Shift Happens (A Carus Novel Book 1) (13 page)

Wringing my hands together, I jerked my gaze up and focused on the ceiling. “Some ground rules.” My voice came out strong despite my crumbling will power.

Wick shook his head. “No. I get to kiss you. No other rules.”

“On the lips?” I pointed to them in case Wick needed further clarification.

Amusement danced across Wick’s face along with something else. He nodded.

My teeth sank into my bottom lip and my gaze traveled down his muscular frame to where I wanted to place my hands…and my mouth. Although tempted to give in—to let him lead where my body wanted to go—I couldn’t. “And if I decline?”

Wick shrugged. “Better get ready for a long flight.”

Exasperated, I shut my eyes and let my head fall back. There was no way I could fly that distance. My arm was still too weak and I hated breaking into my own place naked. “You’re impossible,” I groaned.

“Your call.” His voice wrapped around me and my eyes snapped back open. Wick’s attention fixated on my exposed throat. But he held back and waited. His wolf had risen and with a musky coconut scent floating across the room, I smelled exactly what he wanted—me.

My body responded instantly. Heat moved like molten lava through my veins. I was on fire. And he hadn’t touched me yet.

Want.
My wolf panted.
Good mate.

Wick’s knowing smile caused another heat to spread across my cheeks. “Red is a nice colour on you,” he said. His hands moved up to cradle my face. He leaned down so our lips almost touched. His peppermint breath brushed against my mouth. “Do we have a deal?” he asked. His deep voice rumbled, sending shivers of pleasure rippling down my body.

No longer capable of speech, I nodded. His lips quirked up in a smile before he brought them down to meet mine.
Son of a bitch
. I’d expected a hard demanding kiss, but what I got was gentle. His lips were soft and smooth on mine, searching, and inviting me to respond. One of his hands moved to the back of my head to curl up in my hair. The other slid down my body. Grazing over my breast, he brought his hand up to cup the weight. His thumb ran over my nipple. The simple touch through the fabric sent sensual sensations through my body, making it throb with desire.

My arms wrapped around his muscled frame and splayed across his back. Our bodies pressed together, forming an unbearable searing intensity. Lost in the sensation of feeling him everywhere on me, I was vaguely aware of being lowered on the sofa.

Instinctively, my body arched under his caress. My head dropped back. “Wick,” I breathed. His face rose up to meet mine again. His lips crushing the protest I was about to voice. Lost in his touch, I melted into him.

Pinning me back, there was a ripping sound and a brief sensation of cool air on my skin before Wick’s body covered me.

Dylan slammed me against the wall, shredding my clothes with one swipe of his claws. A paralyzing fear trembled over my body, raising goosebumps on my arms and the tiny hairs on the back of my neck. My heart pumped fast and hard against my chest.

Just kill me. Please.

Wick dropped his head to trail kisses down my body, but I remained immobile, consumed by the fear leaking out of the hole in my soul. Wick looked up from my navel. His nose flared and the line between his eyebrows deepened. He froze into a rigid mass of muscle, hovering above me.

“What’s wrong?” His eyebrows pinched together. “Why do I smell fear?” He kept his body poised above mine and looked down at me with concern. “I would never hurt you.”

I shook my head. “We can’t do this.” I scrambled out from underneath him.

Wick let me go before collapsing on the couch. “Please don’t run from me, Andy. We need to talk about this.”

My stomach rolled. I knew to what he referred—what I needed to talk about. But no amount of talking could heal the scars Dylan left. My nightmares would still haunt me. Holding the fragments of my shirt together, I turned to face him. “Where are the keys?” I asked.

Wick didn’t answer; instead, he sprang up from the couch. There was hurt in his expression, and he smelled frustrated, but he stalked silently out of the room, only to return a few minutes later to hold his hand out in front of me and jingle the car keys on his finger.

When I reached out, he snapped the keys away from me. When I flinched at the quick movement, Wick’s face softened. “Mel told me about Dylan’s pack, Andy. About the forced unions.”

I stiffened and dropped my gaze to the floor.

“I would never do that to you. To anyone.”

My head shook back and forth in denial. Wick wasn’t the problem. It was me. He would never understand that.

