Shaw’s gaze narrowed. But he nodded. “Fair enough. I’ll let the Cat know.”
Chapter Three
Jack Colton was capable of becoming anything. Like a regular shifter, he could change his form. But unlike a regular shifter, he could become more than one animal. He could become any animal. Any single creature that nature could throw at him, he could transform into. Sam had seen it with her own eyes.
Worse yet, also unlike a regular shifter, he didn’t even have to change his own physical form in order to appear as something else to others. Instead, he could remain in his own body and simply change the perception of what or who he was in the minds of those around him. A form of mind control. It was a terrible power. It was a terribly powerful power.
Every time she thought about it, she experienced a chill and a sinking feeling. The chill ran up the length of her spine and into her neck, and the sinking feeling took her stomach and put it in her toes. Then she would look up and look around. And she would wonder.
She would wonder which, if any, of the people around her had been influenced by him. Had he come close to her? Was he in the vicinity?
There were only two fortunate aspects that negated the horrible power of his ability: The first was the fact that the only thing he could control in other people’s minds was their perception of him. The second was that his power didn’t work on her.
For a while, before they’d officially come face-to-face, Sam had been under his influence. She remembered when that influence broke – in the seconds before she took his eye. She recalled that he seemed to grow taller, older, just a little. And that was it. That was the last of his power over her.
She wasn’t sure why she was the lucky soul he couldn’t influence. Every once in a while, a disease ran the course of a society, and some people just happened to be immune. She guessed Colton’s power was a little like a disease in that way. It was one he spread to others but didn’t suffer from himself. There was a word for people like that – like Typhoid Mary. Was it “carrier?” He was a carrier.
And she just happened to be immune.
But that immunity would only get her so far. He was still a shifter. And not just any shifter.
When she was little, before her parents had died, she’d been told stories of two different mythical shifters. One was called the doppelshifter. No one seriously expected the beast to exist. Which was probably why it had become a bedtime story rather than a shifter school lesson. What it should have been was a shifter warning.
The doppelshifter was not a doppelganger. A doppelganger could become any human it came into contact with. The doppelshifter on the other hand could not become any human other than himself. However, again, it could in fact become any animal.
Normal shifters were relegated to a single human form and a single animal form. When she was five, she’d met a family of shifters who were all cheetahs. She was pretty sure the son, who had been a toddler at the time, was a cop now or something. When she was a little older, she’d become close friends with a shifter who took on raven form. Her parents, droll to a fault, had named her Raven.
Shifters were birds, mammals, and even fish. She’d made the hilarious acquaintance of a shifter who was a mako shark once, and after she’d stopped freaking out – and he’d stopped laughing at the idiotic idea of a joke he’d pulled on her – she and Joshua had become fairly close friends as well.
But that was so long ago. Before the running. Before the moving. Before… Before Jack Colton had begun to hunt her.
Why was he hunting her? She had a theory on that. Of the two mythical shifters spoken of in bedtime stories and written of in the oldest of shifter history books, Colton was one. And Sam was the other.
She was the magishifter. That was what it was called. A legendary creature capable, not only of becoming any animal it wished, but of becoming mythical animals. Such as unicorns. Mermaids. Or one of Sam’s personal favorites, the Phoenix. The magishifter was supposed to come with a powerful guardian, someone to protect it from the hatred and violence of a world that would otherwise see it extinct, but Sam was alone in this life. Every story had its embellishments, and she supposed that was one of hers.
Over the years, she’d done a fair amount of research on the doppelshifter and the magishifter. She’d wanted to know if what she’d learned in rumor was true. She wanted to know about one thing in particular, one very important detail that might help explain why she had been running for twenty years: Was it really the case that the doppelshifter and the magishifter… were… for lack of a better word – soulmates? Two halves of the same being?
It was said that the doppelshifter was the mind of the beast. And the magishifter, the heart. The story was that once, long ago, before mammals walked the land and monsters swam the seas, the world was lonely. It wanted a companion, one that would fill its plains and mountains with movement, and its waters with color.
So it created the Shifter.
The Shifter was a single being capable of becoming anything the world wished to see. And it knew what the world wanted to see because the world spoke to it. It was a wordless communication through which the Shifter recognized the wants and desires of the world and acted accordingly.
The world was happy. The Shifter was happy. But Time moved through the universe and brushed past the world on his way. As it did, the face of the world changed, and the effect was so violent, the Shifter was torn in two.
Each half was thrown to opposite ends of the world, where they became shifters of their own. Now disconnected from one another, they searched for their other halves and wandered the once more motionless lands and colorless seas.
That was the story. It was told to shifters the way fairy tales were told to mortal children or the way cultural mythos were shared around campfires. Mythologically speaking, all shape shifters were said to descend from these original two halves of the same being.
Which was impossible, of course. Never mind the biological and geographical impossibilities. Samantha O’Neill was thirty-six years old, and not three and a half billion. Though some days, it honestly felt she had been running that long.
Sam thought back on that day in high school all the time. The day Jack Colton had approached her in an empty, dark hall. “Twenty years and I still can’t think of why he was there. I’ve turned it over and over again in my head.”
