Shift Happens (A Carus Novel Book 1) Read online

  “I like fresh air,” I said.

  “Are you warm?” He stalked toward me.

  “I will be.”

  He smirked and pulled me toward the bed. “What about people hearing?”

  I licked my lips. His attention flickered to them and focused. I knew what he wanted me to ask—hearing what? Instead, I said, “I like the idea of people hearing me scream.” I leaned up and bit his plump lower lip. “You are going to make me scream, aren’t you?”

  “You have no idea.” He cradled my face and kissed me, smashing his mouth hard against mine. Of course, I had an idea. Some of the women that went upstairs with him during my daytime surveillance needed medical attention. The SRD might have their own reasons for wanting this bastard dead, but after watching him all day, I rapidly developed my own.

  He pulled at the clingy material of my red dress until it started to tear at the seams.

  “Rip it,” I murmured as I dragged my teeth along his neck. “Make it hurt.”

  He smiled and jerked the dress hard. It broke apart immediately, no doubt leaving red marks where the cloth bit into my skin. I winced into his chest, then tore his shirt from his body—a classic pain diversion technique I picked up on the job years ago. Clint clawed at my bra. I let him. I needed to be naked and he needed to be distracted.

  Pounding at the door froze us both.

  “Clint,” a deep voice boomed. “You fucking idiot. I’m coming in.”

  My pulse jumped in my throat. Crap! I didn’t want any witnesses. Clint better tell this guy to get lost. If he didn’t… I pinched the bridge of my nose. Now was not the time for a headache.

  “I’m busy, Wick. Go away,” Clint snarled over his shoulder.

  “I got a call from the boss. We have to leave. Now,” Wick growled. “Either you open this door, or I’m breaking it down.”

  My heart ramped up a bit in my chest. No! If he took Clint away, I’d never get another chance at him. I’d have to do this now, and fast.

  Clint and I sighed in unison, but for entirely different reasons.

  “Didn’t want an audience?” Clint asked. He squeezed my breast, leaving angry red marks where his fingertips dug in, before turning toward the door.

  “You have no idea,” I purred, admiring his back. Nice and exposed. My headache instantly dissipated.

  It happened quickly. The flash of pain and the familiar coil of muscle and fur rippled through my body as I shifted, my change to a large mountain lion complete when the door burst open.

  “Why do I smell…” said a large blur of a man at the door. My attention wasn’t on him. This was my chance. I wouldn’t get this close again.

  Clint spun in slow motion toward me, too late to react. My feline body uncoiled, pouncing on him. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the feeling of my teeth sinking into the soft tissue of his neck. I ripped it out in a large chunk. Clint made a gurgling sound as blood sprayed across the room.

  Whirling in the air, my paws hit the floor and I leapt toward the balcony.

  “Shoot her,” a voice snarled.

  I smelled wolf. Goddammit.

  Leaping from the balcony, I spread my limbs out and willed the shift again. Paws stretched and shrank into feathery wings. The air took hold and the exhilaration of flight lifted me. I soared away in victory. Aloft in the dark night. Free.

  An unexpected burst of pain blasted through my right wing. Wha...? They shot me! My breath caught and a sudden coldness hit my core. The air whistled past feather and bone, spiralling my body out of control as I plummeted toward the ground. My heartbeat thrashed in my ears, and my lungs locked as I fought to correct my alignment, somehow managing to aim my damaged body toward the forested park area the hotel bordered.

  The sting of snapping branches and the intense pain of the bullet wound vibrated through me before I felt the cold, hard impact of the ground.

  Chapter Two

  Cold spring air laden with the rich loamy smell of earth and sweet cherry blossoms scraped my lungs as I sucked it in. The muscles around my chest constricted like a synched-up corset and made breathing difficult. I couldn’t do it fast enough to fill the empty feeling inside. Slowly, I drew in more air, one breath at a time, and one stabbing pain to the heart at a time. Then, the clamp around my lungs released and the tang of pine and fresh blood flooded my senses.

