Shift Happens (A Carus Novel Book 1) (2 page)

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.

“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.

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?