20 Shades of Shifters_A Paranormal Romance Collection

by Demelza Carlton

  John slumped in the beast's arms. “Fine,” he whispered.

  He looked up at Camila. Her eyes pleaded with him to make this all better. His heart was crumbling like a brittle sandcastle, but he knew what he had to do. He sucked in a shuddering breath and looked up at Nomad. “Okay. Let's go. No tricks this time.”

  Nomad released his grip on Camila. She sagged as if the wind had been sucked from her sails.

  “Give me your wrists,” Nomad said, pointing. John complied. Nomad snapped on thick cuffs made of some shimmering metal material. “Try to wiggle all you like, compadre. They're Cartharian steel, strong enough to hold the likes of you ten times over. The favors I had to do to get these…” Nomad nodded toward the door. “Let's go before the 5-0 get here.”

  John turned and followed Nomad. He told himself not to, but he stole one last look at Camila. It was like someone digging out his heart with their hands. She sat, slumped on the floor, mud-caked sneakers tucked under her, hair trailing in front of her face. Tears snaked down both cheeks. “John.” She lifted a hand, reaching for him.

  John choked back the sadness. She'd be safe. Her mother would be free. She'd be better off without him. He wouldn't hurt her anymore.

  He turned to Nomad. “Can I say goodbye?”

  Nomad shook his head and continued to press John toward the door. “It's best if we just go. Don't make this suck any harder. If we hurry, we can catch a corn dog on the way.”

  “What about that…that thing?” John craned his neck as Nomad shoved him into the alley. John's eyes found the dumpster, the first place he'd seen her. He dropped his head. He'd get back to her. Somehow he'd—

  Grinding metal echoed loudly behind him. John whirled around.

  Nomad slammed the door back in its casing. Red beams shot out of his eyes and began to weld the metal shut.

  “What're you doing?!” John asked, scrambling around.

  Nomad pushed back on John's chest. “Let’s go. You don't want to be here for this.”

  John stumbled toward the closed door. “You said she wouldn't get hurt!” he nearly screamed. “You promised!”

  Nomad shook his head as he gripped John's shirt. “I wouldn't call it a promise. Anyway, it's protocol. I just do what I'm told.”

  Inside, Camila screamed.

  Camila

  Friday 9:17 a.m.

  When the door slammed shut, Camila’s heart kicked into gear, drumming out the pain of John's departure.

  Seven feet of terror stood before her. The claws, the huge muscular limbs, the skeletal knobs made its features horrible and otherworldly. She got a flash in her head of the Predator from that terrible Arnold Schwarzenegger movie. It walked on two legs like a man, but its movements shouted predator.

  She scuttled back, slamming into the far wall.

  The beast took a step forward, rattling the containers. Its eyes tracked over her body and a gurgle rolled from its throat. Slowly, it cocked its head and sniffed at the air. It opened its mouth. Curving teeth dripped with yellow saliva.

  The beast lidded its eyes, curled up its jowls, and roared.

  Camila bolted for the storage room.

  Claws slashed through her shirt and tore through the skin of her back. Heat and pain seared her shoulder. She skidded into the storage room and slammed the door.

  Claws on the outside, nails slowly dragging against the wood. It was toying with her like a cat with a mouse. Her sweaty hands fumbled for a lock, but remembered there was none.

  The beast slammed its body against the door.

  The door banged into her and sending her flying. She hit the far wall and crumpled to the floor. Her head spun and pain blared from her back and neck.

  She lifted her eyes. The door was open.

  Razor sharp claws curled over the door frame.

  Terror raked through her. What should she do? She scrambled up, pulling on the metal storage racks for support. Her eyes scanned rows of Ready Whip, hot fudge, cherry topping. No weapons. Nothing.

  The beast growled.

  Outside her storage room, something was happening. Was someone trying to get in the back door? There was no time. She had to flight.

  The beast stepped into the storage closet and raised its claws.

  Camila trembled as the beast stepped into the storage room.

  She scrambled back, bumping into the shelves. She fumbled for something, anything to use as a weapon.

  It stepped closer, blood dripping off one claw.

