by Dana Archer
An arm stretches out in front of me, catching my shoulder and spinning my body. I collide with a solid chest. My breath rushes out on a gasp. I open my mouth, ready to scream, at the same time as I pull the gun and shove it into the gut of the man who grabbed me.
“Lyla.”
The rich voice clues me in to who’s grabbed me. Breath caught, I tip my head back and come face-to-face with Uriel Alexander. Uri to his friends. He told me once to call him that since he’d be training with me, then went on to stand me up for our first session, leaving me to tag along as a third wheel with my sister and her partner.
The flashing lights of the unmarked police car not far away cast the Shifter Affairs agent in a range of colors and give me a perfect view of Uri’s features. The small dip in his chin softens the otherwise strong cut to his jaw and straight, slightly wider nose. It’s his eyes that captivate me, though. There’s no glow to them like Bryon’s. There’s no hint of betrayal or disapproval either. There’s something darker in Uri’s eyes, something more primal.
He parts his lips on a slow exhale, giving me a peek of sharpened teeth. I focus on the hint of those fangs, and a shiver of awareness skips down my spine. Not the frightening kind of response, but a primeval one that relaxes my shoulders and warms my lower belly.
Uri reaches between our bodies and plucks the gun from my hand. I don’t resist. His eyes entrap me, taking away all sense of self-preservation and fear. Nothing can hurt me in Uri’s arms. The thought is powerful, all-consuming.
He bends over me. I arch into his embrace, forcing him to hold me up. I don’t want to look away from him.
His large hand slides lower, settling at the base of my spine. He brushes his lips over mine, compelling me to open to him, and holds my gaze from inches away. He doesn’t kiss me, though. His breath mixes with mine, leaving me lightheaded and very aware of my body.
A small noise escapes me. A whimper, maybe. I’m not sure. I only know my knees feel weak. Needing Uri to support me, I curl my fingers around the edges of his jacket and tug him closer. He firms his hold on me and groans my name, almost in anger. Or maybe frustration. Then he’s kissing me. Deep full strokes command me, not giving me the chance to kiss him back, not giving me the chance to tell him about the man chasing me.
With Uri’s arms around me and the police car’s lights dancing over us, I feel safe, but the longer Uri kisses me, the stronger another feeling grows. This one has no place here tonight or between us. I can’t deny the arousal, however, or the way my body aches for more than this kiss.
Finally, the flashing lights cut. Uri eases back and swipes his tongue over his lips. “You taste like prey.”
I touch my tingling lips. The roughness of my cold, wet glove feels wrong. Uri’s lips were better. “I felt like prey. Someone was chasing me.”
Uri glances over his shoulder and scans the darkened alley. He faces me. “There’s nobody there now.”
Including any of the other homeless I’ve befriended over the years. My shoulders slump. Nothing Bryon told me was enough to justify keeping the file open on Thomas Michael.
Uri tips up my chin. “Why were you out here tonight?”
“A dead body.” No use keeping my reason from him. We’re both Shifter Affairs agents.
“How did you hear about it?” His brows turn down. “We just got the call.”
I grab Uri’s biceps. “A dead shifter?”
He nods. “We’re not talking about the same dead body, are we?”
“Is this one a homeless shifter?”
Uri stares at me for a long moment, then sighs. “Yes. A single shifter with his throat slit.”
My eyes burn. I close them to hide any tears and shake my head. “Not the same body, but maybe the same murderer.”
Uri brushes his thumb against the corner of my eye before urging me forward with a hand at my lower back. “Then let’s hunt him.”
“Yes. Let’s.” Hunting is definitely better than being prey.
I cut a quick look at Uri dressed in dark street clothes with a black beanie on his head. A shiver of awareness skips through me.
Unless the predator after me is Uri. Then I’m not so sure.
Two
Uri
The woman imprinted herself on me. That’s the only explanation for why I can still taste Lyla on my tongue. I’ve heard witches can do that: spellbind a man. Too bad my theory has no basis for truth. Lyla’s not a witch. She’s about as ordinary as any human female can be. Even knowing there’s nothing special about her, I can’t stop looking at Lyla.
