I thought I was the fugliest shifter around. Guess what? Nah. This guy makes me look like Miss America.
A shifter in half-form strides quietly along the sidewalk, heading directly for the foundry, a neatly tied bundle at his hip.
He's huge. Now I've seen some big shifters. I'm Mutable so there's a lot of biggies in our colony.
Grizzly.
Polar Bear.
Elephant.
But nothing compares to this dude's half-form. Big squarish feet clomp down with each step, sparse hairs softly float from a high forehead and steep, jutting ridge brow. Eyes that are strangely large and soft, almost feminine—pierce the artificial gloom created by the street lamps. My vision, even in my half-donkey form is excellent, and I notice the sweep of ridiculously long eyelashes as his eyes shift back and forth, occasionally sweeping downward.
It's the tusks though.
Those are the things that make my breath catch. Ugly fuckers. They curve out of his mouth, curling backward toward his face. How he can see, or breathe—talk. Is anyone's guess. Who cares?
Maybe he's here to take Drake's ass out.
That'd be perfect. Save me work. Get the girl, death to the Lycan.
All in a night's work.
I track the tusked shifter as he slips into a narrow doorway and ascends the flight of stairs.
Soon. I'll let him do what he wants. Not worried about getting a piece of the Talyn pie. After all, prehistorics are known for defending and protecting women. I don't roll my eyes at the sheer stupidity of that philosophy, but it does stick in my craw.
My thick lips flatten. I have plenty of craw for their beliefs to stick in. I never look at myself in donkey form. Too embarrassing. It'd taken a long time to rise in the Mutable ranks.
Pure cunning and zero integrity helped that along.
I smile, thankful there's no mirror to show my rounded jaw, my square yellowed teeth. A tongue that is disproportionately long and thick.
I think about using that tongue on Talyn while she screams at my ugliness. My small smile widens to a grin.
Soon.When the Mutables who survived the house fire meet me, we plan.
Then we move.
8
Talyn
“I'll help.” Even though I'd like to toss the plates at their heads.
This time, I figure I can avoid a sex and lickathon if I just throw some shorts on. Which I have.
I'm wearing another huge t-shirt and a pair of drawstring shorts. Everything's too big.
I want my house.
And Pooky.
I decide not to cry, but it's burningly awful to stop tears that want to fall as much as mine threaten.
Merck looks up from the broom and dustpan, Drake glances at me from the cooktop.
I expect an apron would fix the vision of the two shifters making me supper and cleaning up the war torn mess they created.
At least the salsa was saved.
The smell of tender and perfectly seasoned chicken permeates the kitchen. I'm beyond hunger now, having gone into a numb spot reserved for starvation. I'm not a nice girl when my stomach's empty.
“Do you want me to help?” I ask a second time, feeling useless.
“I don't need any help. We need to get you fed, Talyn.”
I sigh, not saying anything. Then I have a brilliant idea.
Wine. Everything will be better with wine. “How about some wine?” I ask hopefully.
Drake says as he stir fries the chicken, “I don't think that's a good idea.”
I stand, hands on hips. “And I don't think it's a good idea that you busted inside Merck's house after he claimed me, ruined our dinner, and made enough revelations to crumble the house of cards down. I had a great one built. I'd stacked that just the way I like it. And then poof!” I yell, stalking over toward him.
His lips tweak at the edges.
Asshole.
“Wine might be okay, dragon,” Merck says noncommittally. He is smiling.
Drake saves his hide by reaching into a cabinet and extracting a long-stemmed wine glass.
That's better.
He finds the red wine in the corner of the counter.
It has my name on it.
He pours half a glass and I raise my eyebrows. Drake sighs, the chicken sizzling and steaming between us. Kind of like his breath.
He begins pouring again, filling the wine to the brim.
“That's more like it,” I grumble, carefully taking the glass from his hand.
Our fingers slide against each other and a spark goes off.
Now, it's not like I didn't like what he did for me. It's just—I want a man. A regular, human guy. Who drinks beer, and farts and leaves the toilet seat up.
I take a sip of my wine, grimacing.
No, I take that back. I want a real man. A guy that watches football once a year and farts when I'm not around and brings home chocolate before my period starts.
And licks like Drake.
And makes love to me like Merck.
Not. Happening.
I'll drink wine instead.
I swirl the ruby liquid in the glass and notice it's nearly gone. I frown.
Standing, I walk with more sway than's legal to Drake, plunking the delicate crystal on the raised quartzite peninsula.
“I'll take another round.” I slap the cold stone and Drake shakes his head slightly. “I have fajitas ready and you'll be eating.”
I pucker my lips and his eyes move to my mouth. “No. I want more wine.”
His lips quirk. “Well once you've had a little food of the non-liquid variety, then we'll liquor you up.”
I jerk my face back as strong arms encircle my waist and soft lips press against the side of my throat. A little groan escapes, and I want to punch myself in the head.
Real man.
Mantra time. Need a real man. Then it occurs to me that I'm no longer a real woman. I'm this Lycan girl. It makes me want to cry.
I eye the empty wine glass instead.
