Shifters Gone Wild: A Shifter Romance Collection

by Skye MacKinnon

Ketha’s a wolf shifter and a seer, for all the good it does her. Not enough magic is left to power much of anything. In a rare victory, an image forms in her glass, and she understands how magic broke the world—and how to fix it. The only antidote is an alliance with vampires, but she can’t convince anyone to cooperate.

  Desperate and trapped, she turns what’s left of her magic on the Vampire assigned to lock her away. He’s different, not quite as callous or aloof as his kin. It’s a gamble, but she’s out of options. Maybe magic can’t bail them out, but love might be able to salvage what’s left.

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © January 2017, Ann Gimpel

  Edited by: Kate Richards

  Copy Editor: Nannette Sipe

  Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or people living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, e-mail, or web posting without written permission from the author.

  Created with Vellum

  Cataclysm

  A splintered sign sits under faded wooden archways looking out on Ushuaia Harbor. On the rare clear day, you can still see El Fin del Mundo—the end of the world—inscribed on its bleached planks.

  The ass end of South America has always been a lonely place, desolate and at the mercy of incessant winds howling through the Tiera del Fuego Mountains. But the sky used to be gray, and the ocean blue. Not anymore. Even the snow isn’t white but a murky mixture of puke green and sickly violet. It covers everything year-round since the weather patterns changed too, yielding perpetual winter.

  During those early months after the Cataclysm formed an impenetrable blockade around Ushuaia, everyone blamed everybody else. Shifters claimed it was the Vampires’ fault. Vamps said Shifters spawned the destruction. Humans caught undercurrents of sketchy magical dealings between Vampires and Shifters, so enchanted trickery may have been the lynchpin that unraveled the world.

  After about two years, the blame game played itself out. No one cared anymore, and it didn’t up the odds of survival as resources grew scarce.

  People—magical and human alike—tried to leave Ushuaia after the Cataclysm. Malevolent tempests—the same ones that turned the sky gray black and the ocean red—attacked everyone who braved the barrier. No one ever returned.

  Food and water have become huge problems. Rustic desalination pumps converted salt water until it became too poisonous to consume. Runoff from nearby mountains is suspect, but it’s all that’s left. Nothing lives in the ocean, and constant storms, coupled with bad water and scarce food, have killed off much of the local animal population.

  Locating humans to drain has become close to impossible, so Vampires have grown far less picky, resorting to consuming blood any way they can get it. Soon, not even a rat will be left.

  Shifters and humans formed an uneasy alliance in Ciudad de Huesos, City of Bones. Neither group trusts the other, but their shared hatred of Vampires has been a potent motivator. Humans barter vegetables for protection and a magical assist from the Shifters so they can keep producing food. Nothing grows without water, though. Sooner rather than later, there will be no more harvests.

  City of Bones is an apt name for Ushuaia since its streets are choked with them. Vampires clawed their way to the top of the heap and remained there, their toehold unbreakable. Didn’t cost them much. After the Cataclysm, they drained everyone who stood in their way, making new Vamps to swell their ranks and killing those who proved too much trouble. Shifters considered fighting back, but they were too few. As a hedge against unfavorable odds, they concealed themselves with magic and focused their energies on keeping as many humans alive as they could.

  Hell Yeah, It’s the Shifters’ Fault

  “Get out here.” Raphael didn’t raise his voice. No need. Vampires had exceptional hearing.

  Viktor Gaelen hustled into the room where his sire sat at a scarred rolltop desk, checking things off on a list. Fuming at being reduced to little better than a servant, Viktor growled, “What?” Before he got any more words out, a knock boomed from the far end of the suite of rooms.

  Viktor sprinted for the door to avoid the temptation to tell Raphael he could find himself another butler. Those conversations never ended well.

  Two dark-haired Vampires sauntered inside, their mouths dotted with dried blood. One angled a foot and kicked the door shut. Both stood at attention. Beyond the dried-blood smell, the sour tang of fear oozed from them.

