Shifters Gone Wild: A Shifter Romance Collection

by Skye MacKinnon

  “Back in my court, eh?” Raphael shot a rare smile his way. “Nicely done.”

  Viktor shrugged slightly in a self-deprecating gesture. “You’ve been a most excellent teacher.”

  Raphael preened under the compliment, apparently not reading the nuanced sarcasm that rode beneath it.

  “Beyond that,” Viktor went on, “I might be more help if I knew why you were so upset.”

  “I am not upset. Vampires are immune to emotion.” Raphael drew his brows into a single, dark foreboding line.”

  Oops.

  “Of course, Sire. Apologies. I misspoke.” Viktor waited, holding eye contact. Either it would work, or Raphael would erupt into an angry tirade and order him back to his room.

  Breath whistled through the other Vamp’s teeth, but his fangs retracted. Viktor took that as a positive sign.

  “I stopped by the Shifter’s cell,” Raphael began. “And caught her casting magic.”

  Viktor barely blinked. “What’s so odd about that? Shifters cast spells. Was she trying to escape? Had she shifted to her animal form?”

  “Hardly.” Raphael barked out the single word. “She was scrying the future. Tried to convince me it was Shifters and Vamps working together who’d created the Cataclysm.” He shook his head, and dark hair danced around his face and shoulders.

  “Doesn’t seem very plausible, Sire,” Viktor murmured because he intuited it was what Raphael wanted to hear.

  The other Vamp crossed his arms over his chest. “No,” he replied. “It certainly doesn’t, but when I questioned her, asked if she might be wrong, she clung to her story. Even added to it.”

  “How so?” Viktor had become skilled at feeding his sire questions. If he wasn’t overly curious or pushy, Raphael generally answered them.

  “She claimed Shifters and Vamps working in tandem had created the Cataclysm, so only the same energy could undo it.”

  Viktor made a noncommittal sound, waiting. Raphael didn’t disappoint him.

  “The whole concept is ridiculous,” the Master Vamp went on. “We do not work with Shifters. Period. She claimed it was a very small, secret group in Siberia, but I don’t believe her.”

  “Why would she lie?” Viktor took a chance and played devil’s advocate.

  Raphael shrugged. “Who knows? That bothered me the whole way back here. She’s shrewd, that one. She has something up her sleeve. I just haven’t figured out yet what it is.”

  “There’s always tomorrow,” Viktor suggested. “You could feed. Things always look better with blood on board.”

  Raphael cocked his head to one side, assessing Viktor. Like as not wondering if his minion was mocking him. Viktor stared back, projecting a spirit of innocence and desire to go the extra mile to help his sire.

  “Perhaps you’ll come with me?” Raphael infused compulsion into his tone. The same compulsion that urged his victims to give up without a struggle.

  Viktor suppressed a gag. The absolute last thing he wanted was to hunt with his sire. The Master Vamp was merciless, glorying in bloodbaths. Yet he couldn’t refuse. If he did, he’d arouse Raphael’s suspicions.

  “Well?” Raphael prodded. “It’s an honor when your sire invites you to hunt.”

  Viktor bowed slightly. “Of course, it is. I’m flattered to be chosen. What pleases you, pleases me. What would you like to hunt tonight?”

  Raphael rubbed his hands together and bent toward Viktor. “Jaguars. One of them would make a most exceptional meal.” He paused a beat. “I’ll even see you get a portion of the meat”—Raphael indulged in an eloquent eye roll—“and the skin since you’re perpetually cold.”

  What am I supposed to do? Jump up and down? Kiss his hand?

  “Thank you, Sire. Appreciate your thoughtfulness. Shall we?” Viktor motioned toward the door. They should leave before Raphael picked up on his ambivalence. Once they were out hunting, the other Vamp’s attention wouldn’t be focused on him but on hot, fresh blood.

  Besides, the sooner Viktor returned, the sooner he could sneak away to Ketha’s cell and lead her to the haven he’d found. She’d survived today’s skirmish with Raphael. She might not be so lucky next time the Master Vamp paid her a visit.

  “One last thing.” Raphael skewered Viktor with his direct gaze.