Reading my reaction the wrong way, Wick stroked my face. “You can trust me, Andy. Our wolves have chosen each other. This will be a true mating.”

My body relaxed as Wick’s alpha power smoothed over me like a calming balm. Reaching up, I clasped Wick’s hand and removed it from my face. “It’s not that simple,” I said, and released his hand.

“Yes, it is.” He stepped forward.

“You’re forgetting something.”

“What’s that?” He smoothed my hair away from my face.

“I’m not a wolf. Not all of me, at least.”

Wick frowned. “That doesn’t bother me.”

“It should.”

“Why?”

“My wolf has chosen you, I won’t deny that. But my mountain lion hasn’t. What if she chooses another? What if my falcon does?”

Wick stiffened.

“Would you want to share me?”

His hands dropped to his side.

“That’s what I thought.” I took advantage of his shock, snatched the keys from his hand, and stalked out of the house.

I had no idea if having multiple forms complicated a true wolf mating, but Wick didn’t know that. I had to get out of here and away from him. The longer I spent in his presence, the less I was able to think, and remember the reasons why I shouldn’t be with him. And there were plenty. Wick belonged to Lucien. He might want to help me, or be with me, but ultimately he had to obey his master. His choices were not his own.

Wick called after me, but I didn’t hesitate. He could’ve caught up if he’d wanted, but he let me go. For both our sakes, I hoped he left me alone. We’d get hurt otherwise.

The gray building resembling an oversized children’s building block stared down at me. More oppressive than impressive, it possessed too many windows for an organization publicly priding itself on being supernaturally unbiased. It couldn’t be a comfortable destination for any Vampire. No supe liked feeling vulnerable. Although the SRD probably had sun-safe rooms inside, the impression given by the windows, or the ‘glass portals to the death star,’ made me want to turn around and go back to Wick’s house. Screw the SRD. But I couldn’t. I had to face them and clear my name.

The air smelled crisp and clouds moved in, dark and angry. A typical Vancouver Spring day. Tugging at the charcoal blazer I’d retrieved from my house, I gave my outfit a once over before walking into SRD headquarters. Agent Booth had said to dress comfortable, but I wasn’t showing up in sweats. I wanted to come across professional. The two piece business suit fit in with the downtown corporate look. I could’ve been a lawyer walking into a business meeting.

I pulled open the glass doors and took long strides to the security desk. No need to draw this out. My heels clicked loudly against the hard slate tile. The sound ricocheted off the walls. Crossing the large sterile expanse of the main lobby, I focused on the guards like they were two chocolate bars at the end of a diet.

They tensed and gave me a hard look. There was no mistaking the vanilla and honey scent. I tried not to lick my lips as I smelled the sweet air.
Mmmm, Witches
. They smelled good. Then again, so did demons. An unpleasant shiver travelled through my body. I would be ecstatic to never deal with a demon ever again.

Shaking my head of dark memories, I plastered on a fake smile before I reached the desk.

“Agent Andrea McNeilly to see Agent Booth. She’s expecting me.”

The security guard with the sandy-brown hair and green eyes, tapped away on the keyboard in front of him. The other guard with limp blond hair and a plain face didn’t turn toward me; instead, he surveyed the lobby room for possible threats, while watching me out of the corner of his eye.

“Your visitor pass.” Guard number one jutted his hand out too far and jabbed my arm with a plastic card.

“Thanks.” I snatched it away from him before he could do more damage. After clipping the pass to the lapel of my jacket, I looked at the guards expectantly and cleared my throat.

They returned my probing look with blank stares.

“Directions?”

“Through the metal detector, take the elevator on the right, tenth floor,” guard number two said with clipped tones. Clearly, he was annoyed.

“Thank you.” Hopefully my sarcastic tone came across so they’d know I meant the exact opposite. They nodded and went back to staring at the entrance. By far, the most boring Witches I’d ever come across.

Next time, I would ask for a later appointment so I could take the time to case the place. If there was a next time. The metal detector remained silent as I walked through. There were no weapons for it to detect, because I didn’t need them. I
was
a weapon. It amazed me the SRD had no idea what I was. They asked for disclosure during the interview and training process, but I declined to answer. According to our country’s laws, humans still had the right to refuse to identify themselves as anything that could be used to discriminate against them.
Gotta love politics.