  They’d apparently been summoned. No one showed up voluntarily looking as guilty and cowed as this pair.

  Viktor nodded their way and headed back toward the bedroom where he’d been calculating one more plan to move himself and a ship he had in dry dock through the barrier holding Ushuaia prisoner. Pages of math equations covered a table where he worked, but he wasn’t concerned about Raphael deciphering them. If the old Vampire had gone to school, it was before the birth of modern calculus in the 1600s.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Raphael asked in the deadly quiet tone Viktor associated with danger.

  “Back there.” Viktor jerked his chin at the door leading to the apartment’s inner rooms.

  “No. You’re not.”

  Viktor didn’t reply. Telling his sire to fuck off wasn’t on the menu. Those conversations never went well, either.

  Raphael stalked to the two Vampires standing near the door, an iron saber trailing from one hand.

  Viktor blinked and looked again, wondering if he was hallucinating, but the sword was still there. The blade lived in one of the inner rooms. Raphael must have moved it in anticipation of whatever was about to unfold.

  “Where have you two been?” Raphael asked, the words silky smooth but threaded with the same compulsion Vamps used to lure their victims.

  “Here and there,” one of the Vampires answered.

  “Could you narrow it down?” Raphael took a step nearer his minions.

  Viktor balled his hands into fists. He knew what was coming, saw it in the eagerness spilling from his sire. He shouldn’t watch, but unless he shut his eyes—a gesture sure to draw Raphael’s attention—he didn’t have a choice. In addition to being a bloodthirsty pig, Raphael liked an audience.

  The other Vampires weren’t stupid. In a lightning-fast move, one twisted and made a grab for the doorknob. Before he could turn it, Raphael hefted the blade, swinging it laterally. Its sharp edge cleaved through flesh, bone, and sinew with a sharp cracking sound, and the Vamp’s head rolled from his shoulders. Blood sprayed from severed vessels, painting a macabre pattern on the walls and floor.

  Viktor breathed shallowly to lessen the stench of blood, shit, and urine, but his stomach still twisted painfully. Bile burned the back of his throat.

  The other Vampire fell to his knees, hands clasped in supplication and eyes so wide, white showed all around the irises.

  “Where have you been?” Raphael repeated in a bland, conversational tone.

  “Feeding from your prisoners. I’m sorry, sire. We were so hungry. It won’t happen again. You have my word.”

  Viktor blanched. Christ. Talk about a capital crime. Why had the Vamps even shown up here? They’d have been better off running for the hills. At least until they hit the barrier.

  “Your word isn’t worth much.” Raphael sounded almost cheerful as he swung the blade a second time.

  Viktor stood, rooted in place. Would he be next? Raphael was arbitrary and capricious, and he loved killing.

  “Fucking coward. Get moving.” Raphael prodded Viktor with the business end of the blade. “Don’t let all that blood go to waste. I made them. I can’t feed from them, but you can.”

  Viktor shambled forward, blood hunger doing battle with nausea as he latched onto a geysering car
otid. The queasiness would fade. It always did as soon as blood hit his stomach.

  “Better.” Raphael’s voice cut through the haze that settled around Viktor’s mind as he fed. “When you’re done, clean up the mess.” He dropped the sword next to Viktor and returned to his desk as if nothing had happened.

  Viktor tossed the last bucket of bloody seawater out an open window. He’d had to hustle water up from the bay, two buckets at a time, cursing Raphael with every single step. Other Vamps had shown up and claimed the corpses, hauling them off to finish draining them elsewhere. Viktor had struck a deal with them. Blood in exchange for transport. It simplified his cleaning chores.

  Raphael hadn’t moved from his desk. He dipped an old-fashioned quill pen into an inkwell filled with something murky and continued with whatever he was writing.

  Viktor glanced at the ornate iron sword he’d balanced against one wall after cleaning blood off its blade. He wanted nothing more than to snatch it up and behead his sire. Wanting and doing were two different things, though. According to Vampire lore, hideous consequences would ensue if he had the balls to raise so much as his little finger against the one who’d made him.

