by Ellie J Duck
“We have a job to do. Get the hell out of that bed before I make you!” he snarls and when I turn my face to glare at him, I notice that his eyes are glittering dangerously.
“You couldn’t if you tried,” I inform him.
“I wouldn’t bet on it, little human. We leave in five minutes. If you’re not in the car, you’re missing this hunt!” he snarls before he flicks on the light and slams my bedroom door.
I’ve never simultaneously hated, yet, been aroused by someone so much in my life before. I ponder my attraction to the bastard and cannot for the life of me figure out why, beyond his ruggedly handsome good looks. Dragging myself out of bed, I go to my cupboard and don a pair of cargo pants and a navy t-shirt. The second I have my shoes on and am carrying at least six weapons, including my rifle, I race out the door and through the house. I almost collide with Brody as he lumbers out of his room looking like we’ve woken the dead and he’s awful mad about it.
He grunts at me and takes a swipe at me with one of his huge arms, clearly startled by my sudden appearance. I can’t help but laugh at that carryover from his being a werebear. Bears are utterly unpredictable when startled. I duck beneath his swinging arm and my face nearly collides with the bare skin over his abs since he’s still in the process of pulling on his shirt. But I just manage to squeeze by without colliding with him or being maimed.
He grunts again behind me and I hear his heavy footfalls as he follows me at pace down the stairs and across the living room, heading for the entrance that Summers brought me in through yesterday.
“Excellent, she even beat Brody out the door,” Tara cheers when she spots me racing across the compound and to the car.
“Holy shit, woman! How many weapons do you have on you right now?” Mitch exclaims. They are both sitting in the back seat of one of the cars, Tara in the middle and Mitch on the far side.
“Seven, why?” I reply as I stop next to the car and take note of the rifle I’m carrying, the pair of hand guns I’ve strapped to my thighs, the knife in my boot, the dagger down the back of my pants, the pistol in my bra, and the grenade in my pocket.
“Note to self, note to self. Never mess with Anna!” Mitch repeats himself like he did at dinner, clearly unnerved by the number of weapons I’m carrying.
“I only see three?” Summers says from the front passenger seat.
“And that’s the beauty of being female, Summers,” I reply smoothly, making a move to sit in the back seat beside Tara.
“Now I really don’t want to know where the rest of the weapons are hidden,” Summers says. “Oh, and you’re up front with me.”
“What’s wrong with you, Greg? Now I really want to see where she’s got the rest hidden,” Brody says, his voice low and rough with sleep as he climbs in beside Tara. I get a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach when I notice that Summers wants me to take the little middle seat next to his, since he’s not about to ask me to drive.
“Move, human!” A low voice growls from behind me, Hilton appearing out of nowhere as I’m trying to climb across, what I assume to be, his driver’s seat.
“Why don’t you rush me again and see how well that works out for you?” I ask with hostility even as he gives me a shove on the ass, nearly toppling me into Greg’s lap. “You know, Summers, when you told me you had a team you wanted me to join, you never mentioned that it came equipped with this snarling Cujo wannabe.”
The menacing sound of a very canine growl comes from my left as Tobias climbs into the driver’s seat, the door slamming closed. He guns the engine before I’ve even righted myself since I’m trying to juggle my rifle and shift my butt around into the seat without having to touch him.
“Are you saying that had you known, you’d have turned my offer down?” Summers asks me, clearly amused despite the early hour of the morning.
“You bet your arse, I would’ve turned you down!” I snap when Tobias rips out of the carpark and onto the long winding road before I can fasten my safety belt, flinging me from side to side across the car.
“No one forced you to come!” Hilton growls from next to me.
“Who the hell taught you to drive?” I demand several minutes later when I still haven’t managed to get my belt on. He’s driving so fast and flying around every turn at such speed that I can’t pull the damn thing out of its dispenser or get my butt in the seat long enough to strap myself down.
“I did,” Greg answers, still sounding entirely too amused, even when I land on his lap for the third consecutive time.
