Beast Coast (A Carus Novel Book 2)

by J. C. McKenzie

  I pursed my lips.

  “Think of your soul as a bucket of rocks. Your feras are the sand that fills the space between.”

  “I feel like there’s an insult in there somewhere.”

  “There’s not.” Donny glanced skyward as if asking Feradea for patience, or help. “Why are you being so difficult?”

  It was the wrong time to say “Am not,” so relaxing into my chair, I forced my arms to unfold. “What do my animals tell you, then? What do they mean?”

  Donny’s face morphed into the smart old man look, as if the wrinkles on his face held all the knowledge of the world. “The wolf is smart, a teacher to guide your steps. The mountain lion is a leader that never hesitates to pounce and teaches you assertiveness and understanding of the natural flow of our environment. The peregrine surprises me. It’s the illuminator to show the past, present and future—it’s observant, seeing the bigger picture.”

  “Why does it surprise you?”

  His eyes twinkled. “Pegged you as a raven. The trickster that inspires change.”

  “Isn’t the coyote the trickster?”

  Donny gave a sly grin. “The totems for coyote and the raven are very similar in different native cultures. Both are considered pranksters. The raven is often more dark and mysterious, the keeper of secrets. The lessons the raven doles out are more sinister and spiteful. The coyote understands the balance of wisdom and foolishness, teaching us to laugh at our mistakes.”

  “Fitting.” I glanced down at Ma. “But the coyote doesn’t laugh at himself.”

  A small smile. “Figures he already knows everything.”

  I snorted. “It’s too bad I didn’t bond with a coyote or a raven then. Sounds like a good match.”

  “It’s not too late for that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just as you’ve taken in three feras, you can take in more.”

  I blinked. It was the most intelligent response that came to me. After a pause, I managed to speak. “What?”

  “You’re not limited to three feras. Going back to my bucket analogy, your current feras have only filled the bucket part-way. There are still some holes between rocks. Still room for more sand. Other Shifters only require one fera to satisfy the void. You require more. Your first three feras are the foundation in which you must build on.” Donny gave Ma an adoring look. “It’s quite a gift.”

  “Doesn’t sound like much of a gift,” I huffed.

  Donny’s face glazed over with a faraway look. “It’s the greatest gift a Shifter can have.”

  I crossed my arms, not buying it. “Sounds more like a burden.”

  “Ahh,” Donny sighed and nodded. “Lumentum.”

  “What the hell is that?”

  “Latin.”

  “You know Latin is a dead language, right? Am I going to have to search this shit on the Internet or are you going to clue me in?” I regretted my harsh tone as the words left my mouth. My ignorance wasn’t Donny’s fault. “Sorry, Donny. I—”

  “No need for an apology, Carus. I sense your frustration. Lumentum translates to ‘Burden of the Beast.’”

  “Are you calling me a beast?” I pressed my hands into the side of the heavy oak table.

  Donny’s eyes met mine. “Are you saying there’s not one deep inside you?”

  I froze as ice slithered through my veins and gripped my heart. “How’d you know about that?”

  “I think you need to read this.” Donny handed me a book. I took it from him without reading the title because I recognized it and the zapping sensation—the Encyclopedia of Mythical Creatures.

  “Seriously?”

  With a small smile, Donny nodded. He pushed his chair back to get up. “The Carus must walk his or her own path.”

  When I started to complain, something sharp jabbed my ankle. I looked down and glared at Ma.

  Leave the old man alone, Ma glowered back at me. He needs to rest.

  And you need your beauty sleep.

  Ma bared his teeth and growled, but somehow it didn’t come across as threatening.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “There are two sides to every question: my side and the wrong side.”

  ~Oscar Levant

  Mel was late. Not a surprise, but with each passing minute, guilt crushed me where I sat. My phone only possessed so many games to distract my mind from rehashing feelings of inadequacy, or from reminding me of how many things I had yet to do.

