The Burning Bush (17 page)

Around fifty Shifters were on their hands and knees, wearing brown flea collars and green G-strings. A white
S
was painted on their backs, labeling them as Scruffs. It was the name the fraternity gave to all the pledges.
And to think these guys paid for this humiliation.
Most who didn’t make it this year would return to next fall’s initiation. A few of the Scruffs glanced at Cassie and me. One went as far as licking his lips and puffing out his chest. While it was pretty funny to look at, it still made me step in front of Cassie.

MeShack lounged on a large black desk with one leg propped up and the other hanging toward the ground. A cowboy hat concealed his hazel eyes. He wore jeans and a jade fraternity jacket with no shirt, exposing a good bit of gorgeous abdominals. In his hand, he held a mahogany cane with carvings of sprinting cheetahs around the shaft.

“You come here to apologize?” MeShack banged the cane against the desk in a drumming pattern.

“Nope,” I said. “And with the way my bathroom looks, you’re pretty damn lucky I let you live.”

One of the Scruffs gasped and appeared as if he was struggling to breathe.

For Shango’s sake, he is not really a king!

“I’m sorry about your bathroom.” MeShack’s lips curled up at the edges, exposing top and bottom fangs. “But it’s probably one of the few things I am sorry about.”

“Can I talk to you alone?” I set my hands on my hips, already regretting our exchange.

“Scruff Number Two!” MeShack yelled.

The guy shot up to his feet in a second. “Yes, big brother King Cheetah.”

“We have two honored guests,” MeShack announced. “Get them some refreshments.”

Scruff Number Two raced upstairs, almost knocking us into the wall.

“That’s unnecessary, King Cheetah.” I struggled not to snort.

MeShack ignored me. “Scruffs!”

I groaned, rubbing my forehead with the palms of my hands. Cassie’s face lit up as all the guys jumped to their feet.

“No, Cassie. Do not look excited,” I whispered. “It’s just going to motivate MeShack even more.”

“But what is he going to get them to do?” she asked, sounding like a kid at the Supe circus for the first time.

MeShack leaped off the desk. “Scruffs, your King is bored.”

King? Did he really just say that?
I snorted loudly. Two Scruffs shot me murderous glares.
Excuse me for mocking his royal highness.

“Entertain my guests and me,” MeShack ordered.

“Dance combo fifty-five,” the tallest Scruff hollered.

“No.” I waved my hands in the air. “Please. No dance combo anything.”

Fur sprouted from all the guys’ skins, covering their bodies in stripes or spots. They twisted, clapped, leaped, and then began to sing in unison, “We’ll start as Scruffs, but we’ll end as Kappas until we die.”

Body parts slipped out of their G-strings, and I couldn’t hold the laughter in.

“We bleed green and brown for our brothers!” they sang.

Cassie hooted as two Scruffs began doing back flips by her. She clapped enthusiastically as the Scruffs marched in a circle around us. She snapped some pictures and proclaimed, “My article is going to be the top feature this school year.”

“I actually want to see this article.” I giggled as a hand stroked my arm.

MeShack appeared at my side, too close for comfort, with furrowed eyebrows and glowing hazel eyes. “Why are you here? You hate this stuff.”

“I need to check the Pound Chart for a name.” I walked behind MeShack as we left Cassie and the Scruffs singing in the basement’s main room.

“Whose name do you need to check on the chart and why?” MeShack asked with a puzzled expression.

I explained the entire Rivera situation, telling MeShack I volunteered to solve the case, instead of providing him the truth about being blackmailed. I also told him about my discoveries at Onyx’s and Vee’s apartments.

“Is Zulu giving you Rebel guards while you investigate this?” he asked as we stepped into a new basement room with athletic equipment.

“Of course. There are a bunch of Rebels following me around the whole time I check this out,” I said. Although I didn’t see any, I was sure they were around somewhere.

“I don’t like this.” He halted and faced me.

“You never do.”

We stared each other down for a few seconds, which was hard to do since he towered over me like a hulking monster. MeShack targeted me with a glowering expression complete with fangs. I beamed pure innocence back at him.

No big deal, MeShack. Just a little murder case.
“So, will you show me where the chart is again? I know it’s down here somewhere.” I scanned the walls. “My memory is fuzzy on the location since I was drunk the last time you showed me.”

He retracted his fangs.

“Was that the night we had sex on the roof?” He removed his cowboy hat and set it on my head. “Or was it when I had you bent over the basement steps, screaming my name?”

I ignored his questions and returned his hat to him. “Will you show me, please?”

“Wear the hat for a little while, and I’ll take you there.” He kissed my brand and gently placed the hat back on my head. “Just humor me. Let me pretend I’ll have you in my bed tonight.”

“Oh please, you’ll have plenty of women in your bed tonight.” I kept the stupid hat on as I followed him out of the athletic area and into a wine cellar jam-packed with beer. He paused in the middle of the room, but didn’t face me as the door slammed behind us.

“La La, I’m sorry about last night. I’d planned on just talking to you about how stupid it was for you to be involved in that bombing, but . . .” Claws burst out of the fingertips of his right hand. MeShack instantly placed them in front of him and out of my view. “I smelled your arousal when I stepped into your bedroom . . . and then I heard you moaning.”