Drake slides a steaming plate of chicken fajitas toward me. A rainbow of peppers are prettily arranged alongside the moist chicken with sweet onion interspersed. My mouth waters. I'm suddenly starving.
Drake slides the covered tortillas my way. I open the lid and pluck a pure white flour disc out from the holder and load it full of the sloppy, delicious smelling Mexican concoction.
I eat as the men watch me. I gulp down water that Drake provides. My mouth's full and I say, “What?”
“Very satisfying,” Merck comments.
“Yes,” Drake agrees.
Finally, the neanderthals are getting along. I chew slowly, savoring the delicate flavorings and subtle seasoning of the juicy meal. When one tortilla is finished I load the second.
Only then do the men begin to dish themselves up.
They set their plates on the beaten up kitchen table and Drake pours a second glass of wine, setting it at what will be my place.
I pick up my plate and walk over to where they sit. I take my place between them.
It feels more right than it should.
9
Narah
I don't feel well.
Usually I can just blast through a workday living on coffee and a donut. Grab a supper through the fast food drive through. Done.
Order: I'd like a quarter-pounder with cheese meal.
Question: What kind of drink, miss?
Answer: Blood.
It gets Murphy every time.
I snicker.
Aeslin gives me a curious look while Murphy's is suspicious. Things that make me laugh are usually not kind or good.
That makes it funnier.
Of course, the iconic golden arches have been progressive enough to offer bagged blood.
It's gross—I'd rather take from the vein of one of my males. And that's just the way they like it too.
Aeslin and Matthews flank me. Murphy's nursing his head where Drake the dragon clocked him and being a general bitch, which I t
ell him.
“I am not a bitch. That description is for Lycans or some women of the unsavory order.”
Aeslin chuckles.
Murphy is his favorite vamp. Probably because he has to protect me, and he's British. His humor is largely lost on me but somehow, Aeslin finds him hilarious.
Matthews frowns at Murphy. Like I was thinking.
Matthews stops suddenly. We've made the short trek to Philips Street, scenting Drake easily. The sight that greets us is more funny than menacing.
“There!” Matthews says in a whisper only heard by the four of us.
My eyebrows scrunch. What the hell is that? It looks kind of like a—donkey?
“Oh love, this is more entertaining than I could have hoped for.”
“Shut up, Murph,” I say absently as I stare at the incredible sight. A man, maybe topping out at six and a half feet, is giving some kind of instructions to his little posse. Mutables, from the look of it.
I stifle an insane urge to laugh that is like a case of the clap. It itches. And I wanna scratch.
Long floppy ears swing as he speaks and gestures and I slap a palm over my mouth to buy my silence.
The men look at me.
I know. I can't seem to keep ahold of my shit. I blame it on the baby.
His teeth are pale yellow little Chiclets inside his mouth.
I expect braying to start.
Murphy pinches me and it wipes the urge to laugh.
Matthews punches him in the stomach for touching me.
The urge sweeps in again.
Murphy folds, knees hitting the cement.
“Thanks, Murphy,” I say, really appreciating him saving us being outed because I had a supremely untimely urge to have a giggle fest.
“Welcome,” he gasps from the sidewalk.
“He hurt you,” Matthews explains, and I fight smiling.
I wink at a gasping Murphy. “Yeah—needed it. I was sliding toward some kind of hysteric fit.”
Aeslin raises an eyebrow.
“Baby's fault,” I crow in soft indignation.
Both men appear puzzled and a small giggle does manage to escape.
Humor departs when the perp slides into the entrance of the old Foundry building. It's now commercial on the first floor with high-end apartments above. “He's on the move,” I say, going forward.
The men pace me.
I glance back at Murphy. He's hobbling to his feet.
He nods.
I beckon.
Murphy trots unevenly after us.
10
Merck
No one could have prepared me for this moment.
The moment where my life seems to settle into something resembling happy.
Drake is on one side of the couch, Talyn between us.
Music plays softly, the supper dishes soaking in soapy hot water to be done... whenever.
“I hate to say this,” Talyn begins, and I can't resist kissing her temple. “But I sort of like this.”
Drake tilts his head in her direction. “What is this?” he gestures loosely with his finger at the three of us.
“Being here, with you,” she smiles up at me, but her hand lands on the dragon's thigh.
I frown.
She presses her finger to my lips. “Don't be like that, Merck. I'm not anyone's. I'm Talyn. But I think I might consider being with a shifter.”
Drake bursts out laughing.
Talyn sits up straight, removing her hand from his leg.
Good.
He stops.
“What's so damn funny?” she asks, eyes narrowing on Drake.
I look at him with an amused lift of eyebrows.
He shoots me a go die look.
Not yet, pal, my answering look says.
“You aren't fully human anymore, Talyn. Being with a human male is a waste of time.”
Probably a waste of time before too. I don't comment. First smart move I've made.
“Well forgive me if I'm having a little trouble coming to terms with the shift of my life.”
Good Moon, she's getting riled up again. Bad puns and all.
“Talyn,” Drake tries for reason, “all I was trying to say was that this is a natural direction for your life.”