  I pried my eyelids open and winced. Dirt caught and scratched against my eyeballs. My tear ducts kicked into overdrive and I fluttered my lashes against the damp ground, trying to get the muck out. Sharp pebbles dug into my face. I brushed them away when I lifted my head. And stopped. Blood covered my hands. I sat up and held them out, spreading my fingers. The blood stuck to my skin, partially dried and muddled with grime. Mine? Clint’s?

  My upper arm throbbed. An angry swell of damaged tissue surrounded a gaping bullet hole. Though shifting would’ve healed the wound a bit, it still burned. I twisted my arm back and forth to look at the injury more closely. At least it had gone straight through. I prodded around the tender damage from the bullet’s exit and winced.

  A deep boom thundered overhead. I glanced up and the night sky glared back, dark and ominous. Storm coming. Time to go. Locals nicknamed this city Raincouver for a reason.

  Pulling my feet under my body, I straightened slowly to a standing position. My shoulders and thighs ached like I’d been in a football training camp. A dank earthy taste filled my mouth. I turned to the side and spat out dark brown soil and pebbles, leaving my mouth dry and gritty. I ran my tongue over my front teeth and spat again.

  The forest remained silent—too silent. Only wind whistled through the leaves.

  At least I didn’t have to worry about witnesses. A naked woman covered with blood, face planted into the dirt tended to make the news. My body sometimes shifted back on its own during sleep or when I lost consciousness. I didn’t know why.

  The wind changed direction and a new smell hit me. Wolves. They must’ve seen where I landed. I needed to get out of here, and fast. A ripple of pain traveled down my body and my sleek feline fur replaced naked flesh.

  Another crash of thunder rocked the air, followed by a streak of lightning. The storm moved closer. My claws dug into the sodden bark as I scampered up the nearest tree, moving with as much grace as my injury allowed, through the canopy, tree to tree. I could trust my strongest and most agile form, the mountain lion.

  A wolf howled in the distance, punching through the silent night—to the south. Another answered to the east. They were closing in. No doubt they also came from the other two directions, but remained silent. That’s where they wanted me to go—herding me, hunting me as a pack.

  That was fast. A Werewolf pack on call? From the beginning, nothing about this assignment seemed right. Maybe Clint hadn’t been so normal after all.

  Then what was he?

  During The Purge, a series of natural disasters and deadly viruses had swept the world. As the fragile human population declined, the death defying presence of the supernatural led to one preternatural group after another being exposed—Werewolves, Vampires, Fae, Demons, Skinwalkers, Witches, Angels, everything from our dreams to our nightmares. Pandora’s Box had opened.

  Now one of the most vicious and tenacious of those groups tracked me.

  Let them.

  I leapt to another tree. The bullet wound lanced pain up and down my front leg. I ignored it and moved on. The Werewolves owned my scent now and they’d hunt me to oblivion. How did they tie in with Clint?

  Never mind, no time to think about it now. I needed to outmaneuver them.

  I turned east to where I’d left my car by one of the many park exits for a quick escape. If I could drive away, it would give me enough time to heal so I could shift into a falcon and fly. The Werewolves couldn’t track me then. Managing to weave through the leaves along the branches with a few wobbles, I made my way to where the trees thinned out near the end of the path below, the exit gate only half a football field away. Sniffing the air revealed no
one upwind.

  The tall grass in the undergrowth rustled. A twig snapped downwind. My breath caught.

  Rodents scurried across the trail path. I exhaled.

  No wolves in sight.

  Shimmying down the tree, I got close enough to the ground to jump. Pain shot up my arm. My fur rippled from the discomfort. I hacked in response and limped toward the exit.

  Thunder rolled, followed by an instant downpour of rain. A lone shape emerged from the dark in front of me. A growl bounced off the pathway. Too late, the wind changed again. Werewolf. Female.

