Shift Happens (A Carus Novel Book 1) (18 page)

Norms packed the place and milled around, looking for an experience to brag about:
Look how brave I am. Look how bold and daring.

Idiots. In way over their heads, most of them would be caught in a promise they wouldn’t want to follow through on. In addition to the newbie spectators, an odd mix of S&M porn star wannabes and emo rejects—black eye liner, a whole lot of pleather, spiked hair coloured with unnatural hues, and piercings that I could and couldn’t see—wore their fang scars as badges. The spectator norms admired or gawked at these regular patrons of Hell like specimens at the zoo.

To Vampires, they were all willing food, nothing more. To me, they were morons—witling down their self-worth to something less than a walking blood bag.

Tonight, I’d try to blend in with them, minus the scabs and scars on my neck. Other places existed to bite and I’d let a lesser mind run with that assumption.

Five minutes into the night, I knew I’d fail. One, not a lot of vamps patrolled for food; two, the ones present reeked of Lucien; and three, one of them was Allan.

He tapped me on my shoulder when I stood at the bar. I spun around, anticipating a fight. My drink splashed out of my cup, but Allan dodged the flying fluid, narrowing his eyes.

“You!” I gave the mind reading Vampire my best death stare before casting my gaze down on my wet shirt.

Allan grinned and used a bar napkin to blot the remnants of my drink from my corset. “Me.”

Sighing, I leaned against the bar. “You’re cramping my style.”

Allan’s eyebrow rose while he looked me up and down. “And what exactly is your style?” he asked, dropping his voice into a sexual purr.

My skin crawled in response.

He laughed. “I have no interest in you at the moment kitten, but if Clint were to see you…” He left the rest of his sentence for me to fill, but I didn’t like anything I came up with.

“I’m not his type.”

Allan shook his head. “Clint likes the thrill of the fight, of the hunt and conquest. Nothing turns his crank more than dominating and breaking down someone’s will. To him, you’re a wet dream.”

“I’m not blonde.”

“He’s booked an appointment for you at Lola’s next week. I believe he mentioned ‘dye job’ on the phone.”

Screw that
. Lola’s was an expensive and exclusive hair salon in the West End where only the trendy and the wealthy went. Should I be impressed? Instead, the back of my throat ached and I tried to ignore the heavy weight in my chest. The idea of being a toy to the sick fuck, well, it freaked me out a little. Or maybe a lot. I pretended to gag, but Allan’s smile only broadened to reveal his fangs. They lengthened as I stared.

“I thought you had no interest?” I snarled.
Gross
.

Allan shrugged. “I’m not Clint.” He twirled the amber liquid in his cup. “I like feeding off fear. You don’t have enough of that…” He eyed me. “Yet.”

“Never.” I snorted, and then knocked my drink back. He’d been following my thoughts. I’d have to clamp down on those.

“You might say differently after Clint is done with you. After you’ve been broken, he’ll grow bored and pass you to me. He often does with his women. And by then, you will be perfect for me.” He licked his fangs. “The anticipation is riveting.”

“Surely you can find some willing little things to frighten?”

“The willing are less fun. Their fear is thin, not authentic, with a…tainted taste to it. I prefer the air laden in terror.”

“So you take Clint’s sloppy seconds?”

Allan laughed. “Trying to antagonize me?”

“I want you to stop talking about what gives you and Clint hard-ons. It’s not my topic of choice.”

Allan shrugged again. “Piece of advice. If you want Clint to lose interest in you as a toy, act obedient and complacent.”

I frowned into my empty glass. “That’s a bit of a stretch.”

Allan laughed before I spoke, having plucked the thoughts from my head. “I know.” He nodded at the bartender and two new drinks arrived faster than humanly possible. “So, why are you here, kitten? What brings you to Hell?” His lip quirked at the line, but I couldn’t tell if in amusement or disgust.

“Reconnaissance,” I said.

“Here? You think one of us, one of Lucien’s, was behind the attack?” His tone relayed his doubt.

I debated not telling him anything. Obviously, I couldn’t trust him, but I needed answers so I settled on a little snippet. “Not one of Lucien’s.”

“Only Lucien’s horde is permitted to enter any of the vamp bars unless escorted.”

Well damn. I wish I had known that.

“You think it was a rogue Vampire?”

