Shift Happens (A Carus Novel Book 1) (4 page)

Good mate,
my wolf huffed.

What the heck? Where’d that come from?
My wolf hadn’t spoken like that since Dylan. And boy, had she been wrong. I shushed her and focused on Wick’s chocolate eyes.

“What are you?” he whispered.

A norm would’ve missed his question. I jolted in the bed and my attention zoomed back to his face. “That’s a rude question.”

It wasn’t really. There were a lot of possibilities and eighty years post Purge, we were all “out of the closet” so to speak. Most supe groups were relieved to be out of hiding after centuries of censorship. I wasn’t. A price existed for such exposure. I felt like my date had walked out of the restaurant and left me with a bill I couldn’t pay.

Wick shrugged. “We’re both supes. It’s a moot point.”

“A Shifter.” I squirmed, the urge for clothing palpable. But it would be a sign of weakness to admit being uncomfortable naked in his presence. Not wanting to give Wick any further control over me, I bit my tongue.

“With three forms? A cougar, a…”

“A mountain lion,” I interrupted.

The corners of his mouth twitched. “Sweetheart, from what I heard about your performance last night, you are worthy of both names.”

I gave him a flat stare and ignored the increase in my heart rate.

“My apologies.” He cleared his throat before continuing. “A mountain lion, some sort of bird…” He paused to give me the opportunity to enlighten him. I didn’t. He forged on, “And the most delectable gray wolf.”

If my wolf could purr, she would have.
Good mate,
she repeated.

I fidgeted under his gaze. The way he said delectable made it sound like I was some sort of chocolate sundae. My cat hacked, not impressed.

“How is that possible?” he asked.

I shrugged. The hell if I knew. He stared for a while, most likely trying to gauge whether I would say more on the subject or not. My skin itched to run. I’d rather have one of my canines pulled out by a dentist school drop-out than elaborate.

“Where are your feras?” He changed tactics.

“Now that
is
a rude question.”

Wick shrugged.

Feras were the animal familiars Shifters bonded to. Every Shifter I met bonded to one and only one. The bond allowed Shifters to take the same shape as their fera. These animals accompanied Shifters through life and communicated with their Shifter through the bond. They were magical and once bonded, lived as long as the Shifter. I always wondered how bear Shifters managed to stay concealed during the pre-Purge era. They must’ve lived in rural areas. A black bear couldn’t stroll around the city unnoticed.

Of course, if I’d grown up with the lore passed down from generation to generation, I’d know all about it, but all my information came from the internet. I’d been born during the first year of the Purge, when gun-toting norms took out an estimated ninety percent of Shifters by offing their feras. Those volatile years also claimed the life of my birth parents. Or so the adoption agency claimed. Working for the government gave me a different perspective of the
truth
.

I hadn’t walked into the forest to find one animal. I found three. But something went wrong during the bonding process. One touch and they evaporated, as if my soul sucked them into my body. I had no feras to walk with me through life and keep me company, save the voices in my head.

I wouldn’t answer Wick’s question. Couldn’t. Asking about a Shifter’s fera was a sensitive topic. The death of the animal meant the death of the Shifter. They were every Shifter’s strength and every Shifter’s vulnerability.

No one had ever witnessed my multiple forms and lived to tell the tale. Until now. The exposure of my secret made my heart sink in my chest. I couldn’t take out a whole pack of Werewolves and everyone they told. Social media was a bitch.

“Fine,” Wick said. “I’m sure we’ll spot them eventually. They’d be safer inside with us.”

I clamped my mouth shut, willing myself to remain silent. He didn’t need to know I had no physical feras.

Wick stood up and stretched. His shirt pulled up a little and revealed a taut six pack. I had the biggest urge to lick them.

Huh? I frowned. Not the appropriate response. I should be thinking about incapacitating him to escape.

He peered down at me. “It goes without saying that you will be guarded at all times.” He shut the window and locked it with a key. “All the windows in the house are Were-proof. You’ll injure yourself more if you try to break through them.”

I grunted and shut my eyes. Of course, imprisoned in a Were house. These buildings were pretty damn close to indestructible and near impossible to break out using strength—a must for house training new Weres. They could get pretty uncontrollable. Good thing I never counted on brute force to get me out of trouble.