  “What might that be?” Viktor maintained a calm, deferential aspect that went against the grain. He’d been biding his time for years, waiting for an opportunity to break free.

  Soon, he promised himself. The endgame was in sight. He felt it in his bones and welcomed it—no matter what the outcome.

  His sire moved within inches of his face. “You removed her manacles. And her handcuffs. Why?”

  “She can’t escape. Hell, I was in that same cell for months hunting for a way out. Never did find one. I saw no reason to leave her in irons, so I broke the chains and iron circlets.” Viktor inhaled sharply, grateful Raphael hadn’t said squat about the handcuff key. “I suppose you bound her again.”

  Raphael shook his head. “I want her to be free to use that scrying tool of hers. Maybe next time I show up, she’ll have created a more credible story. One I can believe.”

  “Surely, there’s nothing to her fantastic tale of us colluding with Shifters.” Viktor followed his sire out the door.

  “Probably not.” Raphael glanced over a shoulder. “But I’d be a fool to leave any stones unturned. Not if they mean escape from Ushuaia.” He rubbed his hands together. “Let’s hunt and forget about that pesky Shifter for a few hours.”

  Yes, let’s.

  “Good enough for me.” Viktor clattered down the stairs. At least Raphael would be by his side for the next span of time. Which meant he wouldn’t be tormenting Ketha. That the Shifter had told Raph the same story she laid out for him and Juan added to her credibility—at least in his book.

  Hope spilled through him like a hot tide. He squashed it to nothing before Raphael, who was suspicious to begin with, noticed anything amiss.

  Renegade Mirror

  After eating, Ketha shifted back to her human form. Her wolf’s spirits had improved after it fed, and they’d chatted of this and that, almost like the old days before the Cataclysm. The sheer normalcy of it heartened her, but she remained vigilant. The Vampire bastard could return at any time. He’d been furious when he stormed out of her cell, and it wouldn’t take much for him to direct that ire—and his fangs—her way.

  She kindled a spell to keep herself warm and stretched out on the stone bench. Her magic-imbued robes yielded some comfort, but stone was a real heat sink. At first, sleep was elusive. The more she replayed Raphael’s visit, the more it bothered her. Beyond his cold calculation lay an instability bordering on madness. Predicting his next move would be damn near impossible, and that made sparring with him dangerous.

  She couldn’t give up, though. Not if he held the key to a spell that would free all of them from Ushuaia.

  “I don’t know exactly how disturbed he is. Not really,” she said out loud to steady her frayed nerves. Ketha fingered the glass she’d retrieved and stashed in a pocket of her robe. Using it was tempting, but she was so trashed, she’d likely fail. Any efforts tonight would burn through her limited magic for nothing.

  Closing her eyes, she urged sleep to claim her, and then chided herself for being naïve. It didn’t work like that. She could cast a calming spell but couldn’t will herself to sleep. Now, if one of the other Shifters had been here, they could’ve ensured she slept. They weren’t. She was on her own in the chill, dank cell that smelled of the poisoned sea.

  Ketha quested for something to settle her tumbling mind. An image of Viktor—with his striking copper hair and eyes like glittering gemstones— formed behind her closed lids. Memory of the feel of his mouth on hers made her long for more. She sought tracings of his essence in her cell—both from when he’d been imprisoned here and from earlier today. Gathering them, she wove a mantle and draped it around herself, inhaling his scent shamelessly. He didn’t smell
of death and rot like most Vamps. Instead, he smelled of the ocean—before it turned red and ugly. Of the forest on a rainy day. Of storms at sea. He had strength, that one. And a staunch inner core that kept him going. Juan hadn’t been lying when he’d called Viktor fine and honorable and one of the good ones.

  Her tightly coiled muscles relaxed; so did her death grip on her glass. Surrounded by a sense of Viktor cradling her in his arms, she drifted into unconsciousness, lulled by the bits and pieces of his energy she’d collected.