“I know,” said the woman across from her.
Without looking up, Sam continued. Her eyes were unfocused; her mind on the past. “The school was empty by that time. The main lights had all been turned off and the doors locked from the inside. I closed my locker, turned around, and there he was.”
Raven Ashwing smiled and put her booted feet up on the coffee table, drawing Sam’s attention at last. “That’s old news, Sam. We’ve already been over that part. Drink your soda.”
Sam looked down at the soda in her hand and realized it was getting warm. She wasn’t that thirsty she guessed. “Well, whatever his initial reasons were,” she said slowly, “… now I’m pretty sure he just wants revenge.” She’d taken his eye, after all.
So why did it feel so foreign for her to say that out loud, as if she were stating a blatant untruth? An eye for an eye, right? Wasn’t that how it went?
But he could have taken your eye so many times, Sam. It’s been twenty years and he hasn’t hurt you yet. Not at all.
That thought coasted through her brain as across from her, the friend she’d made as a child and the one single person in the world who knew who Samantha was and where she was, sat reclined on Sam’s rented couch, staring up at the ceiling. Raven looked, well, like a raven. She had smooth, sleek blue-black layers that shined in waves ending about six inches past her shoulders. Her eyes were deep and dark and a color that was rare for someone of Asian blood due to the indigo blue ring that sparked all along the outsides of her irises. Her lips were on the pale side, but somehow it looked good on her.
Her frame was short and slight, and Sam had learned over th
e years that most avian shifters shared that physique to some extent because it was lighter. Hence, it was easier to fly.
“You’ve been here a few months longer than usual. That’s not like you.” Raven looked down from the ceiling, where she had probably been eyeing the glow-in-the-dark stars Sam had puttied to the roof. She had just wanted to safely sleep under them for once. Something she couldn’t do in reality.
“You’ve been going strong and steady and like clockwork for twenty years. What made you stay here this long this time? Bright lights, big city hypnotize you?”
“I don’t know,” Sam shrugged. “I’m tired of running.”
That was definitely not an untruth. She was so sick and tired of always having to look ahead – and always having to look behind.
“I don’t doubt it, but it’s more than that,” Raven said, smiling as she leaned forward. “It’s that you’re tired of running and you love Chicago. You’ve always talked about coming here. Maybe you belong here?” Raven stood and moved around the rented coffee table, passing the wardrobe mirror on her way. Sam caught a glimpse of herself in the looking glass and attempted to smooth down her brown hair. It always curled into corkscrews in the humidity and it was storming right now.
“Forget it; it’s impossible,” said Raven as she opened the fridge and peeked in. “It’s still gorgeous.” She hadn’t even looked over her shoulder, and she’d known what Sam was attempting to do. “No one else in the world has hair like yours, Sam. Waist length curls that are fine instead of coarse?” She shook her head. “You should be grateful.”
“Shut up,” muttered Sam with a sigh.
“You know, since you’ve been here, your curls have been perfect.”
“I said shut up.”
The apartment was an efficiency – so everything was in the same room. It was very easy for someone in the “bedroom” to watch someone do something in the “kitchen.”
“I’m just saying this place suits you.” Raven slammed the fridge door and turned back to face Sam with a new drink in her hand. She’d traded in the sodas for beer. No one could down alcohol like Raven, which made zero sense because she weighed about ninety pounds.
“You have beautiful hair, Raven,” insisted Sam. She’d always been a little jealous of the girl’s slick black strands.
Raven popped the beer can open with a loud chshkkk and cocked her head to one side. “Trade you in a heartbeat.”
“Maybe,” said Sam though she didn’t believe it. “But you’d want to trade back the first time you had to comb it.”
An odd sound outside silenced the next word on her tongue. She froze and turned toward the windows. Parts of Chicago were filled with strange sounds at all hours of the night. But some were stranger than others.
“Did you hear that?”
“Cat fight,” shrugged Raven. And for the thousandth time, Sam wished she could shrug things off the way her best friend did. “Gotta go,” Raven said next as she grabbed her backpack from the couch arm and headed to the door. She stopped a moment to down half of the beer before placing it on the kitchen table on her way out. If she hadn’t been walking instead of driving, Sam would have blocked the exit.
Raven stopped in the doorway and turned to face Sam. “If you really want to leave, you’ll tell me when and where your next hop is right, cricket?”
“Don’t I always?”
Raven smiled that winsome, restless smile that defined pretty much everything she was and opened the apartment door. The rain on the tin roof overhead was louder on the landing. To Sam it was soothing somehow, blocking out a lot of the other noises of the city. “See you soon,” she called over her shoulder and left the apartment.
As usual, Sam got up to quadruple lock the door behind her.
*****
Out in the alley between apartment complexes, a man stepped from the shadows and met Raven in the damp darkness. “Well?”
“She’ll probably be staying a while. She’s always wanted to live here. And I can tell you’re wearing her down.” Something dark passed over her black-indigo eyes when she said that.
Jack Colton’s chin rose and his gaze narrowed. The rain picked up around them.