“Is there anything I can get you?” he asked.

“Clothes,” I said without thinking.

A shadow passed over me. My eyes flew open. Wick leaned in and placed a hand on each side of my head. Bracing his weight, he bent closer. A smile tugged at his lips, now inches away from my own. His white teeth flashed. “Nervous?”

“You wish.” Butterflies danced the mamba in my stomach. Oh God, he totally nailed it.

His face darkened and he lowered his body. His peppermint breath brushed my face. “You should be.”

A shiver ran through my body at the promise in his words.

Looking good enough to dry hump, Wick leaned against the hallway wall with his arms crossed when I emerged from the bedroom. After providing me with the unofficial uniform of Weres and Shifters everywhere—sweatpants and a t-shirt—he’d been a gentleman and opted to wait outside while I changed. Ridiculously large on me, the clothes smelled of Wick. He masked me in his deliciously rich scent, marking me as his to prevent his pack from attacking.

My cheeks grew warm. I’d submitted to him in wolf form. Did Wick protect me out of obligation as the alpha, to keep me in one piece for Lucien or because he had other designs on me? Ones that involved limbering up and a whole lot of nakedness.

Get a hold of yourself, woman!

While I thought of Wick’s potential motivations, I’d enjoyed the privacy to dress. There’d been nowhere to go anyway, save the ensuite bathroom. A pleasant surprise. By the time Wick left me to change, I needed to
go
. Badly. Damsels in distress never had inconvenient bodily functions, such as a full bladder, in any of the novels I read. This convinced me either I was not a damsel in distress or those books were full of shit.

Probably both.

Then I realized Wick had never asked me about my employer. Did he know I worked for the SRD? Did he assume? As an SRD agent exacting justice on behalf of the government, I should never be held against my will. But some supe groups were so anti-authority, they’d as soon kill me as release me. Did Wick fall into that category? If Wick wouldn’t ask, I wouldn’t tell.

Now standing outside the bedroom, I continued to ignore Wick to look around. The hallway revealed four doors, solid oak, stained dark, hiding whatever lay beyond. Carpeted stairs led down to another level, probably equipped with an interrogation room. The air smelled crisp and clean with a faint scent of pine cleaner.

Wick cleared his throat and nodded at the stairs. “Shifters first.” His warm voice caused my body to start walking before I processed what he said. Fucking alphas.

He’s probably checking out my ass.
Part of me wanted to put more swagger in my step, a little fuck-you-for-looking, but the other part didn’t want him to think I tried to impress him. A stiff and stilted march resulted.
Was he laughing at me?
When I looked over my shoulder, Wick’s serene expression gave nothing away. His chocolate brown gaze appropriately fixed on my head. He raised his eyebrows.

Shaking my head, I went back to my march. The landing at the base of the stairs opened to a large living area filled with natural light. The large bay windows clamped shut, probably for my benefit, left the air stale. The serene taupe colour scheme of the room, accented with crisp white trim and dark espresso furnishings, belied the wild nature of the resident. Wick’s house, without a doubt, his scent imbedded everywhere, in everything.

Three members of his pack sprawled in lounge chairs and on a large L-shaped couch. And they were his, each with their own unique scent mingled with Wick’s. At our entrance, their bodies tensed and straightened. I wrinkled my nose. A norm might detect the faint smell of shampoo or soap, but nothing more. Werewolves never wore scented perfume or aftershave. It assaulted their senses more than it did mine. To a Shifter’s nose, or a Werewolf's, the room smelled full of wolves—wet dog and rosemary.

“Why isn’t she dead?” asked a woman with a menacing look curled up in a large armchair.

I gave the woman a flat stare and looked her over. She sported short black hair spiked up. The black painted nails and sour expression gave the impression she hadn’t progressed past her years of teenage angst. She looked around twenty-five, though hard to tell with Werewolves. Her scent gave her away as the shewolf I had mauled to get to the gate.

“Why aren’t you?” I asked.

She growled and repositioned herself in the chair, getting ready to spring.

“Ladies,” Wick’s voice warned.

We both grunted and then, realizing we had the same reaction, glared at each other. The other two wolves in the room remained seated. Their relaxed posture could fool a norm, but they tracked every small movement of mine.