I shifted my weight onto my other foot. “MeShack—”

“I get that you have a boyfriend now, but I don’t have to like it, especially when he puts you in fucked-up situations.”

“I told you last night. The Rebels were going to do worse,” I insisted. “Zulu and I jumped in to make sure they didn’t kill anybody.”

“Two months ago, the Lanore I know would have figured out a peaceful alternative,” MeShack countered and faced me in a flash. “But now that you’re with Zulu, you always react with violence.”

“It’s not Zulu. A lot has happened since two months ago. I had a murderer stalking me, and many people have died around me.”

“Zulu is a psycho with anger issues.”

“I could say the same about you.” I raked my fingers through my dreadlocks, already tired of this conversation. “Don’t tell me that what you did last night wasn’t violent and ridiculous.”

“Not counting last night, I’ve been good for weeks.” He pointed to my arm. “I didn’t kill him when he marked you with those cords.”

“Not killing Zulu doesn’t get you an award or off my shit list.”

“Fine.” The gold flecks in MeShack’s eyes flared. “I won’t hurt him. And I’ll try my best not to fight him again, as long as he doesn’t involve you in anymore Were-bullshit.”

“There won’t be any more bombs,” I muttered.

“Good. Then I won’t bother Zulu.”

“Thanks.”

He bit his bottom lip. “You deserve to be loved and cherished while I go through my Season.”

Huh? Did we just change topics?

“What does that mean?” I raised one eyebrow. “Why does it matter what I’m doing during your Season?”

MeShack tilted his upper body in my direction, shifting his eyes to feline and releasing a predatory growl from his throat. “Because when I’m done with my Season, Zulu will need to back the fuck off my mate.”

I swallowed as a tremor of fear passed through me. Season was the name for Shifters’ second phase of puberty. It lasted for seven to ten years. During this phase, the Shifters’ inner beast slowly began to mature, causing an increase of hormones in their bodies. Basically, Shifters in Season were horny and constantly humping anyone they could get their paws on.

There was no scientific data to support the Shifters’ lust-driven craze. Nonetheless, the Shifter Council had created all types of special laws to excuse Shifters during their Seasons. Many Shifter criminals even pleaded the
Season Defense
for rape and sexual assault charges, and most of them won their cases. Thankfully, the
Season Defense
could not be used for pedophilia and incest, although the council always seemed to avert their attention when the pedophilia victim was a Mixie child.

“We should never have started a relationship during my Season. Then I wouldn’t have messed up and cheated on you.” MeShack turned around and guided me to the back of the cellar and around a lit corner.

“I told you we should wait until after your Season was over.”

“Well,” he said in a defeated tone. “I didn’t want to.”

Me neither.

MeShack’s and my getting together had been unavoidable. Our parents had been drug buddies. MeShack and his mother moved in with me and my dad when we were both nine years old, and we’d lived together ever since. There weren’t many moments we didn’t spend together. So when we matured, our bonded relationship bloomed into an all-consuming desire. It was hard to be around him. Day-to-day things, like bumping into him in the hallway as he prowled around in a towel, were difficult. His habit of getting into my bed after he had nightmares became unendurable.

No. I didn’t want to wait either.

“What are you thinking about?” MeShack glanced over his shoulder.

“Nothing.” I stepped around him.

“You’re lying. I can tell. Your heartbeat sped up.”

“You heard wrong.” I smirked with my back to him.

The Pound Chart hung in front of us. It was a huge wooden board with hundreds of tacked-in pictures, scores, comments, and color-coded ratings. The chart hung from the top of the ceiling, ended at the floor, and stretched as wide as the cellar wall.

“Damn.” I shook my head. “You guys have been busy since I’ve last seen this.”

“I know, right?” He beamed with pride.

“You all are a bunch of womanizers, you know.” I slung a tiny fireball at him.

He dodged it and chuckled. “We can’t help ourselves. We’re in our Seasons.”

“Whatever.” I headed over to a plastic ladder with wheels on the bottom. A lever attached to its side. “The name I’m looking for is Shelly Winters.”

“Shelly should be on the top right with the other S-names.” He pulled off his jacket and slung it over a huge stack of empty beer boxes. What was left to my view was bulging muscles under copper-toned skin.

“Must you not wear a shirt?” I sucked my teeth.

“I have you alone in a cellar where no one can hear you call for help. You’re lucky I still have my pants on.”

“You’re like a romantic serial killer.”

“Very funny. Look over there, the lever next to the ladder lifts the wheels’ brakes.” MeShack pointed to it. I climbed up the ladder, spotting the
S
first names immediately.

“You do know that Shelly has had sex with half of the fraternity, right?” MeShack scaled the ladder until he was right behind me, making my body tense. “She’s hooked up with pledges, frat brothers, even alumni. I’m talking old, wrinkled Shifter members that come back to party with us during homecoming.”

His body lightly pressed into mine. I tried to ignore the tingling sensation spreading and heating my body as he came even closer and molded himself against my behind.

“I don’t think this ladder can hold us both,” I warned.

“It can hold us,” he replied in a hoarse voice.

“Do you have to be right behind me?”

“Definitely.”

“Horny cat.” I stepped up two rungs, searched for Shelly’s name, and found her. There were so many names in her box the frat brothers had tacked on four stapled sheets with
Shelly Winters Continued
as the header. Columns of names packed the extra sheets.