Shift Work (Carus #4) Read online

  He pulled away too soon, and traced a finger along my bottom lip. “Good,” he repeated.

  Still gasping for breath, I clutched the pants in my hand. “I’m going to the Vampire court to ask for work. Why’d you get me all hot and bothered?”

  Tristan smiled. “Trust me. Smelling like you do right now will only help your chances of employment.”

  I growled, but Tristan just laughed and swaggered into the bathroom. With the tangible need to follow and give him a goodbye kiss of my own, I tugged my jeans on and turned toward the living room instead. Tonight, I needed a clear head to get a job—one that didn’t require any blood swapping.

  Chapter Two

  “You must give up the life you planned in order to have the life that is waiting for you.”

  ~Joseph Campbell

  The cool air caressed my face, carrying with it the deep fragrances of blood, death, and decay. Lucien’s grand hall seemed less grand and emptier as I walked down the red carpet to stand in front of the former Master Vampire’s austere, throne-like chair. Allan sat in it, barely. He perched on the edge with a rigid posture and looked ready to leap off at the slightest provocation.

  As a Carus, I possessed more than one animal familiar, known as a fera, to shift into. With one of these forms so dark and filled with malice she scared even me, Allan’s restlessness made sense. Not that I could necessarily take him down surrounded by the horde, but I’d do some damage if I felt compelled.

  Allan. The largest Japanese man I’d ever met. Easily standing over six and a half feet, he packed about three hundred pounds of muscle, and a brain bordering on genius. Smart and strong, he could read my mind like I devoured books. My skin prickled at the reminder, and I forced myself to reminisce about the forest behind my parents’ old house.

  Allan’s lip twitched, but he said nothing as I completed the final steps to reach him. We studied each other for a silent minute, or five. My skin itched to shift to a mountain lion, and my palms began to sweat.

  No sign of Clint. Was the death of his master the one and only thing that could kill him? Despite defying all reason, I doubted it. He’d been pretty indestructible until now, surviving a torn out throat and getting shish-kabobbed with a sword multiple times. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled my skin as they rose. Did that pervert run off somewhere to plot my demise?

  “You look remarkably alive for one tied to a Master Vampire.” Allan broke the silence.

  “As do you, for one who’s actually a member of the living dead tax bracket,” I replied.

  “Second-in-commands are not blood tied for the sole purpose of a more streamlined succession. We’re blood sworn.”

  Blood sworn to prevent them from backstabbing their masters. He didn’t need to explain. As the name implied, Vampires in a horde swore an oath in blood to their Master. This oath worked much like the relationship between an Alpha and his pack or pride. It prevented underlings from going against the word of their Master or from betraying them. There were ways around blood oaths, though, just like ways existed around an Alpha’s order, or telling the truth.

  “Did you do it, then?” I asked. “Kill Lucien?”

  Allan’s eyes narrowed. “Did you?”

  “No, not that I didn’t want to.” I opened my mind so he could read the truth from me. The mountain lion cohabitating in my head hissed at the move. She didn’t like company from the “outside.” Allan would see everything, even my revenge plotting. Allan would also see the anger simmering beneath my skin because someone stole my revenge.

  He pulled his cuffs down. “You couldn’t kill Lucien when your life was tied to him, and it’s no secret you despised his control over you and his methods of…persuasion. Many suspect your hand in his true death.”

  Methods of persuasion, my ass. The blood flowing in my veins grew hot as memories of Lucien’s “methods” flooded my mind. The Master had promised to gut Wick repeatedly and make me watch unless I did as he ordered. Fetching coffee for the egomaniac would’ve been tolerable, but his tasks either caused great shame and debasement, or put me and loved ones in danger. Allan was right. I had plenty of reasons to kill Lucien. I’d spent the last month thinking of ways to pull it off and get away with it.

  “Well, it wasn’t me.”

  “So I can see. Thank you for opening your mind. You can shut it now. I have no interest in seeing what you’ve been up to with your pussy…cat.”

