Shift Happens (A Carus Novel Book 1) (3 page)

Never mind, no time to think about it now. I needed to outmaneuver them.

I turned east to where I’d left my car by one of the many park exits for a quick escape. If I could drive away, it would give me enough time to heal so I could shift into a falcon and fly. The Werewolves couldn’t track me then. Managing to weave through the leaves along the branches with a few wobbles, I made my way to where the trees thinned out near the end of the path below, the exit gate only half a football field away. Sniffing the air revealed no one upwind.

The tall grass in the undergrowth rustled. A twig snapped downwind. My breath caught.

Rodents scurried across the trail path. I exhaled.

No wolves in sight.

Shimmying down the tree, I got close enough to the ground to jump. Pain shot up my arm. My fur rippled from the discomfort. I hacked in response and limped toward the exit.

Thunder rolled, followed by an instant downpour of rain. A lone shape emerged from the dark in front of me. A growl bounced off the pathway. Too late, the wind changed again. Werewolf. Female.

Another one of my forms pawed inside my head.
Let me out
, she said.
I’ll take her.

I shooed her voice away.

My sleek feline body coiled, pain forgotten, survival instinct taking over. Ears back, I hissed in response.
Bring it, bitch
. The shewolf answered my challenge and slunk down the path toward me, teeth bared, fur slicked down by the heavy rain. Her gaze darted back and forth, no doubt looking for her pack. When she tilted her head back to call them, I sprang.

My body slammed into hers. We tumbled and rolled, body over body, fur over fur. She yelped when I sank my teeth deep into her back. Blood flowed into my mouth and coiled around my tongue. Wrapping my forelimbs around her, my sharp hind claws raked against her back and legs as I kicked, shredding open her skin. The smell of her blood saturated the air. She spun around, forcing my jaw to release its hold. I tried to bite down again and failed. Stronger than a natural wolf, she threw me off. I landed with a splash and slid along the path, now only twenty feet from the gate. The shewolf staggered, then collapsed in a bloody heap. She’d recuperate eventually. I needed to move.

I turned from the damaged shewolf and sprinted toward the parking lot.

Three more wolves stepped out of the dark shadows. The wolves slipped through sheets of rain, the water pelting against their fur and the path at their feet. I pulled up short. Water and blood ran down my shaking leg. My pulse thundered in my ears. I hissed at them.

They gave no warning and leapt in unison, one large furry motion. One landed on me, while the other two flanked my body before attacking. Teeth clashed and claws ripped. Sharp needles of pain lanced across my back, under my hip and along my shoulders. I rolled and thrashed around, trying to break their hold. One clawed at my back, latching on with its teeth. Another held my back leg between its sharp teeth, tearing skin. The last circled around, looking for an opening. The bitter scent of blood consumed the air, mingling with their excitement and the canned ham smell of my desperation.

A roll of thunder vibrated the air and the wolf on my back loosened his grip. I bucked him off, sending him flying into the others. My chance to escape. I only needed one. I ran.

They sprinted in pursuit, so close their fangs brushed my ankles. It tripped me, making me stagger. But I recovered. My mountain lion could outrun most supes. I kept moving, dodging their attempts to bring me down. I hurtled past trees and hurdled over fallen logs. I stumbled into a clearing and froze. The scent of more wolves in front of me slammed into my nose. A trap.

I spun around. Too late. The wolves behind me closed in, but didn’t attack. They didn’t need to. More of their pack poured into the clearing from the forest, surrounding me.

Dizzy and weak, I assessed my situation. Not good.
Let me out
, my other form whined inside my head.
Let me take them.

Stronger and more agile, my mountain lion stood a better chance against the angry Weres, so I ignored her and focused on the wolves around me. Their jaws snapped open and closed, flashing teeth that gleamed in the moonlight, and sputtering a frothy spray of saliva, but they waited. Their snarls and growls formed a solemn backbeat for the erratic hammering of my heart.

So this was it
. Werewolf dinner.
Fuck.
I cursed Feradea, the deity responsible for protecting Shifters, and braced for impact.