  In a four-seater booth at the back of the sushi restaurant, I pressed the text option on my phone and typed out a message for Mel cancelling our plans. She probably hadn’t left yet, anyway.

  “Soooooo sorry I’m late.” The blonde bombshell blew into the restaurant like a mini hurricane. Heads swiveled in her direction. Despite craning their necks at awkward angles, most of the male patrons remained fixated on Mel as she made her way to the table I’d held for the last half an hour.

  Wearing light jeans with thick threading, probably designer, and a light pink T-shirt with a snug fit and the words “Juicy” across her chest, Mel looked every bit the Hollywood actress trying to blend in. Except she wasn’t. She was a Werewolf.

  Her hourglass figure, big hair, and piercing blue eyes got a lot of wanted and unwanted attention. Unfortunately for her, a member from Dylan’s pack was not impervious to her charms either. David forced a union on her, binding Mel to him until his grisly death.

  To an outside observer, Mel and I had little in common—from our physical appearance, to our wardrobes and mannerisms. But during the eleven years of surviving in Dylan’s ruthless, soul-breaking, and sadistic pack, we’d bonded. On the inside, we had the same damage, same baggage, and same knowledge of how bad shit could really get.

  Mel recuperated better than me. Light and bubbly. Every now and then, however, I caught a glimpse in her eye—a flash of sadness or a quick look of panic—as if some action or sound reminded her of the past.

  “So…” She slid into the seat opposite me after giving me a friendly hug and peck on the cheek. “How’s everything going?”

  I picked up a menu and tossed it to her across the table. “Better order a lot. I don’t even know where to start.”

  ****

  Usually when I talked to someone and summarized all my problems, it helped clarify and prioritize things. This time, not so much. It had nothing to do with Mel. I told her everything about my two cases—Herman and the unidentified supe responsible for the attacks. Going through the details, I realized how little I had to go on. And how much I was screwed.

  Mel listened to it all. When I first met her, I thought I’d hate her. I wanted to. She was the closest living thing to a real life, walking, talking Barbie. Who wouldn’t hate that? I’d assumed her brain would be as empty as a plastic doll’s and she’d be a shallow bitch. Turned out, she was neither. She didn’t interrupt me the whole time I talked, and her eyes didn’t glaze over once. A true friend.

  “I have nothing to go on for the supe attacker,” I finished.

  “Supe Slayer.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “That’s what the newspapers are calling him…or her.” She waved her hand in the air. “It.”

  “Really? They figured out that there’s one person behind the attacks? That’s amazingly perceptive for the media.”

  Mel nodded. “I read about it in the paper today.”

  “You read?” My eyes widened.

  Mel laughed and flicked rice at me. “Bitch.”

  “Takes one to know one.”

  An old joke, and not even a good one, but we giggled like little girls.

  “Sorry, you were saying?” I took a sip of my green tea. “What did the newspaper say?”

  “Besides a lot of anti-supe ‘they had it coming to them’ drivel? Not much. But one thing they mentioned stood out to me.”

  When she stopped to plop another sushi roll in her mouth, I grunted and poked her with my chopsticks. “Spit it out already!”

  Mel opened
her mouth and let the full sushi roll fall out and flop onto her plate. Her eyes widened and her lips trembled.

  Given her history, I might’ve felt bad if she smelled sickly sweet, like fear, but she didn’t. I folded my arms. “You know I have no patience.”

  Mel winked and popped the sushi back in her mouth. Chewed it quickly and swallowed. “In all the cases, the supes were dragged to the water. There have been some reports of supes washing up on riverbeds.”

  Placing my chopsticks on my now-empty plate, I drummed my fingers on the table. “We knew there was a connection to water. The river information is good. Might be able to use the locations to find a common source. Geographic forensics, here I come.”

  “And somehow in the midst of tracking carcasses, you’re going to go knocking on the doors of little old ladies? As if they haven’t been traumatized enough by a lizardman mugging them, the big bad Carus is going to interrogate them.”