  Raphael set the pen down and stood. He paced from one side of the lavishly decorated room to the other, his silence more menacing than idle conversation would have been. In the years since Viktor had become Raphael’s minion, he’d observed three basic modes: patronizing lectures, blood frenzy, and silence. The latter was the worst because it was hard to gauge what lay behind it.

  Or what would come next.

  Lightning blitzed across the corner of his vision, splitting a sky that had shaded to dark gray. Muted booms rocked the building. Was today when it would finally crumble, joining several of Ushuaia’s other multistory structures in rubble choking the streets? He lived in this building, but in an ancient sub-basement that backed onto an equally ancient tunnel system. The main reason he’d chosen his damp, subterranean abode, putting up with a windowless room that was never truly warm, was because the intricate warren of passageways offered an escape route. At least he wouldn’t wake some evening trapped beneath tons of concrete and twisted rebar.

  His sire was in a foul mood, particularly considering his two kills, but the silent standoff was getting to Viktor. He took a chance and cleared his throat.

  “What?” The other Vampire stood and spun to face his spawn.

  It was easy to see where he’d gotten his name. Beautiful as any angel, Raphael’s hair swirled around him to waist level in a silky, dark cloud. A high forehead and square jaw framed fangs that were extended, probably because he was hungry. Like everyone else in Ciudad de Huesos, Raphael sported a collection of skins and rags hanging off his lean frame. Vampires—at least the original variety like Raphael—didn’t notice the cold as much as other races, but the ever-present chill sank into everyone’s bones after a while.

  His blue-gray eyes shot darts at Viktor. “What?” he repeated.

  “How’d you find out about the two poachers? Did someone rat on them?”

  Raphael snorted laughter. “I don’t require informants. I know everything about each of my minions.”

  “Of course, Sire. Didn’t mean to suggest otherwise.” Viktor regarded his sire with as direct a gaze as he could muster. He’d gotten away with a whole lot, which meant Raphael was lying about knowing everything. He didn’t. Not by a long shot. Not that Viktor had done anything quite as egregious as drinking from Raphael’s private stock, but almost.

  “You missed a spot.” Raphael pointed at a spray of crimson decorating one wall near the floor.

  Viktor shrugged. “You need a maid. I’ll get it later. You called the Tribunal into session. They’ll be waiting for you.”

  Raphael spat saliva mixed with blood onto the cold hearth. “Let the bastards wait. I’m Nosferatu.”

  Viktor clung to his neutral expression. He hadn’t even known Vampires existed before Raphael captured him, and he’d turned a deaf ear to his sire’s constant nattering about Nosferatu this and Nosferatu that. When he’d dug into Raphael’s neglected but considerable library, he’d discovered Vampires actually emerged from an alliance between the devil and Sekhmet, Egyptian goddess of death and slaughter. He’d never bothered to mention that to Raphael. No reason to dispute the old fucker’s delusions about his origins.

  Viktor stood straighter. “There’s the matter of the Shifter we captured—”

  Raphael made a chopping motion. “Enough. I don’t require reminding. All the Shifters have been a thorn in our sides for a long time. We have to kill them. If we’d done that before the Cataclysm, we wouldn’t be in this unspeakable mess.”

  “But there weren’t any Shifters here before the Cataclysm—” Viktor held up a hand. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to contradict you.”

  Raphael stalked closer, dripping arrogance. “Of course, there were. You wouldn’t have known about them—or us.”

  “True enough,” Viktor muttered.

  Raphael’s nostrils flared, and he added, “We have to locate them. No more excuses. They’ll make a substantial addition to our food stocks, and I tire of sustaining myself on animal blood.”

  Viktor opened his mouth to point out they’d been searching for the Shifters for years without so much as a clue, but Raphael knew that. Vampires might have supernatural strength and speed, but Shifters commanded a far greater array of magical ability.

  “What are you thinking?” Raphael narrowed his eyes.

  “Nothing. You were saying?”