  It would hurt to die. She trembled, trying to breathe. She had to get out.

  The beast stood, looking at her. Its veiny, slitted eyes studied her, reminding her of an Amazon python. It seemed to be thinking. The beast huffed in a breath, its nostrils flaring. Then it lifted the corners of its mouth in a hungry smile.

  “Don't. Please,” Camila whispered. Could it understand her?

  The beast’s smile widened. It lunged.

  Camila dove sideways. The beast's matted body plowed into her left shoulder. Her chin smacked into the shelves. Blood burst into her mouth as she scrambled away from his massive girth. Claws scraped the floor, searching for her. She scampered back and banged into the corner. Nowhere to go.

  A paw curled around her ankle and dragged her backward.

  “No!” she screamed.

  Her hands scrambled on the floor as it drug her toward its rancid open mouth. Her fingers locked on the metal shelving and latched on. If she could only hold on…

  The beast tugged and the shelf toppled down on them.

  John

  Friday 9:20 a.m.

  John slammed his body into Nomad, catching him off guard. He couldn't use his shackled hands, so he lashed out with his legs, landing two solid kicks into Nomad's knee and groin, the cracks echoing off the brick walls. Nomad buckled to the pavement, unprepared for the ferocity of the attack. With Nomad down, John ran and slammed his body into Lizzy's backdoor. The metal door thunked and dented in, but would not give. He might be able to pry it off if his hands were fr—

  Nomad slammed into him from behind, sending him careening headfirst into the brick wall. His head cracked through the brick, sending mortar and rubble flying. Stars exploded in his vision. Hot blood dripped into his eyes as the world dimmed; he shook his head to clear his sight. He dragged his body off the ground and stood.

  “Somehow,” Nomad said, spitting blood from his mouth, “I knew you'd fight back.”

  John ran full speed and slammed into Nomad.

  They flew across the alley and smashed into the dumpster with a loud bang. Nomad drummed punches into John's kidneys, his stomach, his face. John kicked, leaning down to bite Nomad's neck. Nomad choked John. John twisted out of his grip and kicked Nomad away as hard as he could.

  In seconds he was bolting back toward the ice cream shop.

  Somewhere in the distance police sirens sounded.

  “Stop,” Nomad said, dragging himself after John. Blood trickled from his mouth and ear. “You can't kill him.”

  “Yes I can.” John turned the corner and headed straight for the front window.

  “No, John!” Nomad shouted after him. “You don't understand.”

  John ignored Nomad's calls. He had seconds to save her. If it wasn't already too late. God, he thought, please don't let it be too late.

  He plunged head first through the front window.

  John barreled into the ice cream shop. Shards of glass, wood, and brick pelted the serving area. He hit the ground and rolled to standing.

  “Camila!” He ran toward the back, skidding to a stop when he reached the storage closet.

  A shelf had toppled, littering the floor with cans of fruit and tubs of chocolate. A smear of something coated the floor. Blood? No, chocolate syrup. Inside, the metal shelf lay diagonal to the floor. The beast was under it, its legs pinned. It seemed stunned, for now.

  Movement at the base of the shelf. A hand emerged, then an arm. Camila wiggled out from under the mess.

  Relief flooded h
im. He reached for her with both shackled hands, pulling her upright. She bled from a cut on her forehead and scratches down her arm. Her wrist looked even worse—purple, swollen, and tucked to her side. He pulled her into his arms, needing her body next to his, her heart beating against his chest. She looked into his eyes.

  The beast erupted from under the shelf.

  John pushed Camila behind him and turned to face it.

  Blood lust had transformed the defensive creature in the woods into a killing machine. Taking one giant step, the beast lashed out, raking claws across John's chest. Blood sprayed from the wound into the beast's fur. John staggered back, a hand to his chest. John raised his fists as the beast lunged and sunk its teeth into John's neck.

  Pain. Panic. Teeth tore at John's throat, an awful tearing just below his ear. He couldn't breathe. The beast's arms were locked around his, pinning him. The smell of blood—his blood—filled his nose. If it punctured his windpipe, would he heal?