“Well, that just explains every Goddamn thing!” I begin to curse, entirely losing my temper now.
“And I used to think that waking bear-boy at this hour was amusing…” Tara laughs. I realize they are all highly amused by my foul language and my attitude at having been woken early after several hours spent drinking with them for my birthday.
“Must you always refer to me as ‘bear-boy’?” Brody snarls.
I feel a little better to know that even laughing at me doesn’t make him any more of a morning person than I am.
“I like the way it makes your hump start to grow in,” Tara taunts him. I’m reminded again that she and Mitch are both cats at heart when they both begin to poke the bear, quite literally, and earn themselves a snap each and a growl that makes my arm hairs stand on end.
“Do you mind if I take this from you?” Greg asks me a moment later, pulling my rifle from my grip as I’m flung across the car once again when Hilton takes another corner way too fast. “I don’t feel safe having you flung all over the car whilst clutching it.”
He sets it between his knees, barrel facing the floor so that if it accidentally goes off only the car will be damaged. Without trying to juggle it, I can land my butt in the seat before being flung against Hilton when he takes a bend so fast that we drift the corner. Taking the opportunity, since I have no choice but to ride out the corner by being pressed against him, I drive my elbow into his ribs and lean over, biting down as hard as I can on his bicep.
“Oi!” he snarls, jerking his flesh out of my reach and flinging me back toward Greg with the next sharp turn the other way.
“You’ll have less trouble if you straddle the gearbox, you know,” Summers points out, clearly trying to be helpful but only managing to irk me further.
“Or I’d have less trouble if I stab this fool and drive myself,” I hiss, utterly furious but feeling a little better about life when I spot the dark bruise forming momentarily on Hilton’s arm before his werewolf genetics set about repairing the damage.
“Since you’re the one most likely to die if we wreck because of doing that, I’d prefer it if you didn’t,” Greg says calmly. “You might as well use your knees to cling to the gear box until we’re on the straight.”
Reluctantly, I realize he’s right and do as he suggests, even though it becomes an issue when I force my leg down the driver’s side, making sure to kick Tobias for good measure as I do. He repays the favor by jamming his thigh right up against mine and pinning my leg to the side of the gear box, his arm across it to shift gears again as we take another tight corner way too fast for my continued mental health.
He has the audacity to look smug as he takes the corner and I feel the need to stab him but refrain since I still can’t get my safety belt on and I don’t want to risk stabbing myself by accident.
“Are you still snarling under your breath or are you ready to hear about the hunt?” Greg asks a few minutes later when I stop being flung all over the place and can lean into the corners. I refuse to think too hard on the fact that the thing anchoring me in place is mostly the way Hilton has jammed his thigh against mine.
“Tell us!” Tara cheers and I glance at her in the rear vision mirror, marveling at her cheerfulness and exuberance for this time of the morning. Beside her, Mitch looks a little like he’s thinking of trying to sleep on her shoulder and Brody is glaring moodily out the window. I narrow my eyes when I meet Hilton’s copper pair for a moment in the
mirror.
“There were four bodies found drained of blood by the local authorities in Missoula. We’re hunting vampires and they’re out in numbers preying on humans. I’ve warned the head of the coven in this area more than once about not drinking their victims dry but it seems she either can’t control her minions or doesn’t feel we’re a valid threat. It’s likely that they’re still out, preying on anyone stumbling home from a bar or getting off work at this hour. So, keep your eyes and ears peeled. Anna, you’ll be with me. The rest of the team will search the immediate area for any signs that the vampires are still around. With all those cops loitering around, they might not be able to resist the draw of so much blood.”
I nod my head, wondering what he thinks I’m going to be able to do by tagging along with him.
“You’ll need to load these into your guns from now on,” he adds, handing me two boxes of ammo. I raise my eyebrows when I notice that one of them is filled with wooden bullets and the other with silver bullets.
“These won’t fit my guns, boss,” I protest when I notice they aren’t the right size for my Glock 17s.