“I don’t know,” I said, honestly. “Is there a horde visiting from out of town?”

Allan frowned. “There are Vampires visiting all the time.”

“Any with reason to harm Lucien or Clint?”

“They all want
harm
to come to those two. Vampires are territorial and competitive in nature. We want what another one has. It’s in our blood, if you pardon the expression. Lucien squashes attempts for his territory on a regular basis.” His eyes met mine. “Is that what you think is happening?”

“When I know for certain what’s going on and have the proof to back it up, I’ll report everything to Lucien.”
Quick! Think of rivers and chirping birds in the forest.
Need to shield my thoughts from Allan.

He laughed. “I could help you, you know.”

“This coming from the man who told me he looks forward to when I’ve been broken so he can scare the beejezus out of me and get off on it?”

Allan smirked. “I can separate my personal life from professional.”

“Riiight.”

He shrugged. “Have it your way.”

I don’t know what I would’ve said next, because the sight of a man with a predatory gleam in his eyes approaching us had me cursing instead. Allan quirked a brow and looked over his shoulder.

“Clint!” He welcomed the norm and made room for him to stand with us. “What a surprise.”

Clint nodded at the bartender and a drink was promptly placed in his hand. Looked like scotch or whiskey. He turned and looked me over. “Andrea.” He smiled. “There was no need for you to dress up for me.”

I rolled my eyes.

He continued to stare, running his eyes over my body. “I prefer you naked.”

My glass made a loud thunk as I slammed it on the bar. “And I’m done.”

Both men laughed.

“Good night,
gentlemen
,” I said.

“Four more days, Andy,” Clint called out to me. “Four more days.”

I flipped him the bird and stalked out of the club.

Four days left.
And tonight was a total bust. My throat constricted. I rubbed the base of my neck and tried to get the troubled feeling to ease up. I didn’t want to be Clint’s. I didn’t want to be anyone’s possession.
Never again.

When I stalked into Wick’s house, I threw my purse on the floor, and let a growl escape my lips in frustration. Braced with both hands on the edge of the nearest counter, I dropped my head and took several deep breaths in. And froze. The entranceway reeked of Werewolf. An alpha’s house acted as a constant revolving door for his pack, so smells of others always lingered, but this was different. Fresh. I walked around the corner and into the living room to find it occupied.

Wick and Ryan sat opposite of each other on the couches with numerous empty beer bottles on the coffee table between them. My nose crinkled at the sharp smell of alcohol in the air. Shifters and Weres had fast metabolisms, but if motivated enough, a supe could get drunk. Clearly, Wick and Ryan were very, very motivated.

Wick leaned back into the cushions and grinned at my entrance, but Ryan had the opposite reaction. His whole body tensed and his easy smile stiffened into a grimace. Despite his earlier guard duty, we hadn’t spoken since the day I seduced him to escape. He’d avoided any eye contact and attempts at conversation since. I couldn’t really blame him, either.

“Hi boys.” I went for casual, but the words came out high pitched and nervous. “Trying to get drunk?”

Wick’s smile spread across his gorgeous face. He took a slow sip from his bottle and eyed me over the rim as if he drank me instead of the cool amber fluid. A tingle ran up my thigh.

“Not anymore.” Ryan put his bottle down on the counter a little too hard. It made a loud thunk, spraying beer out onto his hand and the table. I would’ve laughed, but I’d done the exact same thing in the bar earlier, and Ryan hated my guts. Ryan stood up with an annoyed expression on his face. “See you later, Wick.”

“Good night.” Wick looked torn, his expression somewhere between sympathetic and amused, like he couldn’t decide how to feel or whose side to take.

Ryan brushed past me and headed to the door without saying another word. I glanced back to find Wick watching me closely, waiting for me to act. When it became clear I wasn’t moving, he patted the cushion beside him. Not so drunk after all. As much as I would’ve loved to sink into the couch and those arms, there was something I had to do first. I turned and ran after the other Werewolf.

“Ryan!” I called out.

He froze with his hand on the doorknob, but didn’t turn around. “What?”

“I want to apologize.” That came out whinier than I wanted.

Ryan spun toward me, but his face gave nothing away. “Why?”

“I’m sorry I used you to escape. It wasn’t…” At a loss for words, I looked down at my hands to discover them fidgeting. “Right.”