  John lurched forward, slamming the beast into the wall. A section of drywall fell away in powdery pieces, dust clotting the air. Still its teeth tore at his flesh.

  John pushed against the beast and they went sprawling into the front. Tumbling over a stool, the beast fell, its arms slipping off. John struggled up. He touched his wound. His hand came away soaked in red. Hot blood flowed out of his neck. He'd heal, but how much blood could he stand to lose? His head felt like a helium balloon. The place was trashed—stools lay on the floor, blood and plaster clotted on the tile. Where was the beas—

  “John!” Camila screamed.

  The beast pounced.

  Teeth sunk into his shoulder again. John's eyes locked on the matted mane and a brown ear. John could feel his blood, hot and sticky, pouring down his chest. His limbs sagged like lead weights. A deep hum filled his skull.

  Dying. That's what this was.

  He blinked back the darkness. The beast lifted up to bite him again, closer to the jugular, a death bite. In that second John's eyes locked on the front window. The broken glass angled up like shark's teeth, sharp and deadly. If he could push the beast back… He gritted his teeth and shoved as hard as he could.

  The beast flew back and its shoulders sunk into the window’s jagged glass. One large shard sliced through the meat of the beast's shoulder. It growled in pain.

  John grabbed the beast by both shoulders and pushed down. The beast's neck sank deeper into the glass, shards piercing through its flesh, dripping in blood. It roared and lashed out with its arms. Claws scraped skin off of John's shoulder, his cheek, but he pushed, pushed. He leaned his weight on the beast, shoving down as the glass shards cut through cords of flesh. The thick smell of blood clotted the air.

  The beast’s face twisted in agony. Its curved teeth gnashed and its red eyes rolled in its head.

  Nomad skidded up to the window from the outside and waved his hands, frantic. “Stop! Stop!” Nomad tried to grab John through the window, but John ducked away from his grasp and continued to push.

  The beast struggled out with weak hands, claws cycling in the air. Fear finally crept into its slitted reptilian eyes.

  “Jopari,” Nomad said, “he's one of us!”

  “What?” John flicked his eyes to the beast. The flaring nostrils pulsed in slow, straggling breaths.

  “He's our friend John, one of our people!” Nomad said. “You're killing your friend.”

  John's mind unraveled. How? How could that be?

  “Are you saying…” John shook his head. “This is a trick.”

  The beast gurgled weakly.

  “He's your friend! Your partner. You grew up together. Went into the Cartharian guard together. Look at him, Jopari. Don't you remember? He's what we are, what you will be in your true form. Now get off him and let him heal!” Nomad pointed from the other side of the smashed order window. When John didn't respond, Nomad threw his arms up. “You're killing him!”

  “What I'll become?” John murmured, a cold sweat breaking out across his chest. Was Nomad telling the truth? He searched his memories for something to tell him what to do. All that greeted him was a large blank wall.

  And behind him Camila was quietly sobbing.

  John knew he wasn't a monster. Yet, he thought back to the animal urges in the woods, the desire to tear and rip. He couldn't be… Could he?

  Camila stepped up behind him, pressing a hand on John's shoulder. Even near death, the beast's eyes flared open at her scent.

  John pushed down, the glass sinking upward, cutting through the beast's throat.

  “Nooo!” Nomad shouted, punching through the window. Brick went flying.

  The beast's arms slumped to the floor. It was dead.

  Nomad stared at the body as if frozen. “How could you?” He turned wet eyes up to John.

  Trembling, John fell back, his muscles shuddering, his head full of wet cotton.

  “How could I not?” he whispered.

  Camila stepped beside him, her palm slipping into his. Her hand was cold and shaking. He couldn't look at her. Not when he knew what he had to do.

  Sirens filled the air. The police would be here soon. John swallowed hard and tried to prepare himself.

  “John?” Camila whispered, tugging lightly on his arm.

  “We have to go. We're already late,” Nomad said, the emotion drained from his voice. “When the general learns about this…” Nomad swallowed. “Bad, bad, bad. Goddamn it, Jopari.” Nomad shot him a vile look, clambered through the order window, and pulled the body off the jagged glass. The head dangled loosely to one side and John looked away.