Or wondering how good it’d feel to lick her, head to toe. Take her to my bed and…
“If you leave claw marks on the dashboard, you’re writing the damage report.”
Rick’s comment snaps me back to reality. I’m in an unmarked police car with my partner and her.
I flex my hand, retracting my tiger’s claws, and look over the passenger seat to focus on the source of my anger. Or, more accurately, the woman who’s triggered my primal side and left me in this state of primitiveness.
As if Lyla understands how much she’s screwed with my instincts, she flashes me a kittenish smile. It’s the coy and playful kind. And it only adds to the wicked drives assaulting me, demanding I get her body under mine.
“And Shifter Affairs takes purposeful destruction of its property seriously.” An amused glint sparks in her honey-brown eyes. “I just read that policy. After so many violations, you can be suspended. I don’t remember how many, though.”
“Five.” My response drops in the quiet car with a lashing force.
Lyla’s smile droops, but she covers up her reaction to my brutal tone with a small laugh. “Well, you still have five left since Rick saved you from committing your first violation. Unless, of course, you have previous dings on your record.”
“My record is immaculate.” With a nice letter of praise from the higher-ups in Shifter Affairs for how I handled the delicately complex case involving Rick’s true mate and the criminal who had the right to breed her.
“Unless Lyla decides to report you for harassment.”
I yank my gaze to the single shifter I’ve been partnered with. Rick’s amused expression doesn’t match the threat he’s delivered. Harassment could end my tenure with Shifter Affairs before I get a chance to make a difference. What I did for Rick doesn’t count. He would’ve succeeded in freeing his mate. I only guaranteed their bond was accepted by both the Shifter Council, the shifter government, and Shifter Affairs, the human-shifter law enforcement department we both work for.
“Harassment?” Low, gruff, my voice takes on an animalistic edge. Harsher than moments ago. There’s no curtailing this side of me. My felines have too much control, and forcing them back into the field where they live within my soul isn’t a battle I want to tackle. I’ll need their enhanced senses once we arrive on the scene of the murder we’ve been assigned to oversee. “Why would Lyla report me for harassment? I haven’t done anything to her.”
“Except kiss her without permission.” The full smile on Rick’s rough, stubble-covered face shows at least one of us finds this situation amusing.
Me, not so much. Rick’s right.
Cursing, I scrub a hand over my head, dislodging the beanie. Good thing I put in contacts and dyed my hair this morning. An unruly mop of pure white hair draws too much attention. Then again, so do pale yellow eyes. They tend to send humans running. If Lyla’s smart, she will too before I take more from her than a simple kiss.
Or I could just ignore my instincts and pretend to be a civilized human.
“I’m sorry.” I lean between the front seats so I can get a good look at the woman I’ve treated like an object. Lyla’s watching me with a curious expression. No fear. No disgust. But more importantly, no lust. That’s all on me. “I shouldn’t have kissed you. That was completely uncalled for. It won’t happen again, but if you choose to report me, I’ll completely understand and accept whatever punishment is delved ou
t to me.”
Lyla drags the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip as if remembering my uninvited kiss, then dips her head before I can decide if that’s desire sliding into her eyes or something else. Maybe regret. “Why would I report the man who saved me?”
Her words bring back the moment I saw her running toward the street, fleeing as if a predator was on her tail. Good thing nobody was following us in this car and that Rick obeyed my bellowed order immediately. Otherwise, I would’ve bailed. Smacking into the pavement from a moving car wouldn’t have killed me, but jumping up after hitting the asphalt hard enough to end a human’s life likely would’ve been noticed by passersby.
“Why were you running?” Although she’d told me, she hadn’t said why she was being chased. Or by whom.
Lyla pulls the front of her wet turtleneck away from her throat, then glances over her shoulder. I don’t know what she expects to see. We left the alley behind, and nobody followed us. She faces me. “Someone was chasing me.”
