Shift Happens (A Carus Novel Book 1) (26 page)

I’m glad you’re ok. Have you figured everything out?

On my way to clear my name now.

Good. Let’s get penis to celebrate.

A laugh escaped my lips before I could clamp my mouth shut. It drew raised brows from Allan and Clint. I ignored them and texted back, glad to not be the only one who struggled with new technology:
I’m not sure the men would approve.

Five minutes passed before I got her
response.
Noooooooooooo!!! That’s not what I meant! Pedis, not penis. PEDICURES. There’s a perverted old man in my phone. I didn’t type that!

I laughed, drawing dark stares from Clint, who had no idea what was going on and a lewd smile from Allan, who would’ve plucked it from my head. Hopefully that’s all he picked up.

Y
eah, ok,
I texted.
I’m down.

****

No deep sense of dread or foreboding consumed my thoughts like the last time I pulled up Lucien’s long impressive driveway, because this time I had what he wanted—Ethan’s name and the evidence to back it up. The trick would be to get out again without a new trumped up charge or task to keep me in his grasp.

The guards at the door dipped their heads as we approached.

“Lucien wishes to speak to her alone,” the guard said. His voice wavered a bit.

Clint and Allan stopped and exchanged a look over my head.

Allan turned to the guard that spoke. “Did he say why?”

The guard took in the glares of my escorts, clamped his mouth shut and shook his head. The men stared at one another in a silent eye game of Mexican Standoff, smelling of dead meat and nothing else. Not sure who won, but after a few seconds Clint gripped my upper arm and ushered me forward.

When we reached the doors to Lucien’s court, Clint spun me around, caressing my cheek with his finger.

Bite
, my wolf howled.

“Go. I’ll wait here to collect my prize.”

Faking a gagging sound, I smacked Clint’s hand away from my face and turned to the doors. Before I pushed them open, I glanced over at Allan whose lips turned up slightly at one corner in a determinedly amused expression.

“Any advice?” I asked.

Allan’s smile grew. “Don’t fuck it up.”

Laughing, I pushed the doors open and stepped through, letting them swing closed behind me before striding up the long walkway. I didn’t get far up the aisle to Lucien’s seat of power at the end, because we weren’t alone. A solid silhouette stood between me and the Vampire. Unsure of how to proceed, I stopped and waited for the vamp’s cue.

Lucien, sprawled in his giant seat worthy of a king, not bothering to hide his bored expression, straightened on my arrival. Standing at the other end of the room, the weight of his gaze hit me. “Come forward.”

When I hesitated, his eyes cut to the man in front of him. “Don’t be shy. He’s merely an envoy from a visiting horde.”

Shrugging, I started forward again, only to stop a few paces away when the envoy turned at Lucien’s pseudo introduction. I did a double take. The envoy had the face of an angel, but instead of making me think pure and godly thoughts, his appearance made me want to sin in every possible way. A little under six feet, he was solid muscle. Strong legs, shoulders and forearms gave him the physique of a professional rugby player—like the ones that played on the wing, not the chubby ones in the center. Rich black hair contrasted sharply with his sapphire blue eyes and full lips curled up in a dazzling smile that revealed even white teeth.

He walked confidently down the aisle in my direction, his movement too sleek and smooth to be a norm’s. Then his scent hit me. Citrus and sunshine, with something more; a hint of honeysuckle on a warm summer’s day mingled, danced and rolled over my skin, making me think of mojitos, and sex on the beach. Then the familiarity of it sank in.

My eyes narrowed.

Landen’s killer.

He stopped a few feet before me. His eyes closed to slits as he drew a deep breath in, savouring my scent like a fine wine. “You smell of the forest,” he purred.

My mountain lion preened in response. My wolf growled.
Interesting.

“I’m Tristan.” His eyes travelled up my body and made my knees wobble. His head tilted to the side. “And you are?”

His scent swirled around me, like distracting pheromones, encouraging me to act—I’ve never had the urge to dry hump more than at this particular moment. More potent than what I’d detected in Landen’s apartment and Ethan’s Vampire lair, this man’s scent called out to me, to my mountain lion. Every nuance licked my skin. Realizing my mouth hung open like a Venus flytrap, I snapped it shut.