  Ketha had no idea what jolted her awake. Was it morning yet? It was too dark to tell. Grateful she’d managed at least some uninterrupted rest, she walked to the waterfall, sluiced cold water over her face, and drank her fill. It was past time to get down to business, and business meant using her glass to sort the future into something that made better sense. She’d try to establish détente with Raphael if she had to, but if she could locate a future where they defeated the barrier without him, she was all for that.

  Ketha wasn’t under any illusions. The old Vamp was as likely to kill her as listen to her, and with her gone, her Shifters would be in grave danger. Far worse peril than they faced now since they’d lack any inkling what the future held for them. Knowledge was power, and she was their seer.

  She dug her glass from her robes. After a cursory stretch to get the kinks out of her muscles from sleeping on a stone slab, she took up the same position that had worked for her the previous day. Ketha inhaled deeply a few times to center herself and flush all thoughts of Raphael from her mind. He’d only get in the way, impact her concentration.

  When she felt ready, she breathed on the glass and urged its cloudy surface to yield information. Rather than her previous approach of using a rough timeline, she asked for a strategy to defeat the curse that had formed the Cataclysm.

  Ketha waited. And waited. Her glass remained stubbornly cloudy. Had she asked too much of it? Or was her power too diminished to cast such complex magic on her own? Shifting the previous evening had been pure indulgence. Would it undercut her efforts today?

  This was a time to be surrounded by the other Shifters. They loaned their power to her efforts—if she asked for help. Their bond animals might be fading, but their subtle presence helped too.

  As if thinking about her sisters summoned them, Rowana, Karin, and Aura formed dead center in the mist still covering her glass, their animals hovering behind them.

  “Thank the goddess you’re safe.” Rowana focused dark, worried eyes right at Ketha.

  “We’ve been hunting for you ever since you didn’t return,” Karin cut in.

  “Where are you?” Aura demanded.

  “Never mind that.” Rowana shook her head, making her silver hair shimmer. “Get back here. Vamps are on the move, and we have to evade their gunsights.”

  “What are they doing?” Worry shot through Ketha, but she pushed it aside, not wanting anything to interfere with her tenuous magical connection to the other Shifters.

  “Hunting for our lair, and they’re getting closer.” Aura scrunched her face in disgust. “We’d have moved already, but we were worried about you. You never did say where you are.”

  “Imprisoned by Vampires.” Ketha snapped off the words.

  “Where?” Karin squared her shoulders. “We’ll get you out of there.” Her wolf tossed its muzzle back and howled.

  Ketha’s wolf howled back, but she shushed it. This magically driven conversation would bring Raphael on the run—if he discovered it. “Don’t risk yourselves. I have this figured out.” Ketha was lying, but the others wouldn’t be able to test her words through the enchanted link. “Get yourselves to somewhere safe. I’ll join you as soon as I can.”

  “Later today?” Rowana pushed more magic into the connection, likely suspecting Ketha’s assertion about having everything under control.

  “If I can. I have to go. I was scrying clues when you found me.”

  “Be safe,” Karin implored.

  “Always.” Ketha cut the connection before she dissolved into tears. The twelve of them had grown close, become more than sisters, and she’d hated not being totally honest. The specter of the others putting themselves at risk waiting for her was untenable, though. She had no idea if she could escape. Viktor had seemed like a sure bet, but he’d taken off after kissing her and hadn’t returned. Perhaps he’d concluded helping her was a bigger risk than he was willing to take. The thought made her sad. She wanted to see him again but recognized it as folly. Vamps and Shifters were mortal enemies. Why was she even entertaining something that felt like a bad replay of Romeo and Juliet?

  Because I like him.

  He’s not like the rest of them.

  Bullshit! I have no way of knowing that.

  Ketha squeezed her hands into fists to redirect her thoughts. Jamming her feelings into a hole, she fastened a bulletproof gate over them. No room for anything that intruded on her concentration. Not when Raphael could storm her cell at any moment.

  Thinking about the old Vampire killed her casting. Or maybe longing for Viktor had done it. Regardless, the clouds dissipated from the glass. Ketha shut her third eye; her cell came back into focus. She took a few cleansing breaths, but the single-mindedness she sought eluded her. The glass stared back, its surface perfectly clear again. It took her third eye to turn it into a magical tool. To her earth eyes, it was nothing but a mirror.