A large black wolf trotted into the clearing to confront me. He had a white-tipped snout, white boots and mitts and would have looked cute had he not been the most intimidating Werewolf I’d ever seen. Standing tall and solid, power rolled off of his body. His eyes bore into mine. I sniffed the air. The strong Werewolf scent of rosemary swirled around me, strong and seductive, laced with sugar. A weird fuzzy sensation spread out from my chest.
Whoa
.

Alpha.

My other form growled low, demanding release, straining against my skin. The energy of the wolves built—layers upon layers of excitement and impatience. The air pulsated with anticipation. They could sense the imminent kill.

Let me out!
My other form repeated, throwing her power against my built up walls, howling in defiance.

When the energy of the Werewolves surged, I finally released her. My wolf form flowed out fast, wiping out the feline in little more than a heartbeat. Smaller, weaker and the size of a natural wolf, a Shifter in this form was no match for a Werewolf, especially a dominant one. I had time to meet the eyes of the Alpha for only an instant before the pack leapt forward. My limbs shook. It went against every instinct ingrained within me, but I rolled onto my back—submissive.

I squeezed my eyelids shut and waited. Every muscle tensed. But the pack never reached me. Popping my eyes back open, I stared at the smooth belly of the alpha standing over my prone body, snarling a warning to his pack. All tension flowed out of my body in an unexpected release. My head felt suddenly light.

Holy crap, it worked.

Maybe I should thank Feradea. I relaxed, granted respite for the time being. There would be repercussions for my actions, but they’d have to wait. The adrenalin left my system, and the toll of my injuries consumed my body. As my vision faded to black, I wondered how I would escape the mess I’d just surrendered myself to.

When the haze weighing down my senses cleared, I realized I lay naked in a strange bed, which smelled of wolf, man and floral dryer sheets. I’d woken up dazed in a stranger's bed before, but this was no wild night out after binge drinking—no hung-over, vaguely attractive frat boy passed out beside me, and no slinking out the door to do the walk of shame before he woke up and asked for my number.

The coppery taste of blood clung to my mouth. I ran my tongue through my teeth repeatedly and swallowed, but it did little to clear my palate. I moved my head back and forth. A small whimper escaped my lips. I needed to test exactly how poorly everything operated. Wiggling my toes and fingers, I decided my body functioned, though stiff and sore.

Better than dead
. Opening my eyes did nothing to dull the throb of pain.

A dark shape moved to my left. Startled, I sat up in bed and instantly regretted it. My brain smacked against the inside of my skull and convulsed. Clutching my head, I squeezed my eyelids shut and sank back into the soft pillow with a groan.

“Easy.” A man’s voice splintered the silence.

The glare of sunlight filtered through the glass and burned my retinas. I squinted and took in my host. He sat by the window. The opaque drapes billowed out behind him, surrounding his body in a white glow as a strong wind gusted into the room. With blond hair cut short, chiseled features, and broad shoulders, a present day Norse God returned my appraising gaze. Attractive, to put it mildly. Though sitting, I could tell he was tall from his long, muscular legs stretched out in front of him. He sat relaxed, wearing dark jeans moulded to his body and a plain blue t-shirt with NAVY in big white block letters. His irises caught my attention, not blue like the Norse, instead, rich, chocolate brown.

The wind carried his scent to me; rosemary with an underlying tone of sugar swirled around, embracing me like a long lost lover. I stiffened. The alpha.

“How are you feeling?” His voice rolled over me, hinting at subtle power, chilled whiskey poured over warm cream. It sounded familiar.

“Like I was in a dog fight.”

“You were." His lip quirked as he looked me over. “Better than dead,” he echoed my earlier thoughts. “But you are healing slowly.”

Though comfortable in my own skin, in my several skins, the way he looked at me now made me wish I had clothes on. I pulled the thin sheets up, over my bare skin, and crossed my arms over my boobs. Shifters and Weres were used to being naked around others. Few held insecurities regarding their physiques because we all had great shapes from our increased calorie burning. Shifting took a lot of energy, and like it or not, shift happens.

The alpha’s dark gaze tracked every move I made, sending my heart rate into cardiac arrest danger zone, and not out of fear. I suddenly wanted to get closer and touch him.