  Jackass. He meant Tristan, but Vamps couldn’t resist the not-so-original play on words. “You’re hilarious,” I said.

  Allan shrugged.

  We studied each other for another long minute. “Why did you call me?” I asked.

  “Courtesy.”

  “How’d you know I survived Lucien’s death?”

  “After making his inner circle blood swear to secrecy, he told us about your little blood bond escaping trick.” He leveled me with a dark look. “You’re fortunate someone took his life. He had plans for you, kitten. For retribution.”

  My heart played hopscotch in my chest, but I ignored it. Allan didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already suspect. Lucien couldn’t take the blow to his ego without reacting, and it was only a matter of time before he sought revenge.

  “How’d it happen?” I glanced around the room, looking for…what, exactly? Not sure. A pile of ash with a sign stuck in it reading “Lucien’s Remains.” The vacant chamber held nothing but the stench of Vampire and cleaning products. The room had been freshly sterilized and only the recent milling of surviving Vampires had ruined the clean smell. No ash, no blood spatter, no signs of a struggle. Maybe the true death didn’t happen in this room.

  “That’s none of your concern,” Allan said.

  “As the ambassador between the Vampire Court and the SRD, a supernatural death is exactly that—my concern.” I held my breath.

  Allan chuckled. “You were the ambassador between Lucien’s Vampire Court and the SRD. You were also absent for the last month. Now that Lucien is gone, it is my court, and I have no wish for the meddlesome SRD to be needlessly involved in my affairs. Especially not with a representative who most of the surviving Vampires believe assassinated Lucien. At the behest of the SRD, no less.”

  I choked on my breath. “But can’t you use the liaison thing to your advantage?”

  “Do you honestly want me to use you, little kitten?”

  I froze.

  Allan smirked. “I thought not. I am doing you a favor by releasing you of your service.”

  “Do I get a severance package?”

  Allan laughed. He could’ve just said no.

  Chapter Three

  “When given a choice between two evils. I typically choose the one I haven’t tried yet.”

  ~Mae West

  There’s nothing I despised more than the thought of walking into the SRD’s downtown headquarters to face Agent Tucker. Except facing Agent Tucker and asking for reinstatement as an agent. My hand clasped the cold metal handle, and I yanked the glass entrance door open. The stale and fresh scents of norms and supes flooded my nose. When I woke up late this morning after my visit with Allan, I realized I needed to do something more proactive about my work situation. Unfortunately, that meant the SRD and one particular agent.

  Agent Tucker Fucker. ATF. How do I loathe him? Let me count the ways…

  Elizabeth Barrett Browning probably groaned in her resting place as I adapted and butchered her work as a mental mantra to gather self-restraint. Hopefully, she’d forgive me. Only hatred this intense led me to revise and spout poetry.

  I padded across the massive foyer of the SRD’s downtown headquarters and nodded at my Witch neighbours who stood at the security desk. We’d gotten off on the wrong…note…but now, I counted Ben as one of my best friends. I loved this guy.

  “Hey.” Dirty blond hair hung in his eyes when he glanced at his clipboard. He and Matt guarded the SRD from unwanted visitors. Their naughty list would include me very soon. “Didn’t expect to see you until
tonight.”

  “Yeah.” Matt looked up from the computer, green eyes twinkling. “We’re still on, right?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then why are you…” Matt trailed off. “Oh.”

  “Here to beg for a job?” Ben asked.

  I might’ve vented about my lack of job prospects with the Witches on more than a few occasions. They held as much optimism for this option as I did.

  “I don’t think it will come to that,” I said. Inside, my mountain lion yowled at the thought of such a submissive act. My falcon screeched.

  Peck! she said, over and over again, while replaying memories of Tucker’s bugged out eyes from when I strangled him.

  “I do. No way ATF will let you off that easy,” Ben said, using our acronym for Agent Tucker Fucker. Another reason he was one of my best friends. We’d joked about using FAT for Fucking Agent Tucker, but came to the agreement we couldn’t get away with saying it in public as easily.