  Raphael snapped his fingers, clearly struck by a revelation.

  Viktor waited to see what atrocity his sire was cooking up now. To mask his aversion to Raphael’s ideas—not a minion-like reaction at all—he glanced around the room. Carved wainscoting circled the walls, and high cove ceilings held delicate paintings left from an earlier era, before the world shifted on its axis, trapping them in the few square miles around what had once been the southernmost seaport in the world.

  “It would be perfect,” his sire went on, oblivious to Viktor’s inner conflict. “Definitely a win-win solution. With Shifters out of the way, their magic will fade. Absent their protective spells, we’d be able to locate the humans.” He swiped his palms together. “Problem solved. Between humans and Shifters, they’ll feed us for a long time—provided we’re careful and don’t drain them to the point of death.”

  Viktor muttered something noncommittal.

  “Don’t you see?” Raphael swung to face him. “We’d develop a system so some would always be ready. Once they were up to snuff, we’d feed from them again. We did something similar back in the Middle Ages when life was cheap, and no one ever complained about a missing relative or two.”

  “What do you plan to feed them, Sire? So they don’t die.” Viktor should have kept his mouth shut, but it was an important question.

  “They’ll eat whatever’s keeping them alive now,” Raphael sputtered. “It’s a perfect plan that will provide a perpetual food source for us.” He narrowed his eyes to slits. “Whose side are you on?”

  “Ours, Sire. Who else’s?” Viktor ginned up an earnest expression and hoped Raph didn’t question him further. Vampires were decent at sniffing out lies.

  Sidestepping the specter of genocide for Shifters and humans, mostly because he figured they’d all be dead—Shifters, Vamps, humans, and anyone who’d remained in the shadows—before too many more months passed, Viktor said, “Perhaps we’d be better served harnessing Shifter power to address the poisoned water. They must be doing something, or the humans wouldn’t still be growing crops to sustain themselves.”

  Raphael rounded on him, the noxious, rotten-egg stench of hungry Vampire thickening by the moment. “Intriguing idea about detoxifying the water. Those crops will keep the humans alive, so they’ll last longer for us to feed on.”

  Viktor didn’t bother pointing out that securing the Shifters’ cooperation for anything was unlikely. He switched topics to move Raphael away from kil
ling and death, his two favorite themes. “Do you suppose there’s any life left beyond the storms that hold us captive here? I used to tap into radio broadcasts until electricity dwindled to almost nothing. The last few times I tried, though, I couldn’t find any left on the air.”

  Raphael’s eyes sharpened with sudden cunning, a harsh reminder how ancient and powerful he was. “Why would you ask about life beyond Ushuaia? Does it have something to do with that indecipherable chicken scratch back at your worktable?”

  “Same reason you highlighted with your plans for the Shifters and humans. We’re running out of food. That’s what my calculations are about. Resource allocation.” Viktor hoped to hell Raphael couldn’t read his mind. He’d been fishing for information to see how viable his plan to breach the barrier with his ship would be.

  Raphael didn’t know about Arkady, and Viktor aimed to keep it that way.

  Vampires weren’t particularly blessed with magic. Not that they couldn’t intuit the odd thought and light fires and do other sleight of hand parlor tricks, but magic had a price. Most Vamps were too depleted from not having fed properly for years to squander any energy on superfluous activities.

  His sire resumed pacing, tension evident in his straight back and precise stride. “Yes, there’s life outside Ushuaia. Of course, there is. There has to be.”

  Viktor held a neutral expression. Raphael had no idea. His answer was sheer bluff, or he’d have tossed out facts to back up his statements. Maybe it would be easier to rid himself of Raphael than he’d thought.

  Who am I kidding? He may not know shit about what’s beyond the barrier, but he knows a whole lot more about being a Vampire than I ever will. I’d do well not to underestimate that part.

  Raphael altered his back-and-forth path and walked close enough to thump Viktor’s chest with an extended index finger. “It’s the Shifters’ fault. All of this. They hold magic to see beyond the barrier.”