“Why apologize for that? It’s what you do, right? Seduce targets and eliminate them.” He continued before I could utter any semblance of a defence. If I had any. “At least you didn’t slit my throat.”

He had a point. I was a government contractor. A ruthless killer. “I think it’s a testament to how much I like you that I didn’t.”

Ryan choked on a bitter laugh. “Like me? You have a funny way of showing it.”

Sighing, I leaned against the wall. “I like you as a friend. I like that you can kick my ass in martial arts, that you lose at cards, and you couldn’t solve a crossword on your own to save your life. You can’t hold it against me that I wanted to escape.”

Silence.

“You liked me,” I pointed out. “Yet even if I hadn’t tried to escape, you would’ve brought me to Lucien trussed up like some stuck pig.”

Ryan glared at his feet while he clenched and unclenched his hands.

“And I would’ve understood. I do understand. I’m not sorry for trying to escape, but I apologize for how I did it. If there’d been another way to leave us both unscathed, I would’ve used it.”

That surprised Ryan into looking up. His eyes focused on me and narrowed.

I continued. “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings and you now think everything was an act. It wasn’t.”

“It wasn’t?” he said, his voice rough as gravel.

“No. It wasn’t.”

“So when you kissed me and rubbed your tits against my chest like a rabid bitch in heat…that wasn’t an act?” His gaze burned.

I looked away. “Ok, well that part was.”

Ryan’s laugh was hollow. “Whatever.” He walked out of the house and slammed the door behind him.

I let a long breath out.

“I wasn’t joking when I said you made an enemy in Ryan.” Wick’s voice directly behind me didn’t come as a surprise. I’d sensed him approach during my pathetic attempt at an apology.

“If you start spewing ‘I told you so,’ I’ll kick your ass.”

“No.” Warm arms wrapped around me. Wick pulled me back to rest against his strong body. “That’s not what I’m doing. You offered him a nice apology.”

Another sigh escaped my lips as I allowed myself to enjoy the moment of comfort in Wick’s arms. “Not enough.”

“No,” Wick agreed. “But he might come around in time.”

“Whatever.” I pushed Wick’s arms away before I could get too comfortable and walked around to the living room. “I’ll be gone before he finds forgiveness.”

Though I couldn’t see him, I knew the second Wick tensed. The air crackled with his anger. “Don’t say that,” he growled.

I spun around to find Wick fighting with his wolf. His whole body vibrated, his fists shook and his eyes, when he didn’t have them squeezed shut, were bright yellow. I started to speak, but he cut me off.

“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t antagonize my wolf like that. It’s hard enough holding him back when you’re around as it is.” Sweat trickled down his face. When a Were’s animal wanted something, it pushed and pushed, forcing a change. Despite being a facet of the Were’s individuality and not a separate entity, the animal inside believed it could get what it wanted if it had control.

“Wick.” I wanted to tell him to be reasonable, but the wolf was beyond reason. Animals were instinctual, not practical. It wouldn’t help Wick to hear how there was no way I could stay and risk Lucien’s control over me strengthening, that I planned to clear my name, cut out the tracker and run away to lick my wounds. To hell with what my wolf or Wick’s wolf wanted.

Wick shook his head while I stood prone. I didn’t want to make it harder on him, but after the crappy night I had, the last thing I wanted to do was play submissive to placate Wick’s wolf. It would give him more power over me and make it more difficult for my wolf to keep detached. Maybe I could distract him.

“What’s your name?” The question poured out of my mouth before I had a chance to filter. “Your full name.”

Wick’s vibrating stopped, his internal struggle momentarily side-lined, and his head popped up. “Brandon,” he said. “Brandon James Wickard.”

“And you go by Wick?”

He snorted. “Well I couldn’t exactly use BJ as a nickname, now could I?”

A laughed escaped my lips. “So what do you do?”

“Do you mean for work?”

“Yes, for work.”

His eyes crinkled with amusement. “Why so interested?”

“I’m not.” Leaning against the wall, I tried to look casual, but doubted I pulled it off—too tense. “Only curious.”

“I’m a building developer.” He took a couple of steps toward me. A predatory gleam in his eye marked me as prey.

“You build stuff?”

“Not with my own hands. Not anymore.”

My eyes drifted to his hands and my thoughts flew to the gutter.
What else could he do with his hands?
My attention snapped back to Wick’s.
Busted!