“Who?” The demand in my voice is clear. Whether Lyla wanted my lips on hers or not matters little.
She shared air with me.
To a shifter, such an innocuous act is powerful. You can sneak a glimpse of a person’s soul if both halves reach for each other in that moment, and the peek I got into Lyla’s soul showed me what innocence looks like. I’ll be damned if anyone tries to snuff it out.
Again, Lyla rubs at her neck. “I don’t know. My friend told me to run. I didn’t at first, not until I noticed the man in the shadows with a lighter. Then I ran, and he chased me.” With a grin that doesn’t do anything to wipe the fear from her eyes, Lyla drops her hand and meets my gaze. “Then you showed up and scared him off. Thank you for that.”
The mark peeking above the edge of her turtleneck collar stops my reply. I release my seat belt and wedge my upper body between the front seats. With a sharp tug, I pull the turtleneck away from Lyla’s throat. A reddened mark shows on her delicate skin. I jerk my attention to her face. Her nostrils flare on a deep inhale. She’s gaping at me, maybe over my enraged appearance. I don’t know. Don’t care. I can’t hide this side of my persona.
“Who did this? The guy who chased you?”
“I didn’t see him.” Her words rush out.
“Who, then?” I lean closer, my chest compressing as I half crawl into the backseat. “Your friend?”
Because I recognize the scent clinging to her, and if Lyla considers Bryon a friend, we’ll need to have a little discussion about what that word means. Good thing I bought a dictionary app for my phone. I could show her the definition in case she’s confused.
The car jerks to a stop, tossing me with it, first forward, then backward. Only my hands splayed on either side of Lyla saves her from being crushed by me. She fills my vision. Her warm breath bathes my lips. Her sweetness lures me. I draw in another breath, just to feel the tingling awareness along my spine and to bask in her goodness.
Lyla’s eyelids flutter. She spans her hands against my chest but doesn’t push me away. She doesn’t pull me closer either. She inhales, welcoming me home. That’s what it feels like, anyway. As if I belong there.
As if her soul knows mine.
A sharp smack to my ass has me reeling backward, dropping onto my seat. A laughing Rick is climbing out of the car by the time I reach for him.
“Time to work, partner.” Still snickering, Rick glances back at me. “And I need you on your toes. We’ll get one shot at this case. Then it’s closed. Let’s make it count.”
Because murdered shifters, especially homeless lone shifters without anyone to fight for them, aren’t allocated the resources required to guarantee them justice. The living get priority. I understand this. Really, I do. Shifter Affairs is limited by the number of agents on the books and the bureaucracy slowing down the process. Understanding doesn’t reflect approval, however.
“Unless this murder can be tied to the dead body back at my office.” Lyla sits forward. “Then we have the justification to keep their cases open.”
But it doesn’t mean we’ll ever solve their murders. It all comes back to the limiting factors of time and resources. Our office serves all of West Virginia, not simply this county. And in the few weeks I’ve been an active agent, I’ve been handed several cases, some of which I haven’t even looked at the files on them yet. I’m not sure when I’ll get to them, especially with the time I’ve allocated to mentoring Lyla and my unending obligations to my twin Ezra. I don’t mention these truths to Lyla. Doing so will snuff out the hope I hear in her voice.
“If there’s a connection, we’ll document it.” I grab my bag with my Shifter Affairs-issued supplies, dropping the strap over my head to cross my chest, and climb out of the car. “Tell me about the case you have open.”
Lyla doesn’t answer. Her attention is on the leather bag resting against my stomach. Her lip quivers, a reaction I’m all too familiar with. Never before had it annoyed me. Until now. Lyla’s amusement over the gift my boss gave me—the first gift I’ve ever gotten—stirs my resentment.
“Say it.” I motion to the leather bag with its shiny silver buckle. “Say it and get it over with.”