  Another one of my forms pawed inside my head. Let me out, she said. I’ll take her.

  I shooed her voice away.

  My sleek feline body coiled, pain forgotten, survival instinct taking over. Ears back, I hissed in response. Bring it, bitch. The shewolf answered my challenge and slunk down the path toward me, teeth bared, fur slicked down by the heavy rain. Her gaze darted back and forth, no doubt looking for her pack. When she tilted her head back to call them, I sprang.

  My body slammed into hers. We tumbled and rolled, body over body, fur over fur. She yelped when I sank my teeth deep into her back. Blood flowed into my mouth and coiled around my tongue. Wrapping my forelimbs around her, my sharp hind claws raked against her back and legs as I kicked, shredding open her skin. The smell of her blood saturated the air. She spun around, forcing my jaw to release its hold. I tried to bite down again and failed. Stronger than a natural wolf, she threw me off. I landed with a splash and slid along the path, now only twenty feet from the gate. The shewolf staggered, then collapsed in a bloody heap. She’d recuperate eventually. I needed to move.

  I turned from the damaged shewolf and sprinted toward the parking lot.

  Three more wolves stepped out of the dark shadows. The wolves slipped through sheets of rain, the water pelting against their fur and the path at their feet. I pulled up short. Water and blood ran down my shaking leg. My pulse thundered in my ears. I hissed at them.

  They gave no warning and leapt in unison, one large furry motion. One landed on me, while the other two flanked my body before attacking. Teeth clashed and claws ripped. Sharp needles of pain lanced across my back, under my hip and along my shoulders. I rolled and thrashed around, trying to break their hold. One clawed at my back, latching on with its teeth. Another held my back leg between its sharp teeth, tearing skin. The last circled around, looking for an opening. The bitter scent of blood consumed the air, mingling with their excitement and the canned ham smell of my desperation.

  A roll of thunder vibrated the air and the wolf on my back loosened his grip. I bucked him off, sending him flying into the others. My chance to escape. I only needed one. I ran.

  They sprinted in pursuit, so close their fangs brushed my ankles. It tripped me, making me stagger. But I recovered. My mountain lion could outrun most supes. I kept moving, dodging their attempts to bring me down. I hurtled past trees and hurdled over fallen logs. I stumbled into a clearing and froze. The scent of more wolves in front of me slammed into my nose. A trap.

  I spun around. Too late. The wolves behind me closed in, but didn’t attack. They didn’t need to. More of their pack poured into the clearing from the forest, surrounding me.

  Dizzy and weak, I assessed my situation. Not good. Let me out, my other form whined inside my head. Let me take them.

  Stronger and more agile, my mountain lion stood a better chance against the angry Weres, so I ignored her and focused on the wolves around me. Their jaws snapped open and closed, flashing teeth that gleamed in the moonlight, and sputtering a frothy spray of saliva, but they waited. Their snarls and growls formed a solemn backbeat for the erratic hammering of my heart.

  So this was it. Werewolf dinner. Fuck. I cursed Feradea, the deity responsible for protecting Shifters, and braced for impact.

  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.

  I squeezed my eyelids shut and waited. Every muscle tensed. But the pack never reached me. Popping my eyes back open, I stared at the smooth belly of the alpha standing over my prone body, snarling a warning to his pack. All tension flowed out of my body in an unexpected release. My head felt suddenly light.

  Holy crap, it worked.

  Maybe I should thank Feradea. I relaxed, granted respite for the time being. There would be repercussions for my actions, but they’d have to wait. The adrenalin left my system, and the toll of my injuries consumed my body. As my vision faded to black, I wondered how I would escape the mess I’d just surrendered myself to.

  Chapter Three

  When the haze weighing down my senses cleared, I realized I lay naked in a strange bed, which smelled of wolf, man and floral dryer sheets. I’d woken up dazed in a stranger's bed before, but this was no wild night out after binge drinking—no hung-over, vaguely attractive frat boy passed out beside me, and no slinking out the door to do the walk of shame before he woke up and asked for my number.