Not bad.
He takes her hand. Then Drake wrecks it by speaking more. “And you didn't seem to have too much trouble when I was tonguing you.”
Should have gone for simplicity.
I think I see steam pouring out of her head.
No. Just my imagination.
She slaps Drake and her new Lycan strength makes his head rock back.
When he looks back at her, his eyes have gone dragon.
I jerk her onto my lap just as the broken door swings open.
We turn to look as the ugliest shifter I've ever laid eyes on stomps inside like an elephant.
Scratch that.
Wooly Mammoth.
*
Jac
I immediately spot the Lycan and Drake. The female hits the radar as prehistoric but strongly Lycan over the top of that. She reeks of a dual claim. An unfinished one from Drake and a complete one from the werewolf.
Damn. What a mess.
I shift the velvet sack with the silver weapons to my other hip.
“Hey,” I say, as though my presence is an everyday occurrence.
The Lycan stands, a low growl loosening lips that are becoming jowly with his animal.
“Stay there, Jacob—freshly claimed female. Things are volatile.”
“Freshly claimed?” the female yells, pounding on Drake's back with small fists.
My eyebrows rise. I guess it's not going smoothly.
Do I kill the Lycan? That's the normal protocol. I open my mouth to ask Drake when I realize my damn tusks are in the way.
Shit. I begin to shift to human when four Mutables saunter in behind me.
I smell the female's fear and turn, facing... a donkey.
I laugh, but it comes out like a strangled cough. ʼBout normal, considering.
Apparently the donkey Mutable understands my laughter is for him and gestures toward me. “Kill him,” he says.
My eyes shift to the three who come for me.
Tiger.
Black bear.
Antelope.
Antelope?
I take out the bear first, clocking him so hard with my weapons he drops where he's hit.
Rushing the remaining two, I gore the tiger as his fur ripples over his body, flinging him off with my momentum. He makes a bloody stripe as he slides down the brick wall, the texture picking up a little spine in the process.
The antelope kicks backward and hits me smack between the eyes.
The strike staggers me and I land on my ass. Hard.
Taken out by a fucking deer. I shake my head, trying to clear the fireworks bursting in the field of my vision. Fucking hoofer got me just right.
When the four vamps charge in, I slump.
Could the night get any worse?
*
Narah
The donkey goes straight for Talyn but the dragon and Lycan have it.
I see that the—whatever he is—elephant guy, was put on his ass by a half-formed deer and resist the urge to laugh again.
I've had some pretty weird experiences but I'm thinking this is the number one evaaah.
“Narah!” Murph screams above the din.
I turn and Donkey's got something in his hand.
Something small. And illegal.
Grenade.
Matthews unfortunately takes my shoulder out of the joint when he throws me into the hall.
I land badly, hurting the other shoulder while clutching my dangling arm.
Agony surges through me and I grit my teeth, crawling back to what's left of the door, hanging by one hinge.
Thanks for the save, babe. God.
Murphy and Aeslin blur to my side. Murphy gives a slight shake of his head. Don't go back in there, the silent look tells me.
I glower.
The apartment blows up—with Matthews in it. One of the fathers of my unborn child.
I scream, leaping to my feet, my arm hanging like a crooked noodle.
Aeslin tackles me.
My arm feels like a live wire attached to my body and I cry out. Vampires can't survive fire, I think, before passing out from the pain.
*
Talyn
I shriek.
It's not neat or feminine. It's a loud, shrill bellow of complete terror. The donkey Mutable didn't perish in the house fire where I was held.
He's come back with reinforcements.
I'm claimed by Merck. I'm Lycan.
So why does he want me? What can he possibly gain?
Donkey reaches into his bag of tricks and flashes a toothy grin that's so creepy my skin wants to crawl off my body to escape his notice.
“Come here Talyn, or the boysʼ guts get splattered everywhere,” he says pleasantly.
My eyes widen. An antelope, some kind of half-bear and a tiger writhe around at his feet like released snakes. I don't know much, but what I do know is he's certifiably insane. A term I'm intimately familiar with.
He's going to take everyone out if I don't go with him.
Donkey might anyway.
I slip out from between Drake and Merck—I'm not having people's deaths on my conscious. Though my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth from my fear.
“No!” Drake yells, wrapping strong arms around me, easily lifting me.
Donkey pulls out a propane torch, lights it.
Pointing it—at me.
“I'll kill her, Drake. And I know your fire will only swamp backward to the source.”
I make a noise so primal it tightens Drake's arms around me like a vice and Merck moves forward.
Donkey turns to him. “Back off, mutt. Can't help Talyn if I set your fur on fire.” His ridiculous eyebrows waggle.
Really?
I see the shifter with tusks shake his head, struggling to his feet. Getting his bearings, he rushes Donkey.
It happens so fast, later I won't remember the exact order of events.
Drake turns me in his arms, and plunges toward the glass window pane. His skin turns like smooth sheeted glass beneath my body.
Merck moves toward Donkey as Tusks hits him from behind.
Angelic Blood (#5): Alpha Warriors of the Blood (The Blood Series) Page 38