“One of my minions,” Lucien interjected. Despite what he said and what it implied, I wanted to thank the vamp for butting in. Still incapable of speech, I sniffed the air, thanking the beast goddess my mountain lion scent hadn’t leaked out. Only my forest pine scent laced with attraction flittered about.

“What a shame.” Tristan’s eyes twinkled. He winked and walked past me.

I don’t think I breathed until I heard the door click behind me.

“Have you got your libido in check yet?” Lucien leaned forward as if to help me.

I waved him off. “I’m not buckling under raging hormones like some twihard teenager.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” He sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “What have you learned?”

“The envoy is Ethan’s, isn’t he?”

Lucien’s hands unlocked to grasp the armrests. “Yes.” His eyes flew to my mouth, waiting for me to speak again, to elaborate.

Excitement bubbled up in my chest at the missing piece to the puzzle, causing me to blurt out the truth. “Ethan Monroe issued the attack on Clint.”

“Proof?” Lucien’s eyes narrowed.

“That envoy killed my handler Landen. His scent is all over Landen’s apartment.”

“More.” Apparently, the older the Vampire, the less articulate in stressful situations.

Shrugging, I launched into a factual account of my investigation. Lucien sat back and closed his eyes, as if savoring the truth of my words in his mind. He didn’t have Allan present to validate my honesty. That surprised me. But Lucien was a master. He must have other tricks up his sleeve. Shivering, I barrelled through the last of the details, not wanting to think too much about Lucien’s capabilities.

“…and now I’m here,” I finished.

Lucien observed me while tapping his fingers on the ends of the armrest. Aside from that minute motion, he held the rest of his body still in the eerie way older Vampires could; like the truly dead, body rigid and stiff, eyes unblinking, heart not beating. When he spoke, his words surprised me. “Clint will be disappointed.”

Grunting, I placed my hand on my hip. “Not my problem.”

His eyebrow rose in what I hoped was amusement.

“So we’re good? My debt is paid?”

Lucien’s lips turned up. “No.”

“No?”
What the fuck?

“No.”

“But I did what you wanted.” That came out whinier than I planned.

“Yes.” He flipped a hand in the air, as if finding my response inconsequential. “And for that I will not give you to Clint as his new play thing
and
allow you to live.” He sounded annoyed, which made no sense to me because he was the one going back on our agreement.

“That wasn’t the deal.”

Lucien’s smile was slow and sly and I wanted to punch it off his face. “If you recall our first fateful meeting, my dear Andrea, you will realize that was precisely our deal.”

About to demand what the hell he’d been smoking, I clamped my mouth shut and thought back to our first fateful meeting. Images from the night flittered through my memory—Lucien acting like a douchebag, Lucien threatening life and limb, Lucien revealing Clint’s survival of my attack, Lucien running his cold finger down my face, Lucien saying,
And if you don’t provide me with answers in a week, you will be Clint’s new toy.
Fuck! I provided answers, so I wouldn’t be Clint’s, but that didn’t mean my debt to Lucien was cleared. My vision clouded with a red haze. A growl escaped my lips when I realized he was right. “Remind me to get our next deal in writing and to go over it with an expert legal team.”

“Next deal?” Lucien asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

“The deal we make for me to pay my debt to you for attacking Clint.”

“And if I don’t want to?”

“You have enough minions. You don’t need me.”

“Ah, but you are special. I enjoy collecting unique things.” Lucien’s lips puckered out in a pout, looking decisively child-like.

It took a lot of self-control to ignore the absurdity of that look and not comment on it, or attack him. I focused on his words instead. He collected unique things? Like Clint? As much as I wanted to solve the puzzle of “What The Fuck Is Clint,” now was not the time. “Name your price, Lucien. I’m not a collector’s item. I won’t be chained to you. I can’t be. The SRD considers it a Conflict of Interest.”

Lucien sighed and inspected his nails. “If you were my minion, you’d have no need for the SRD. But if you insist…” The clock ticked and ticked after his sentence trailed off. About to say something snide, I had to shut my mouth when he spoke up, “Bring me Ethan’s head.”

When I didn’t reply right away, Lucien looked up from his manicured fingernails. My mind blanked of all thought, then slowly, white hot rage consumed every neuron in my brain. I clenched my toes in my shoes and counted to ten. Then I counted to one hundred.