If the SRD ever found out, my name would be quickly added to the top of their next hit list or worse, their retrieval list. Shuddering, I stepped into the elevator when the doors dinged opened. The last place I wanted to end up was in the government lab as a specimen.
No thank you.

The SRD would know from the autopsy reports of my targets that I could change into an animal. They’d assume I was a Shifter or Were. And apparently, that was enough for them. Results spoke, and as long as I was in the good graces of the SRD, there was no need for them to push the issue. Well, I was no longer on Santa’s ‘Nice’ list. They could call it an interview all they wanted—I
knew
I walked into my own interrogation.

When the elevator reached the tenth floor, I squared my shoulders and walked out with as much confidence as Superman around kryptonite. The receptionist with boobs too perky to be natural sported a rock solid updo that must’ve taken hours in the morning to create and half a container of hair gel. I never had that much patience. One shift and it would be a mess anyway. On a regular day, my hair was tied back in a ponytail and if I felt like making it fancy, I would twist my bangs up with a clip. The only time it came down was when I acted as slutty bait for a target, or when I slept.

The receptionist looked me up and down, and her lips curled in a nasty smile. One minute of visual analysis and she’d determined who the more attractive woman was. Too bad she got it wrong.

“Andy McNeilly to see Agent Booth.” I cut right to the point. This woman looked mean. When her citrus and sunlight scent reached me, I tensed. Wereleopard. As if she could sense my discomfort, her smile grew. She probably thought she’d take me in a fight. She probably could. If she finished her shift before I gutted her. I was quick on the draw.

“One moment,” she purred. She pressed a button on her desk and spoke into it. Sniffing the air again, I analyzed her scent. Not the same as the one from Landen’s apartment, but similar, familiar. Relative, maybe? Same pride? This couldn’t be a coincidence. I eyed the receptionist, wondering about her connection to Landen’s killer. She was too busy checking out her reflection in the computer screen to notice.

“Put her in room two,” a familiar raspy voice croaked over the intercom.

The receptionist nodded despite the other woman not being able to see her. She looked up. “Please follow me,” she said as she pushed away from her desk and stood up. She was a small thing.
Petite
. That was what her online profile would say. She seemed like the type that would hunt men on dating sites only to chew them up like a gazelle femur and toss them aside.

I followed her swinging hips to ominous room two, all the while wondering who she wiggled for. She didn’t strike me as a lesbian, so there was no need to saunter around like a sex kitten when no one else accompanied us. Unless she couldn’t help it. Or was she trying to make me feel inferior? My lip curled up in a scowl. I hated her type.

“Please have a seat. Agent Booth will be with you shortly.”

I nodded and tried to ignore the satisfied smile she flashed me before closing the door. Her scent lingered in the room and I made a mental note to track her after I finished up here. Something wasn’t quite right with her—other than her double D’s.

A lie detector machine, sprouting wires and straps like a forgotten potato in the pantry growing roots. It sat in the corner of the interrogation room, looking archaic and out of place. This thing probably dated back to sometime before the Purge.
Why would they bother with a machine when they could use supes to scent out lies?
Did the norms not trust us?

The air in the room stirred as the door swung open to admit a middle-aged woman with graying black hair. A large hooked nose jutted out beneath trendy purple-rimmed glasses. Her lips pursed into a straight line. Not a good sign. I stood when she entered the room. Not out of respect, but as a defensive maneuver.

“Agent McNeilly?” she asked. When I nodded, she held her hand out.

I reached over and clasped it.
Ouch!
The woman had a vice-like grip. At least she didn’t do the soft noodle hand shake a lot of women seemed to prefer. I hated weak handshakers—didn’t trust them. But it would take more than a firm handshake for me to invite this woman to my confessional booth.

“I’m Agent Booth.” She gestured for me to have a seat. We sat down in the plastic chairs facing each other. They never had comfortable seats in an interrogation room. Agent Booth stared at me. She’d lined her cement gray eyes with green eye make-up. She wouldn’t get the satisfaction of seeing me squirm.