thank you.

  Most of all I’d like to thank from deepest part of my heart, my husband and son. The two of you are my life. I love you.

  “Accidents happen. That’s what everyone says. But in a quantum universe there are no such things as accidents, only possibilities and probabilities folded into existence by perception.”

  ~Dr. Manhattan

  Chapter One

  A human? Not what I expected. Tall and muscular, Clint Behnsen’s broad shoulders made a girl want to take up mountain climbing. With slicked back hair the same deep sable as mine, and a dark Armani suit, he announced his wealth like a red flag to the lowlifes in the sleazy downtown Vancouver club. A good looking man in his prime.

  A shame I had to kill him.

  I leaned my tall frame against the sticky bar and pushed my boobs out, hoping to draw my target’s attention. The smell of booze and desperation assailed my senses while strobe lights flickered all the colours of the rainbow. A man stepped away from his buddies to stand beside me.

  “Hey, babe. What’s your name?” he shouted over the music. His breath hit the side of my face in little punches of fetid air.

  “Andrea,” I said, keeping my gaze on Clint. I didn’t have time to deal with losers, especially ones sporting lopsided faux-hawks. He wore a charming smile, but one sniff of his narcotic containing sweat, I pegged this guy as a moron in seconds. Having heightened senses and animal magnetism might give me a professional advantage, but at times like this, it also sucked.

  Mr. Faux-hawk’s eyelids drooped in a lousy attempt at bedroom eyes. He looked more like a sedated psychopath in a mental institute. He leaned to the side and looked at my butt. “Your ass is pretty tight; want me to loosen it up for you?”

  Gross! My muscles tensed as heat flushed through my body. No man should speak to a woman like that. A low growl escaped my lips, and the man’s spine straightened. I wanted to embed my fist in his face. Wide eyed, he froze as I turned my full attention to him. My eyes tingled, telling me
they’d partially shifted to reflect the animals within.

  Prey recognized predator. The man grabbed his drink and scurried away, quickly engulfed by the gyrating throng of dancing norms.

  “Glad you got rid of him.” A singsong voice pulled my attention from the fleeing man’s back. Prey should never run. I squeezed my eyelids shut and took a deep breath in, resisting the urge to give chase, before turning to the woman.

  Mel?

  Invisible arms squeezed my chest as all the air wooshed out of my lungs. Stomach acid burned my throat. The room tilted and my vision narrowed until an awful memory, one I tried to suppress, overtook it.

  Sweat, mixed with the acrid scent of blood rolled off the pack women huddled in the corner of the room. Naked. Waiting their turn. Hair plastered to their faces. My friend Mel mouthed our mantra, “Survive.”

  I took a long, controlled breath in. The woman behind the bar wasn’t Mel, but she could’ve been a body double, down to the hourglass figure and big blonde hair. I shook my head to clear the horrible image she triggered.

  I hadn’t seen Mel since I broke free.

  “Um…You okay? Can I get you something?” The blonde quirked her finely plucked brow. How long had I been staring at her?

  “Rye and cola, please,” I mumbled and shelled out a twenty-dollar bill. After slapping the money on the counter, I grabbed my drink and moved away from the bar to one of the nearby tables before she could give me any change. Time to focus on my assignment.

  Stashed below an expensive hotel, I surveyed the bar known to locals as the Dirty Dungeon, and thought of Clint’s reasons for slumming. He had enough money to go to any number of the higher-end clubs, just down the street.

  So why here?

  I drummed my fingers on the table top. Maybe he planned to meet someone? So far, he’d strutted around the club with his guards, establishing his presence without accomplishing much—except picking up women and lookin’ good. Real good.

  Whatever Clint did to piss off my employer had transpired in the past, because I’d watched him all day and unless getting laid in triplicate now constituted a crime, he’d been a law-abiding citizen the whole time. Typically, I went after preternatural beings, or supes, that broke the rules set by the Supernatural Regulatory Division.

  Why would the SRD place such importance on this norm?

  I finished my drink and left the empty glass on the table. My employer’s motives didn’t matter. Not my job to question, and time ticked away. A twenty-four hour deadline with virtually no Intel. Awesome.

  With a relaxed stride, I dodged the obstacle course of men who gathered in the club like packs of wolves, ready to hunt down vulnerable women with low self-esteem and a penchant for making bad decisions. Plumes of smoke billowed around their heads and caught in my lungs as I made my way across the dark room toward Clint. He stood near the second bar at the back of the club and recounted some sort of hunting story. I heard him say, “prowl,” and “caught a few.” The loud pumping bass and the obnoxious drunks screaming at each other made it difficult to make out more, even this close, but Clint’s tale probably didn’t involve any four-legged herbivores.

  “May I buy you a drink?” I purred in my best sexy voice when I reached him.

  Clint turned his head and gave me the once over. His smouldering gaze assessed and dismissed me in seconds. “I prefer blondes.”

  Of course you do. With jet black hair, gray eyes and a skin tone hinting of a biracial background, I’d look ridiculous as a blonde. Wrong colouring. A lesser woman would’ve been discouraged by Clint’s lack of enthusiasm, but not me. I wanted this over. Pushing my lips out into a pout, I played with a strand of my hair. “I’ll cure you of your blonde addiction.”

  Gorgeous shoulders shook as he chuckled. “Glenfiddich,” he said. “Neat.”

  Good choice. Thankful my so-called-charm worked, I nodded at the hovering bartender and held up two fingers. “I’m Andy.”