“No?” Summers raises his eyebrows, frowning as I fish my Glocks from their holsters and show them to him.
“Right,” he says, taking back the initial boxes he gave me that are designed for Sigs, instead. He digs around in the glove-compartment for a moment before producing ammo that will, in fact, fit my guns after all.
“Real quick run-down, Cane,” Brody says suddenly, leaning forward a little so the light of the dash reflects eerily in his eyes. “If you shoot any of us with silver, we’ll go down in a big way. Shifters like us will get silver poisoning from a flesh wound if not treated fast enough, and we'll die like any person if you take a kill shot with enough silver. Vamps will only die if you torch them, drive wood through their heart or decapitate them. Zombies must be torched. Witches, psychics and anything that is just human with a little bit extra will die the human ways. The bigger the Shifter breed the more silver you need, and on a full moon we all turn involuntarily.”
I nod my head, absorbing the lesson as best I can even while I load silver bullets into one of my hand guns and wooden bullets into the other.
“All the knives Magnus gave you will be silver too, so if you need to use them, you’ll do damage,” Greg told me.
“You’re vibrating,” Hilton’s low rough voice suddenly cuts into the conversation, which he accompanies with a sideways glance at me to make sure I know he’s talking to me. I frown before remembering that my phone is in the pocket of my pants against the leg that his thigh is currently deadening. I dig it out quickly, wondering who the hell could be calling me at this hour and frown in annoyance when I recognize James’s number. I decline the call, rolling my eyes in frustration when it rings again a few moments later. Declining it again, I stuff it back into my pocket, ignoring it when it continues to ring, repeatedly. I expect that by now they’ve reset James’s shoulder and he’s coming down off whatever meds they gave him, hence the call which he no doubts hopes I’ll answer so he can shout at me for messing up his life.
“Is that your ex again?” Tara asks me, looking like she wants to answer it.
“He never did know when to quit,” I answer, finally able to fasten my safety belt when Hilton pulls onto a highway and begins racing for the city. The road is long and after a while Tara insists that we have music, which she prods me to put on. I turn the dial on the stations, trying to get anything but static or church channels at this hour and I spin it back when I roll past a station playing ‘Three Days Grace’. It’s not my favorite, but it’s better than the preachers I last landed on and it’s one of their old songs, from back when their music still had meaning.
“Crank it up!” Mitch calls from the back seat, clearly realizing he’s been nodding off and that he needs to wake up. I’m still too mad to sleep but even I can feel the effects of such an early start after a late night.
Tara and the team all insisted we had to stay up late to celebrate my birthday, and Brody even baked me a cake. It was the best I’ve ever eaten, too; the werebear has some serious culinary skills. They made me choose what movie to watch and even Hilton had cracked half a smile when I picked ‘The A-Team’. Not expecting to be hit up for a job so soon, Tara also insisted on trying to get me drunk after Greg went to bed, handing out tequila shots and throwing them back like they were water. She didn’t let me go to bed until I was good and drunk, which she determined by dragging the story about James and Sarah out of me, including what I did to them both in retaliation.
Mitch insisted on laying on the couch next to me with his head in my lap, silently begging for me to play with his hair again. Even Brody had gotten in on the fun when he finished icing my cake by boldly lifting Tara - who’d curled up right beside me on the couch like the languid feline she was – and plonking his big bear-butt down next to me, draping the complaining feline across his lap. I began to wonder if maybe they were a couple when I caught the way he dragged his hands down her back a few times, causing her to purr. When he tossed his free arm around my shoulders though, I wasn’t so sure.
I must admit, it freaked me out a little to have the three of them be so touchy-feely with me. I mean, it’s not that I don’t like people or that I have issues being touched, but I did literally only meet them a few hours ago. Having this team of highly trained assassins, who also just so happen to be shape-shifters, be so friendly and cuddly with me was unexpected. I won’t admit it aloud, but I did envy Tobias a little when he took up a couch of his own and stretched out on it. Tara had teased him for being the lone-wolf he was, but he’d just flipped her the bird and continued watching the movie.