A short black man with piercing amber irises assessed me with open hostility. I could smell his hatred from where I stood. He was solid, built like a tank.

The other Werewolf, a lanky male with flaming red hair and ice blue eyes, had a face faintly speckled with freckles. He didn’t give off any anger, but he rose from his seat and placed himself between me and Wick.

“Let me introduce you to some of my pack,” Wick said. The other two stood up to join us. Wick pointed at each one and named them.

“Ryan.” The ginger nodded to acknowledge his name. “Ryan is my second,” Wick explained.

“John.” Wick pointed at the black man who clenched his jaw and balled his hands into fists. What was his problem?

“…and Jess.” Wick’s voice softened when he spoke her name.

“That’s Jessica to you,” she said in a hard flat voice.

Wick didn’t look alarmed or reprimand her; instead, his lips tugged up at one corner. He had a soft spot for this one.

Biting the urge to flip them off, I ground my teeth and managed to bite out, “Pleasure.”

From Ryan’s snort, I knew my tone came across sarcastically. It wasn’t a delight to meet them, not at all. My chances of escape decreased severely with their presence. In a one-on-one fight, I’d put money on my mountain lion against a Werewolf any day. But three? I knew my limits. I was outnumbered and outgunned.

“This is Andy.” Wick gestured to me.

“That’s Andrea to you,” I added, proving I could be equally as childish. Wick grunted, but he didn’t make any comments about my mother. Thank God.

“She will be our guest for the next couple of days while she mends,” Wick said.

“Guest?” Jessica asked in disbelief.

“He means prisoner,” I said. A spade was a spade, after all.

“She will be treated as a guest…” Wick restated before I had a chance to add anything. “But she will be guarded at all times and not allowed to leave.”

“So a prisoner minus the torture and uncomfortable accommodations?” Jessica’s dark tone made it clear she disapproved of the distinction.

“Yes,” Wick said.

“Christine’s not going to like it,” John said.

“Christine doesn’t have a say,” Wick replied.

Who the fuck’s Christine?
Not liking the sudden hollow feeling in my chest, I swallowed and kept silent.

“What happens in a couple of days?” Ryan asked, his voice a husky rasp.

“She goes to see Lucien.”

All three of Wick’s Werewolves flinched. Ryan shot me a sympathetic look and John didn’t look as pissed off as before. Jessica’s face transformed into an expressionless mask. She looked away.

My stomach knotted and my throat constricted.
Great.
Meeting Lucien now made the top of my
Things I Don’t Want To Do
list.

“And then what?” Ryan asked.

Wick sighed and shrugged. “We’ll see.”

I didn’t like the sound of that. If I came out of the Lucien meeting alive, I planned to go on my merry way. Tra-la-la.

“I need to go to work to check on a few things.” Wick paused and looked around the room. Satisfied with what he saw, namely the lack of escape routes if I had to guess, he continued, “You three are to remain here and keep a close eye on her. The doors and windows stay closed and locked at all times.”

Jessica’s head snapped up. “Why?” she demanded to know. “It’s already stuffy in here.”

“Because I said so.” Wick spoke softly, but the dominance in his voice rolled across the room. I felt it and I wasn’t pack. Jessica’s body snapped to attention. I all but expected her to roll on her back and expose the soft, vulnerable tissue of her belly and neck, or start licking his face in supplication.

She merely nodded and Wick appeared satisfied with her response. Too bad.

Wick turned to me and his hand flashed out. I flinched, expecting a strike, but he gently ran a finger down my cheek. Looking at his tense mouth, I knew he’d seen my initial reaction, but he didn’t comment on it. Instead, his body relaxed and he spoke softly, not soft enough to keep it from the others, but enough to give a pretense of privacy. “Behave.”

A shiver ran down my spine as if thousands of leaf-cutter ants danced along it.

Wick straightened and gave his pack members one last meaningful look. “Ryan, I would like a word with you before I go.”

Ryan nodded and followed him out of the room. To avoid checking out Wick’s backside, I turned to face the two Werewolves in the room who openly despised me—the gruesome twosome—and no visible escape routes.

The stare Jessica cast me before sitting down on the chair irritated me, like an ill-fitting sweater from a used clothing store. Instead of offering me her exposed back, she opted for a backwards stride to make it to her seat. It looked ridiculous.