  “No. I don’t either,” I replied. “But it won’t come to that because I’m not going to let it go that far. If he says no, he says no.”

  “And then what?” Matt asked. “I can tell you right now, you won’t make it as a freelance singer.”

  I scowled at him. “No. But maybe I can do something else freelance.”

  Ben’s lip curled up, and Matt started laughing. To them, “freelance” referred to prostitution or stripping, but among assassins, it meant something entirely different.

  “That’s not what I meant!”

  “Whatever,” Ben said. Still chuckling, he handed me the clipboard to sign in.

  ****

  ATF. I recited my poem again and bolstered some courage to walk out of the elevator. Angelica, one of Tristan’s Wereleopards, greeted me with the condescending smile she reserved just for me. She loved Tristan, as a leader and probably as something more. They had no history like that, nor would they ever. Not if my hissing mountain lion and I had anything to say about it.

  The icy glare trying to freeze me on the spot spoke otherwise. Along with immaculate up-dos, Angie liked power, and Tristan had it.

  Mine, my mountain lion hissed, sending me images of Tristan’s naked body.

  The incinerator in my core kicked up a notch, and Angie’s ice-queen antics held no effect on me. The SRD office wasn’t the place for dominance games. My best behaviour meant keeping my mouth shut instead of bitch-smacking Angie like she deserved.

  What Angie really needed was a new man to set her sights on. Maybe Allan needed another lady friend to scare the crap out of. Not exactly Angie’s type, but the match-up worked for me.

  “I know a single Vampire, if you’re interested,” I said in way of greeting. Sure, Allan didn’t technically count as a friend, but she didn’t need to know that.

  Angie waved me off with manicured hands.

  “Super powerful. Super freaky deeky.”

  Her dainty little face pinched up as she scowled at me. “I assume you’re here to speak with Agent Tucker? He’s been expecting you since we got news of Lucien. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

  What the hell? How did Tucker know I lived? I paused and took a deep breath. ATF stole my thunder. I’d planned to give him a rude shock. “How’d he find out I survived Lucien’s death?”

  Angie shrugged. “Wasn’t from me.”

  Huh. Maybe ATF had more contacts in the supe community than I suspected. Or maybe he had me watched. My skin prickled, and my mountain lion yowled for release.

  Angie pushed a button on her desk, and Tucker’s nauseating voice trickled through the speakers. “Yes?”

  “Andrea McNeilly to see you, sir.” Angie’s voice dropped several octaves to morph into one of a throaty phone sex operator.

  Hmm. Last time I’d stomped into the office, Angie had been on her best behaviour with ATF, almost nervous. What changed?

  Maybe Angie no longer prowled for a power player. Maybe she went norm and saddled Tucker. God, I hoped so. That would make my day. ATF wouldn’t stand a chance against this man-eater.

  “Send her in,” Tucker responded.

  Angie somehow puckered and curled her lips in a look that screamed mean girl, and nodded toward the door.

  “Thanks,” I said. My lie stunk and it made me smile.

  One step into Tucker’s office and I had to take a deep breath to fortify myself against the bombardment of images assaulting my eyes. Tucker decorated his office using pictures of himself with important people, or at least, people he thought held some clout, including his father, the director of the SRD. None of those big names could stop me if I decided to let my feras have their way with Tucker.

  Obscure books lined his bookshelves and today Tucker had The Catcher and the Rye, by J. D. Salinger, facing out for all to see what a complex individual he really was.

  The room reeked of Tucker’s expensive cologne and his bland, boring as paper norm scent. I ground my teeth and approached him. He sat behind his desk, leaning back in his chair with his hands folded across his lap. My thin file with the coffee mug ring stain sat ominously on the smooth desk surface between us. The folder used to be stuffed full of documents, none of which I’d been privy to, but Booth had “cleaned” the file before taking off.

  “Ms. McNeilly.” Tucker waved his hand at one of the faux-leather seats across his desk. “What an unexpected surprise.”