  The coppery taste of blood clung to my mouth. I ran my tongue through my teeth repeatedly and swallowed, but it did little to clear my palate. I moved my head back and forth. A small whimper escaped my lips. I needed to test exactly how poorly everything operated. Wiggling my toes and fingers, I decided my body functioned, though stiff and sore.

  Better than dead. Opening my eyes did nothing to dull the throb of pain.

  A dark shape moved to my left. Startled, I sat up in bed and instantly regretted it. My brain smacked against the inside of my skull and convulsed. Clutching my head, I squeezed my eyelids shut and sank back into the soft pillow with a groan.

  “Easy.” A man’s voice splintered the silence.

  The glare of sunlight filtered through the glass and burned my retinas. I squinted and took in my host. He sat by the window. The opaque drapes billowed out behind him, surrounding his body in a white glow as a strong wind gusted into the room. With blond hair cut short, chiseled features, and broad shoulders, a present day Norse God returned my appraising gaze. Attractive, to put it mildly. Though sitting, I could tell he was tall from his long, muscular legs stretched out in front of him. He sat relaxed, wearing dark jeans moulded to his body and a plain blue t-shirt with NAVY in big white block letters. His irises caught my attention, not blue like the Norse, instead, rich, chocolate brown.

  The wind carried his scent to me; rosemary with an underlying tone of sugar swirled around, embracing me like a long lost lover. I stiffened. The alpha.

  “How are you feeling?” His voice rolled over me, hinting at subtle power, chilled whiskey poured over warm cream. It sounded familiar.

  “Like I was in a dog fight.”

  “You were." His lip quirked as he looked me over. “Better than dead,” he echoed my earlier thoughts. “But you are healing slowly.”

  Though comfortable in my own skin, in my several skins, the way he looked at me
now made me wish I had clothes on. I pulled the thin sheets up, over my bare skin, and crossed my arms over my boobs. Shifters and Weres were used to being naked around others. Few held insecurities regarding their physiques because we all had great shapes from our increased calorie burning. Shifting took a lot of energy, and like it or not, shift happens.

  The alpha’s dark gaze tracked every move I made, sending my heart rate into cardiac arrest danger zone, and not out of fear. I suddenly wanted to get closer and touch him.

  “I’m not a Were,” I said. “The question is why I’m healing at all. Why wasn’t I ripped to shreds?” I dreaded the answer. I’d submitted to an alpha and in pack culture that gave him power over me. What he’d do with that power caused me the greatest concern. Not being a Were, I could break his control, but… A shiver racked my body. But I didn’t want to go through that again.

  He shifted his weight in the seat. “When you are better, you will be asked some questions.” All Shifters and Weres could scent a lie. He spoke the truth, but he said it slowly as if avoiding something.

  “By you?” I asked.

  He relaxed. I wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t been keenly watching for a reaction. Not the right question then. “I would like you to answer a few of my questions before you answer Lucien Delgatto’s.”

  Frowning, I tried to place the name. Then it hit me. “The vamp?”

  “The Master Vampire of the Lower Mainland? Yes, the vamp.” He sounded amused.

  “What does he want with me?” My brain hurt. My target had been a norm, so I hadn’t wasted time researching the local supes in the area. I’d taken a cursory glance, and knew a bit from living nearby, but now I regretted my haste. I didn’t know how Clint, the alpha and Lucien linked together and I needed to figure the connection out. I had a feeling my health depended on it.

  “That will become apparent. I am not to speak more of it,” he said in a flat voice, not sounding thrilled about the situation. The formal phrases and his occasional inability to use contractions gave him away as an older Werewolf. Maybe a couple hundred years old? Some Werewolves found adapting their speech to current times more difficult than Vampires. Go figure.