  Clint grunted in response. I took a gamble approaching him, but after spending the last hour across the bar trying to lure him to me, I had to accept my attempts at body posturing and hair flipping had failed to capture his attention.

  The bartender placed the whiskeys on the bar and I stepped over to slip him some cash and grab the drinks. When I eased passed the guards, the urge to hip check the ones standing in my way rose up. It would be so easy. Their norm scents swirled around me, bolstering my confidence that this would be a simple hit. It better be. Tonight was my deadline. No one missed an SRD deadline.

  I sidled over and gave Clint his drink. He dipped his chin and clinked my glass.

  “Boys night out?” I nodded at the guards. They surrounded me and Clint, rigid and stiff, moving only their eyes to track the flitting patrons of the club. They failed miserably at looking casual.

  Clint appraised my cleavage before answering. “You could say that.”

  “Are you from around here?” Small talk was not my thing. No need or desire to get to know my targets. The less I knew the better. I hoped Clint would take the bait quickly and ask me to go upstairs to his room.

  Clint’s eyes narrowed. Crap. Did he glimpse my motives? He swallowed the amber fluid slowly. “Are you?” he asked.

  “It’s my sister’s wedding this weekend.” The whiskey burned down my throat as I sipped it.

  His eyebrows rose and he looked around. “Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be obnoxiously drunk trying to stuff dollar bills down some man’s thong?”

  I smiled. “Strippers are tomorrow. Tonight, the bridal party is tying bows around useless gifts most guests will throw away.”

  “And you’re missing out on that?”

  “It’s not my thing.”

  “Tying bows?”

  “The whole wedding thing.” I looked at him through my lashes and dropped my voice. “It’s not what I want.”

  He hesitated. His gaze took another look at my breasts and then he leaned in. “And what do you want?”

  “I thought that would be obvious.” My attention dropped to the area below his belt and lingered. Guys always liked it when they thought I checked out their package.

  Clint reached out slowly and brushed a finger down my cheek, trailing it along my jawline and then the side of my neck. All the while his gaze focused on my face. Like he could look inside my head, find one of those colourful cubes, and solve it. Despite his handsome features and strong stature, my skin wanted to crawl away from his touch. I sucked the nausea down. I had an act to follow and this guy would be dead soon.

  “Such beautiful skin,” he murmured. His finger slipped down my chest until it reached the top of my dress. He followed the neckline, making a path to my cleavage. “Flawless.” He hooked his finger into the dip between my breasts and tugged on the cloth.

  I stepped closer and angled my face up. “It bruises easily.” My voice came out ragged and breathy, as intended. Should’ve been an actress.

  Clint’s face darkened and his mouth slowly lengthened into a lascivious smile. I’d seen the bruised flesh of the blonde bimbos he preferred. His needs were not a secret.

  “Did you have something in mind?” he asked. Taking both our drinks away, he placed them on a nearby table. His hands slid to my waist, anchoring me in front of him.

  I leaned up and nipped his jaw, close to his ear. “I’m done talking.”

  His chest rumbled. He looked over my shoulder to the guards. “I’ll be upstairs,” he said.

  “Maybe you should wait for Wick,” one of the guards replied, his voice a deep monotone.

  I frowned into Clint’s chest. This Wick didn’t sound like someone I wanted to wait for. Cupping Clint’s groin, I whispered, “I don’t want to wait.”

  Clint chuckled. “Three’s a crowd,” he said to the guard. “I’ll be upstairs.” He took my arm and led me to the elevator.

  When the doors to the lift closed, Clint used a card to access his floor. I detested this moment the most. I needed my target hot and heady with his
blood shunted to the lower half of his body. I didn’t need or want him to think.

  Time to put on my big-girl-acting panties. Turning toward him, I smiled slowly.

  Clint raised a brow. “How impatient are you?”

  I slammed him against the wall, making the elevator shake in answer. Kissing him roughly, I said, “Consider this foreplay.”

  I didn’t worry about being gentle. This big boy liked it rough. His tight grip on my ass hurt and my lips swelled from his teeth and hard kisses. He grabbed a handful of hair at the nape of my neck and pulled. My head snapped back to see his hooded, hot gaze. His other hand pulled me against his body. The hard ridge of his pants, tented from his arousal, pressed against me. He started to grind.

  Dry humping in an elevator. Just another day at work.

  The elevator dinged and the doors opened. I pushed Clint off my body with a fake show of modesty and straightened my dress. It didn’t worry me that I acted out of character. He wouldn’t notice at this point and I hated swapping spit with targets. Clint chuckled and pulled me out after him.

  “The penthouse?” I asked. I already knew which room he stayed in. Despite the seedy state of the bar in the basement, the hotel had nice rooms, very nice rooms, at very high prices. Even the rich liked to slum and this establishment provided the perfect environment on site.

  Clint’s smug smile answered my question and he unlocked the door by swiping his card. Swinging it open, he gestured for me to enter before him.

  “Nice,” I said and walked in. The floor plans I’d downloaded from the internet earlier this evening had given me a precise idea of the layout. With my arms stretched out wide, I twirled around the room. Nothing wrong with feeding his ego. The more he thought about himself, the less he thought of me. I headed toward the balcony.

  “What are you doing?” Clint asked.

  “Opening the patio doors,” I said, preparing my escape route.

  “Not exactly large enough for what I had in mind.” He undid his tie, pulled it off, and nodded toward the enormous king sized bed in the middle of the room.