Over the last twenty years, he’d honed his abilities. Now, if he was careful, he could not only influence what others saw of him, but what they thought of him as well.
Still, this one was harder to control than others. It was clear she cared quite deeply for Samantha. But this was the opportunity he’d been waiting twenty years for. Of all the places Samantha O’Neill could go next in her life-long run from him, she’d come here. To his home town. And a few blocks away from his home, to boot.
It was too providential. He couldn’t ignore the possible implications. He couldn’t help getting his hopes up, no matter how stupid it might have been.
So he smiled a beautiful smile, and one ice blue eye flashed with power. At all costs, he had to keep her friend in his control. “Good,” he said. “That’s very good. Now Raven... you won’t forget how close you and I are, will you?”
Raven Ashwing’s dark eyes glassed over a bit, but she smiled brilliantly and nodded. “Of course not!”
“And Samantha is a friend to us both.”
“Umm…” she frowned, as if not understanding what he was getting at by speaking the obvious. “Well yeah, why?”
“We’re going to do everything we can to make sure she feels safe here, right?”
She chuckled, sighing. “Not a problem,” she said, shaking her head. “Just leave it to me, Colt.” She nudged him on the arm as if they’d been friends forever. Which is exactly what she fully believed and would have sworn with her life’s blood.
Chapter Four
Jack had worked for Walker for just over twenty years, nearly as long as Walker had been king. They had a deal. Walker took care of something vital for Jack, and in turn, Jack offered his help where it was needed. It was an important deal. It was pivotal. And it had taken more out of the Shifter King than he would ever admit.
Sometimes Jack wondered why Walker had done it. He wondered whether Walker had agreed to their little deal because he was afraid of Jack. At the very least, Walker didn’t trust him. Scent was important to shifters, and Jack didn’t smell like the others.
For good reason.
He wasn’t like them at all. Whereas so-and-so would smell like a human and a raccoon and so-and-so would smell like a human and a lemur, Jack smelled like all of them. And none. He was nearly devoid of scent altogether. It was faint, different, wild, and dangerous.
Only one other person in the world smelled like that… and as far as he knew, almost no one in the shifter community was even aware she existed. Only Jack Colton.
No doubt when Walker had first met Jack all those years ago, he’d been a little alarmed. The king had probably wondered what the hell he was dealing with. But in the end, he’d been brave and they’d shaken hands. Maybe he felt that by making his deal with Colton, he was at least seeing to his own safety. Smart.
Walker was very smart. Jack had chosen him for a reason.
By the time a month had passed, he’d called Jack in to do a few jobs. He’d kept him close, as the adage suggested. One job after another, the two worked in tandem, and over the next few years the inevitable happened. Walker learned what Jack was. The fact that he kept this news secret from the rest of the world was enough for Jack to decide Darius Walker was a good man and he’d made the right choice.
Walker was the right man for the job of king.
Eventually, the two men became friends. In so far as men like them could be friends, that was. Both were hard workers and seemed dedicated to keeping the shifter race alive. Both would lay down his life for the other in the line of duty. But both were also guarded and both had secrets. Even from each other.
Which was why despite the number of years that had passed, Jack was a little surprised to find the king of the shifters knocking on his door at 4 a.m. that Tuesday night.
“W
alker,” Jack greeted with slight reservation. “No offense…” he began, “but what’s going on?” Normally, Walker called if he needed help. Or he sent one of his own men to track Jack down. This was the first time he’d ever come to him directly.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Colt. I know you’ve got your own shit to deal with.” His arm was out of the sling it had been in, and all that remained of the bandages he’d worn for the last month or so were scrapes here and there where the cuts had been deepest. Chalk one up for shifters, thought Jack. They did tend to heal quickly. As his missing eye too often reminded him, however, that didn’t mean they could regenerate lost body parts.
“No problem. What’s up?” He stepped aside to let the king into his apartment.
Walker nodded, moved quickly past him and stopped just inside the threshold. “There’s a mess going down this very minute,” he began “And it’s happening right here in Chicago.” He shook his head. “Frankly, this is big. I need your help.”
Jack didn’t say anything. Whatever would bring the Shifter King to his apartment in person would have to be big. Instead of speaking, he mentally quieted himself, preparing for the worst. Physically, he gathered the tools he might need, making several stops in different rooms throughout his apartment. Then he headed back to the front room, grabbed his jacket, and followed Walker outside.
The apartment complex was gated, but the king had managed to make it past two guards undetected to get to Jack’s door. No doubt, he’d used magic.
Out on the lawn in front of Jack’s particular building, a cherry blossom tree sat bare in the cold autumn night. When they reached the tree, Walker pulled a transport stone from his inner jacket pocket.
“Don’t bother,” said Jack. “We’ll use mine. Save that for emergencies.” Jack pulled up the sleeve of his long-sleeve thermal shirt to reveal an intricate tattoo on his thick forearm. “What’s the address?”
Walker hesitated just a second, then said, “Four fifty-five North Michigan Avenue.”
The Shifter King (The Kings Book 10) Page 3