“I’m not a Were,” I said. “The question is why I’m healing at all. Why wasn’t I ripped to shreds?” I dreaded the answer. I’d submitted to an alpha and in pack culture that gave him power over me. What he’d do with that power caused me the greatest concern. Not being a Were, I could break his control, but… A shiver racked my body. But I didn’t want to go through that again.

He shifted his weight in the seat. “When you are better, you will be asked some questions.” All Shifters and Weres could scent a lie. He spoke the truth, but he said it slowly as if avoiding something.

“By you?” I asked.

He relaxed. I wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t been keenly watching for a reaction. Not the right question then. “I would like you to answer a few of my questions before you answer Lucien Delgatto’s.”

Frowning, I tried to place the name. Then it hit me. “The vamp?”

“The Master Vampire of the Lower Mainland? Yes,
the
vamp.” He sounded amused.

“What does he want with me?” My brain hurt. My target had been a norm, so I hadn’t wasted time researching the local supes in the area. I’d taken a cursory glance, and knew a bit from living nearby, but now I regretted my haste. I didn’t know how Clint, the alpha and Lucien linked together and I needed to figure the connection out. I had a feeling my health depended on it.

“That will become apparent. I am not to speak more of it,” he said in a flat voice, not sounding thrilled about the situation. The formal phrases and his occasional inability to use contractions gave him away as an older Werewolf. Maybe a couple hundred years old? Some Werewolves found adapting their speech to current times more difficult than Vampires. Go figure.

“You’re following orders out of the goodness of your heart?” Somehow I found it unlikely. Alphas were a law unto themselves.

His jaw tightened. “I follow orders because I have to. He’s my master.”

“But you’re an alpha. The leader of a pack.”

“His animal to call is a wolf.” He bit it out. A vein in his forehead puckered out, pulsating.

Clarity hit me like a three hundred pound wrestler with a grudge. A Master Vampire’s word reigned absolute over his subjects. And as his animal to call, this alpha and all the wolves in his pack, fell into that category. Now I knew the connection between him and Lucien. But how did Clint factor into everything? I glanced at the alpha. He couldn’t go against Lucien’s orders even if he wanted to, which meant I wouldn’t get any more information out of this Werewolf.

I lay back in bed with a groan. “Is that why he wants to speak with me? Another minion to add to his horde?”

The alpha leaned in. “He did not ask me if you were a wolf.”

My ears perked up.

“I would hold closely to one of your other forms when you speak with him.”

Exactly what I planned to do. “Why would you protect my identity from him?”

He shifted his weight, his gaze cut away. “He has enough wolves enslaved to his purpose. He does not need another.”

Truth, but again I had the impression he left something out.

“What are your questions?”

He smiled and leaned back. “Your name?”

I laughed. Normally this would be an easy question to answer, but as a government assassin, my identity remained one of my biggest secrets. “Andy,” I told him.

He straightened in his chair. “Short for Andrea, I assume?”

“Only if you’re my mother.”

He chuckled.

“And you are?” I asked.

“My apologies. I should have introduced myself earlier. You can call me Wick.”

Clint’s guard. The one he hadn’t waited for the night I killed him. Another piece to the puzzle, but it still didn’t tell me how Clint fit in with the Werewolves and Vampires. I leaned forward. “Short for Wicked, I assume?”

Wick laughed out loud. “Short for Wickard, my last name.”

I settled back against the soft pillows. “Fairly easy round of questioning,”

“I’m not done.”

“My last name is off limits,” I stated, anticipating what he would ask next. Staying invisible and nameless comprised one of my most important job requirements.

His lips twitched. “That wasn’t it, but I can easily find out.”

“With your superior telepathic skills?”

He grunted, which I found kind of sexy. “I have many skills, but that is not one of them.”

His knowing look made me want to fidget with the blanket. I suppressed the urge, very aware I lay in a bed which smelled of him.

I looked around, mainly to break the eye contact and take in more of the room. The walls, painted a sage gray, gave the room a serene sanctuary feeling. A painting of rocks in a hazy forest hung in the centre of the main wall, decorating an otherwise unadorned room. The space had a tranquil quality. A large dresser, overflowing with large articles of clothing reeking of Wick, told me this space belonged to him.