  I flicked wasabi onto her plate with my chopsticks. She recoiled and shook her head at me.

  “I resent that,” I said, in case she couldn’t tell by my wasabi assault. “The old ladies won’t have a clue I’m a supe. I have more tact than that.”

  Mel took a deep sip of her tea before speaking. “Are you looking for one or two elderly women?”

  “Just one. Missing the two items Herman’s pawned.”

  “Well, who’s to say he didn’t get those two items from two different women?” Mel’s brow rose.

  My stomach dropped as realization hit me like a slab of cold ham on the face. I gave the cop the parameters for women with both items stolen, not one or the other. I could go to every single one of these women and face the very real possibility none of them were Herman’s victim.

  “Who’s to say he stole them at all?” Mel interrupted my slew of mental cursing.

  Sighing, I stared at the ceiling. It was possible. “Where else would he get them?”

  “Known associate?”

  “Big words, little girl.”

  “New cop drama on TV.”

  I rolled my eyes. “He doesn’t have any.” That I knew of. His file was cleaned.

  “What about the agent lady?”

  “Booth?”

  Mel nodded. “You said you suspected she has a vested interest. Any old ladies in her life? Maybe there’s a connection?”

  Good logic, but… “Why would she need me then?”

  Mel shrugged. “Maybe she doesn’t know the old lady in her life is helping Herman out. It makes more sense though.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, it would be an awfully big coincidence for him to mug a little old lady who just happened to have the same weird lizardman statue as Agent Booth. More likely he got it from someone they both know.”

  Huh. “Never in my life have I been gladder you’re not as dumb as you look.”

  Mel burst out laughing, spraying a little rice over her plate. She slapped a hand over her mouth but continued to giggle. “Bitch!”

  We grinned at each other while the waitress topped our teapot. When she looked at our table covered with rice and wasabi, her lips curled down.

  “I’ll have to pay Officer Stan another visit.” He was my best bet. I doubted Booth would leave her personal information unmonitored in the SRD databases. One search at work and I’d have to face the wrath of my supervisor. I glanced at my watch. “And soon.”

  “Enough of this!” Mel exclaimed, drawing the attention of the other patrons in the restaurant. She glanced around and lowered her voice. “Tell me about your date with Wick.”

  “How’d you know about that?”

  Mel snorted. Somehow the sound came off more ladylike than when I did it. “He’s my Alpha. We’re all attuned to his emotions. He was nervous yesterday and then really happy. I knew it had to do with you…”

  I waited.

  “…and Steve told me.”

  I laughed and plopped another dynamite roll in my mouth. “What’s he feeling now? Wick, I mean. Not Steve.”

  Mel tilted her head. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t understand you with all that rice in your mouth.”

  I swallowed, smiled, and repeated my question. Trust Mel to throw in an etiquette lesson after spraying food on the table herself.

  Mel didn’t answer right away. Her head bowed, she picked up her green tea and inhaled the steam.

  “Mel?”

  “He’s nervous again.”

  I slumped in my seat. “Why?”

  She took another deep sip of tea before placing her cup back on the table. “Maybe because he’s wondering if he’s enough.”

  “Enough for what?”

  Her look practically speared me through the forehead. “Enough to win your heart over that mangy cat.”

  “Ugh!” I threw my hands up. Taking a moment to collect my thoughts, I ate three more California rolls, chewing them viciously. Making sure I swallowed before starting my tirade, I pointed my chopsticks at Mel in an accusatory manner. They shook a little. “First. You shouldn’t fling insults. You haven’t met him. It’s not fair to judge him. Mangy cat! Really? Second…” I inhaled a long breath of air, filled with the aroma of sushi and tea. “I don’t know what to do! My cat wants Tristan and my wolf wants Wick.”

  “I don’t get it. Wick and you go so well together. You barely know Tristan.”

  “I’ve spent more time with your Alpha, sure, but he could be ordered to hurt me at any time. All it takes is one command from Lucien. I’m struggling with that…especially after Dylan.”