  To shake herself out of her inertia, she got her feet under her and paced from one side of the cell to the other, stopping by the waterfall to stick her face under its flow. While the cold revived her, she couldn’t shake the image of Raphael hovering behind a psychic curtain.

  What the fuck?

  Why does that bastard have such a hold on me?

  Ketha bit hard enough on her lower lip to draw blood. Once drops welled, she dipped an index finger in the cut, splattered drops into the air, and barked a few words in Gaelic, the Shifters’ spell language. At least this casting worked, and the lines of the world—ley lines invisible to mortals—wavered before her.

  Grim laughter bubbled. Raphael’s fell power was embedded in several key locations exactly as she’d suspected. Drawing strength from the earth beneath her feet, she went to work on the first spot, neutralizing it. Now that she could see them, the Vamp’s marks were a series of black darts. Ketha took care not to touch them as she worked—in case they tripped some enchantment that would alert Raphael she was undoing his work. Damn! He was worse than a dog that had pissed in every corner.

  Lupine laughter riffled through her mind. Apparently, the analogy amused her wolf.

  Finished, she tromped back to the bench, digging through her memory for everything she knew about Vampires. Raphael was one of the old ones, which meant he could do more than Juan—or Viktor.

  A whole lot more.

  Did he command enough magic to know she’d obliterated his markers?

  “I have no idea,” she muttered. “And I can’t worry about it. If what I did means he shows up sooner rather than later, I’ll live with it.”

  Motion from the mirror still clutched in one hand drew her attention. She hadn’t asked it anything. Had it finally fallen prey to the Cataclysm’s macabre influence? She set it on the stone bench and shook her finger at it.

  “None of that.” She tried for stern, but didn’t quite make it. The glass was sensitive to emotion, so maybe it was reacting to her anxiety.

  She engaged her third eye and crossed her fingers this would be a true sending.

  Clouds formed on the mirror’s surface. She knelt before it, waiting for whatever this was to play itself out. Her glass had only acted independently once since she’d inherited it from the last Shifter who’d been seer for her pack. Right before the Cataclysm, the glass had played host to jagged lightning that hurt her eyes to look at for long. After an eerie light show, the mirror’s surface had turned flat, opaque black, refusing to be coaxed back to its mirror form for a week, third eye or no.

  Ketha cleared her mind
of anything that might influence the glass and fed magic into it. The clouds cleared, and a mixed group of Shifters and Vamps formed. All twelve Shifters and half that number of Vamps. Ketha peered intently at the Vamps and identified Viktor, Juan, and the two who’d dumped her into their midst in the chapel. The other two had their backs to her and their heads covered by cloaks.

  While she waited, hoping to hell they’d turn around, she looked beyond them, expecting to see the ocean. Instead, a rock-studded, grassy plain with cliffs on both sides extended as far as she could see. Condors flew lazily, drifting on their extended wings. Pools of water glistened, reflecting bits of a gray-black sky.

  Ketha turned to face the others in her vision and raised her arms above her head. Energy crackled around her, turning the air blue with her power. “Let’s do this and defeat the Cataclysm,” she barked, her voice harsh with barely contained energy. She hadn’t asked a question, and no one answered, but the last two Vamps turned toward her.

  Relief hit her in the gut. Neither was Raphael.

  Her vision, the one she hadn’t asked for, flickered, and she made a grab for it, but the image crumpled from the edges inward, disintegrating before her eyes.

  “Goddamn it!”

  Ketha punched a fist into the floor and yelped. After all the years she’d called visions, she was furious she didn’t have better control over her emotions. Strong feelings always killed trance states, and she was far from a novice.

  She knew better, but apparently it didn’t matter.

  Rocking back on her heels, she stood and forced slow, deep breaths before placing the glass back in a pocket. Two things were certain. She didn’t need Raphael, and she had to escape her prison. But how? Would anything in this place yield to magic? A long, deliberate circuit of the cell yielded less than nothing. The stout, barred door was set into rock. No other exit route existed.