It felt kind of nice to have Tara, Brody and Mitch take to me so easily and clearly like me, although I’m just a human. Their acceptance made me feel a little bit funny and I already know that I kind of like them all. I’m still mentally reeling a little from the fact that they are hard proof that monsters exist, but if monsters are like this bunch, I’ve got to say it’s cool.
When Tara begins to sing along to the music, Brody growls in annoyance and looks like he’d like to clobber her with one of those big bear paws. I feel, more than hear, the accompanying rumble of agreement coming from Tobias. Tara’s voice was not made for singing, that much is clear. She also makes it clear she doesn’t give a shit about anyone’s opinion when she begins to sing louder and even more off-key. I notice, idly, that none of them seem overly tense or concerned by the fact that we’re driving out to a hunt where four humans have been killed and where there might still be vampires lurking.
“You’re going to need these,” Summers says as the car begins to slow, and we come upon the city. He hands me a badge to make it look legitimate that I’m an agent and not just a rookie kid fresh out of the Academy. He also hands me an earpiece, which I shove into my ear, noticing as I do that the others already have them in their own ears so that we can stay in contact when we reach the scene.
“Thanks,” I murmur, feeling a tightness in my shoulders begin to grow as Hilton steers us through the city to the scene of the crime. I am getting nervous now, though I’m unsure why.
“Right, you all know what you have to do,” Greg says when we’re parked, even as the team all pile out of the car. I go to slide sideways out the door behind Hilton, my thigh tingling at the loss of warmth of being pressed against his, and a little with the fact that it’s gone dead. Just as I’m about to slide out the door, Hilton spins to face me, practically standing between my knees.
He glares at me and I stop mid-slide like a deer caught in the headlights, noticing that the flashing lights of the cop cars reflect eerily in his coppery gaze.
“Don’t ever bite me again, human,” he orders, voice low, face serious. I fear I’m in danger of swooning being this close to him when he looks so handsome. It’s hardly fair. It also really annoys me that he keeps calling me ‘human’ rather than using my name, but I don’t mention it, lest he does it knowing
it pisses me off.
“What are you going to do to stop me, werewolf?” I ask him, returning the favor of addressing each other by species and feeling pleased when my voice comes out cold and sarcastic rather than breathy or husky.
“Bite you back,” he threatens, and I catch a glimpse of wickedly sharp canines lengthening in his mouth, telling me the threat is not only legitimate but liable to be rather painful for me if he ever makes good on it.
“Ooh, I’m scared,” I say sarcastically before continuing to slide out of the car and trying very hard to hide the surprise when my body collides with his, especially since he is most certainly between my legs now. His eyes flash at me with something I don’t quite catch even as I slide further to land on my feet before I brush past him.
Summers is already talking to one of the cops on the scene and I notice that the team, including Hilton, all melt into the darkness with an eerie ease that makes my skin prickle. I begin to make my way over to Summers, but he gives me a little shake of his head and instead I veer away, heading for the site where the bodies were found.
The sight is grisly, and I feel a little sick when I come across them. All four bodies are scattered about the alley like discarded trash. There is one, the body of a scantily clad young woman only a few years older than me, slumped against the wall, her eyes open and unseeing, a nasty bite wound on her neck. Two others are male, brothers by the look of them, both in their thirties. One of them looks like his throat has been torn out rather than simply bitten and I move closer to get a better look.
“Hey! You can’t be here!” one of the cops tries to intercept me, but I hold up the badge Summers gave me, not even looking at the cop, my eyes fixed on the dead body in front of me. The fourth body in the alley is that of an older woman, perhaps in her late fifties or early sixties. Unlike the other three, she is laid out on the ground, flat on her back, with her hands clasped together as though she’s been laid in a coffin. I feel a touch of sadness when I notice that clasped in her grip is a rosary and a wallet picture of a man who must now be her widower.