Blinking exaggeratedly at me, Lyla gasps. “How did you know I have a purse exactly like that? Well, not exactly like that. Mine’s a knockoff. That’s the designer label.” She steps closer to me and skims her fingers over the front of the bag. “But after seeing how much nicer the name brand is, I might have to splurge.”
I can’t decide if she’s lying to cover her mocking reaction or if she’s being honest. Lyla’s standing too close. Her scent is messing with my head. All I want is to pull her flush against my body. Her curves fit nicely against my hardness the last time I held her. The only time. Because I reached for her, kissed her, and shared air with her. Lyla didn’t initiate anything.
On a curse, I turn away. My felines’ displeasure echoes within me as a low snarl I can feel in my bones. They don’t want me to be a respectful male. They want to luxuriate in Lyla’s sweetness and use her to soothe them.
They want to claim her—body and soul.
Another raw curse rolls off my tongue. I jerk the car door open, tossing my bag on the front seat, then grab my beanie and follow after Rick. The cleanup vans with the specialized crews waiting to dispose of the body and erase all signs of the crime that occurred here have already arrived. Humans might consider this practice the same as tampering with evidence. Shifter Affairs views it as a protective measure.
While the lifeless shifter bodies left behind after a crime aren’t physiologically different from humans, the injuries sustained and the blood patterns could hint at the existence of shifters. Or at least something not quite right. We can’t allow a curious human to dig into a crime involving shifters. The general human populace doesn’t know about our kind. Shifter Affairs is tasked with guaranteeing that doesn’t happen.
“Uriel, wait!” Lyla tugs on my forearm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
“Uri. I told you to call me Uri.” I shake off her hold, tug the beanie over my head, and continue forward, my long strides forcing Lyla to jog to keep up.
“Uri! Wait a gosh darn moment!” Lyla steps in front of me, demanding I stop or plow through her.
“What?” I take a step back, keeping the space between us acceptable for anyone who might be watching.
She curls her gloved hands into fists. “I’m trying to apologize.”
“There’s no reason to apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.” I step around her and continue down the blocked-off street.
Lyla’s feminine growl of frustration trails after me. My mouth quivers on a smile. I work my jaw, refusing to give in to the amusement, and quicken my pace, leaving Lyla behind. This isn’t the right time to show any signs of humor. This woman isn’t the right one to bring that side of me out either.
Luckily, I have the perfect distraction.
The crackle of radios and flashing lights let everyone in the neighb
orhood know a crime has occurred here tonight. The display isn’t necessary for what will soon happen. Many of those shifters who make up the cleanup crew have been discreetly eliminating evidence of shifters for hundreds to thousands of years. The spectacle is expected by the humans, however. It comforts them somehow, as if they don’t have to worry about violence striking down their loved ones once the police get involved.
The human cop, one of an elite group who knows about shifters, waves me over. Rick’s already there, and if his expression is any indication, he’s not too happy with whatever information he’s gleaned.
“Talk to me.” I don’t address my demand to either man. One of them will answer. People always do when I speak.
The human, an older male who’s probably nearing retirement, steps closer, angling his body so nobody can see his mouth move, and lowers his voice. “I’m glad you could make it out here, Uri.”
“Agent Uriel. Agent Uriel Alexander. Or Agent Alexander.” The correction rolls off my tongue with a harsh reprimand that has sweat beading on the human’s brow. I take a deep breath and rein in my anger and the release of power that reminds those around me they’re in the presence of a predator. “You may call me any of those titles, but you have not been granted the permission to call me Uri. That name is reserved for those important to me. It’s nothing personal.”
The human rubs the back of his hand over his sweaty skin and nods. “Agent Alexander, then. Let me catch you up on our conversation. Agent Lyall and I were discussing the hooker who found the body. She reported seeing a baggie of syringes clutched in the victim’s hand. The first officer on the scene didn’t find them, however.”
“Somebody took them?” I phrase it as a question even though I know the obvious answer is yes. People tend to willingly reveal more details when they perceive themselves as being an expert, and although this human isn’t necessarily going to keep these facts from me, it’s a skill I’m refining at every opportunity.