“You expect me to take down an entire horde of Vampires and a pride of Wereleopards?” I asked. I let it come out as pissed off as I felt.

“No. I only asked for Ethan’s head.”

I balked.

“I will send Wick to take care of the rest.”

“Only Wick?”

Lucien scoffed—a condescending sound that grated against my skin. “You mortals are so outrageous. Of course not. Wick will lead his pack and Allan will accompany him with his elite crew.”

“I’m sure they could take Ethan’s head.”

“Ah, but I want it to be you.”

“Booth.” The agent’s voice scratched my ear from the other end of the line when she answered the phone with her own name.

“It’s Andy.”

“McNeilly.” Her tone hardened. What was her problem? We weren’t exactly besties, but I thought we were on better terms than her crisp speech implied.

“Is this a good time?” I asked.

“No.” A long pause stretched, long enough for her to elaborate or throw me a bone for when I could call back, but she did neither.

“Okay…”

Another pause.

“When would be a good time?” I asked.

“I’ll call you.”
Click.

I stared at the receiver for a moment, dumbstruck the cow had hung up on me.

“What did the SRD say?” Wick’s voice pierced the silence.

I slammed the phone down on its charger and whirled around to find Wick leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed and his long frame filling up the small space.

“Apparently
Agent Booth
had more pressing things to discuss, so she’ll call me.” I tried to imitate her voice, but I couldn’t get the voice husky or deep enough.

Wick raised an eyebrow. “Does she sound that bad?”

“Worse.”

Wick shuddered and unfolded his long muscular frame to step into the room. “Why don’t you call your handler? What’s his name? O’Donnell?”

“Yeah that’s him. Wiley old coyote. I’d call him, except Booth demanded I report to her directly.”

“Have you checked your phone?”

“No, why?”

“Check it.” He sprawled on the bed, turned onto his side and propped his head on his hand.

I tapped my phone screen to discover I had missed a barrage of messages. Huh? I looked up at Wick. He waved me to go ahead and read them. It took me seconds to grasp the situation. “We’re going in tonight?” My voice came out flat.

Wick nodded.

“Doesn’t give me much time to prepare.”

“What do you need?”

Sighing, I thunked my head against the carpeted floor. “Nothing. Everything.”

“Not sure I can help with that.”

“I need to get my thoughts straight. Mentally prepare.”

“You are the big bad SRD assassin.”

“I used to be. Life with your pack is making me soft.” I held my hand up against Wick’s brilliant smile. “That’s not a compliment.”

“I’m still taking it as one.”

“Ugh. Alphas.” I stretched and got up. “Let’s hash out the details. That will help me get back into SRD mode.”

Wick sat up and patted the bed beside him. “Okay.”

His actions appeared innocent, but the sharp gleam in his eyes and not-quite-relaxed posture told a different story. I didn’t trust him and I didn’t trust myself. I pulled up a chair to sit across from him instead. “No hanky panky.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said.

I arched a brow.

“Ok. I do dream of it. Every night.” He gave me a knowing look. “Makes me hard.”

Ah fuck. I crossed my legs to clamp down the sudden longing manifesting at Wick’s words. “Brandon.”

Wick grunted and his whole body recoiled at the sound of his first name. Good.

“Behave,” I said.

He held his hands out in a supplicant gesture. “But I want you to relax and focus.”

I snorted. No need to elaborate on what he meant—the musky, coconut scent of desire came off him in waves and made the air in the room heavy with tension. “Relax, yes. Focus, no. I have no intention of attacking Ethan when I’ve been turned into a limp noodle.”

Wick’s smile widened.

Oh yeah, he knew the effect he had on me.
“Focus,” I snapped, but I spoke more to my humming libido than to Wick.

He scooted closer. “This might be our last day together, and I wish to savour it.”
I wish to savour you.
His silent words rebounded inside my head as if he spoke them out loud. Shivering, I cast my gaze down.

“If you’d prefer to
focus
, then I’ll respect that.”
And just dream of licking you all over. Tasting you. Loving you.
Wick’s voice caressed the inside of my head.

“Stop it!”

Wick straightened, his brows drawing together. “You heard that?”

Confused, I replayed what had just happened in my mind. My eyes snapped up to meet his. “Were you thinking dirty thoughts? Maybe I imagined it.” Wouldn’t be the first time.