  Once the beast was on the ground, Nomad muttered something in a language he didn't understand, pulled out a vile of liquid, and poured it on the beast. The body began to smoke and hiss. John and Camila stepped back.

  “Let's go,” Nomad said, turning.

  “He doesn't have to listen to you anymore,” Camila answered.

  John almost smiled. He focused on the warmth of her hand, the brush of her arm against his. He took a deep breath. “I have to go.”

  “What?” The fear was back in her voice. Her face was splattered with blood. A cut ran down her brow, blood matting her hair. Yet, she was so beautiful. He felt like dying. “What did you say?”

  He forced the words out. “I…have to go. I can't stay here. I'm sorry.”

  She clutched his hand tighter. “You don't have to listen to him.” She pointed at Nomad. “He lies. He's lying to get you to leave with him.”

  “I almost got you killed,” John whispered.

  The sirens blared outside.

  “You saved my life!” Tears spilled down her face. Her hand, wrapped in his, shook.

  “I can't be the one who kills you.” His voice trembled now. “I can't watch myself do that.”

  He pulled his hand out of hers, like ripping a bandage off a wound.

  “John,” she whispered, stepping forward.

  He tried to make his voice cold. “We're too different. It could never work out.”

  “It could.” She placed her hands over her heart.

  He turned his eyes away. Each glance knifed into his chest. He didn't trust himself if this went on any longer.

  “I'm going.” He turned to her, trying to make his face stern, knowing it was the only way to save her. “I'm leaving. There's nothing you can say or do to change that.”

  Tears spilled down her face. He looked once more, memorizing the slope of her neck, the curve of her bottom lip, the dozen freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose. Then he turned away and faced Nomad, hating the very sight of him. “Let's go.”

  Nomad nodded weakly and blasted through the back wall with a few solid punches. Debris reigned down in huge chunks. He pushed John through.

  “What about the cops?” John asked, struggling through the hole.

  Nomad snorted. “Don't worry. They're preoccupied.”

  John didn't worry. All he could do was listen to the sounds of Camila's quiet crying.

/>   They took off into the sky.

  Camila

  Friday 9:37 a.m.

  Camila watched them go, not quite believing it was real. John wouldn't leave her in this rubble with a beast silently smoking into ash at her feet. He wouldn't just leave like that, would he? No, he didn’t leave her. He was taken.

  Tears spilled down her cheeks. The air was acrid and filling her lungs at an unhealthy rate, but she didn't move. If she just waited right here, he'd come back.

  Her vision blurred with smoke. Deep racking coughs shook her body. Her lungs wanted clean air, but her body was cemented in place. If she left this spot, his leaving would be real.

  Men poured into the hole Nomad had made. Hands clasped around her wrists, her waist.

  Light blinded her. She blinked and coughed as the alley came into focus. Behind her, Lizzy's was smoking as if it had caught fire. Her eyes locked on the dumpster, the place she'd met John. She doubled over, light-headed.

  A man in blue put his arm around her. The cops had pulled her out of the building. Their blue and red flashers glanced off the brick, making her head swim. She stumbled forward.

  “Easy, miss. Easy,” the cop said, grabbing her arm to steady her. “The ambulance will be here soon. If they can even get here through all that mess. Jesus,” he said.

  “All that mess?” she croaked, not really caring. Her eyes tracked upward.

  The cop thumbed back his hat and wiped sweat off his brow. “We had a hell of a time getting here. Road's all tore up. Goddamn craters.”

  He had her full attention. “Craters?”

  “Yeah.” He looked back toward the road, still shaking his head. “Craters like those ones in the bark park. Dozens of ‘em.”

  Monday 1:57 p.m.

  Two days later, Camila picked her mother up from county lock-up. Mama looked wrung out and in need of a shower, but otherwise unharmed by her time behind bars. She fell into Camila's arms, sobbing. Camila patted her back and murmured reassurances until she managed to get Mama out the door, down the steps, and into Fer's mom's car.

  Mama apologized over and over. She promised to get a job, to get back on meds, to really take charge of her life this time. Camila just patted Mama’s back. It would be good to have her home.