  Foul-smelling, like a manky chicken truck, his lie moved through the room obliterating all other scents. This, in addition to my folder on his desk, contradicted his words. I plastered on a fake smile and set my shoulders back. “Agent Tucker,” I said and sat down.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “Well, given that you addressed me as Ms. McNeilly instead of ambassador, I assume you’re already aware of the power shift in the local Vampire court.”

  “Of course.” His bright hazel eyes bore into mine, his only remarkable feature. Everything else about the man came across as bland, average, nondescript. That wasn’t me being mean either. Honest truth. The man would’ve made a great undercover agent. Blending in with any crowd, he could’ve slipped in and out of crime scenes. Too bad he was soft and Daddy handed everything to him instead of making him work for it.

  With the urge to throw insults at him somewhat suppressed, I decided to cut to the point and make this as professional as possible. “The new Master Vampire made it expressly known he doesn’t wish to continue the liaison relationship with the SRD.”

  “You could have informed us of his decision via the phone.” Tucker stretched his arms out before leaning forward and resting them on his desk. “Why are you really here?”

  “I want to be reinstated as an agent.” I held my breath and cringed on the inside. My blood pumped slowly with a gritty sensation, as if asking Tucker for something left grime in my veins.

  Agent Tucker chuckled and flopped back into his chair. He smiled at the ceiling. “Priceless.”

  “I’m glad you think so.” The desire to leap across his desk and finish what I started months ago pulled at me hard. We’d seen each other more than I’d like since our first fateful meeting, but the urge to hurt him hadn’t dissipated. I clutched the armrests of my chair and dug my toes into the soles of my shoes.

  “Answer me this, Andrea.”

  I nodded, not trusting my speech at this moment. Sure, I was capable of saying something, but whatever came out of my mouth would be accompanied with a string of curses that would make a salty old sea dog blush.

  “How’d you survive?” he demanded.

  I pursed my lips and forced my breathing to remain controlled. How’d he know I survived before I showed up at his office? That’s what I wanted to demand in return. I bit my tongue instead, and forced the tension from my muscles before responding. “What do you mean?”

  “How’d you survive Lucien’s death?” he asked again. “You were blood bonded to him and should’ve died.”

  Burnt cinnamon rolled off his body. So, Agent Tucker was a bit pisse
d I lived. Had he heard the news about Lucien’s death and danced around in his office because he thought I’d died as well? Did news of my survival crash him back to reality? Sorry to disappoint you, ATF.

  “Oh, Agent Tucker. I didn’t know you cared.” I forced my body to stay relaxed, and shushed the animals snarling in my head.

  Tucker recoiled, and his hands balled into little fists. “How?” he demanded.

  I shrugged. “Lucien must’ve released me from the bond before his untimely demise.”

  Tucker pursed his lips and drummed his fingers on the desk as he studied me. His narrow gaze an amateur attempt at the stink eye, as if he willed me to divulge all my secrets with the power of his pissy face.

  Not happening.

  Not ever.

  They might know I survived Lucien’s death, but my survival had plausible, if not inaccurate, explanations. If they ever found out about my beast, I’d end up on the run or in their lab. A tremor ran through my body.

  Tucker’s gaze faltered, and he broke the silence. “So Allan has no wish to sully his own veins by re-establishing a blood bond.”

  No point in correcting him. I had no wish to go through another blood bond either.

  He grabbed the file with my information and flipped through it. His gaze focused forward, but he didn’t pause long enough to read anything. His irises didn’t contract; instead, his pupils dilated like someone staring off into space. As he shuffled the documents, the paper crinkled and rustled in time with my twitching eye.

  Bite, my mountain lion snarled.

  Peck, said my falcon.

  I wanted to reach across the desk, haul Tucker over the smooth surface by his smarmy rich-boy shirt, and stomp on his face.

  Best behaviour, I reminded myself. Be good.

  ATF finally sighed and closed the file, placing it gently back on the desk. Apparently, he didn’t plan to share any of the file’s contents with me. He laced his fingers together and peered at me. “You’re of no use to the Vampire court.”

  I frowned. “I’m not asking to be of use to the Vampire court.”