  Mel watched my face intently as I spoke. Something changed in her eyes. They started out angry, flashing yellow, but now something else showed—something softer and more sympathetic.

  “I’m sorry. You’re right. It’s just that…well, Wick is a good Alpha. A great one. After Dylan’s pack, I thought I was condemned to a lone wolf life. And that didn’t sit well with me or my wolf. It’s unnatural. You know a shewolf needs a pack and the protection it offers. Wick represents safety and home for me. He’s fiercely protective of all of us, and I guess—”

  “You want to protect him, too,” I finished for her. I got it. I really did.

  “I know you won’t intentionally hurt him, and you deserve to be happy more than anyone.”

  I returned her smile with a weak one of my own.

  “What do you want?” Mel asked.

  “I honestly don’t know.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “I’m all about reciprocation.”

  ~Tristan Kayne

  Last time I saw Officer Stan Stevens, I got the distinct impression he liked me about as much as walking barefoot through a yard full of doggy doo-doo, but when his gaze flicked up to meet mine from across his desk, it wasn’t hatred filling his expression or clogging my nose, it was hope.

  Before I could utter my request, Stan leapt out of his chair and grabbed his jacket. “Time for you to scratch my back,” he barked.

  I had the choice of either standing there, staring at said back with a gaping mouth, or following him to find out what the heck he meant.

  One quick car ride later, during which Stan drove like a possessed maniac and shaved years off my life, we arrived at an abandoned warehouse in the industrial zone off Hastings Street and Commercial Drive.

  A couple of blocks from the water, crime scene tape cordoned off a large building with broken windows and graffiti. Patrol cars sat scattered around the entrances and cops milled about. Some looked green in the face. Some walked around, shifting their eyes back and forth as if the boogey man planned to jump out at them any minute.

  “What’s this?” I asked. Stan had refused to enlighten me during the four-minute race car drive.

  “Murder scene,” he said, opening the door and jumping out.

  The air rushed into the cab of the cruiser, and with it, the smell of blood. Bracing myself for more, I got out and shut the door behind me. The dense summer air filled with the scent of death, rushed to fill my nostrils.

  “Ugh.
” I wiped at my nose as if I suffered from bad allergies. “How many dead?”

  Stan’s head snapped around. “How’d you know there was more than one?”

  “Too much death in open air for only one body.”

  Stan nodded. “Let’s go.”

  I followed him to the building. We paused briefly after ducking under the tape for him to sign us in and mumble “consultant” to the other cop, but otherwise, it was a straight march into a large unadorned room.

  The full force of the smell hit me. The room blurred. I staggered and reached out to clutch the first thing my hand could find and dig my nails into—Stan’s arm. His solid bicep acted as an anchor while my brain fought to clear the sensory overload.

  Stan, bless his heart, stood like a statue and said nothing. Several seconds flew by while my eyes processed what my nose had already told me.

  Dead bodies lay sprawled and piled on top of one another in the centre of the room. Squinting at the mass of bone and blood, I looked for more information. Various stages of decomposition. Even with drafts slicing through the room, the odour stung my nose. No need for me to shift to a wolf to tell they were all norms.

  It was hard to determine where one body ended and the next started. The blood spatter and shredded clothes left them practically naked in appearance. Along with the stench of their decaying bodies came wafts of their last emotions, so strong they imprinted the room with it. Sickly sweet fear and the hot metal reek of pain.

  “What do you see?” Stan’s voice cracked in the middle of his question. He cleared his throat and tugged at his uniform’s collar.

  I pulled down on my shirt, firmly putting it in place before zipping up my yoga hoodie. As a glorified SRD assassin, I’d seen death before, been the cause of it, but never on this scale…never like this. I lifted my chin in an attempt to look confident. Focus. “Around twenty norm bodies in various stages of decomposition.” Sniffing the air, I absorbed more detail. “The freshest about two days old, the oldest I would say at least three months.”