Shifter Legacies Special Edition: Books 1-2

by Mark E. Cooper

  “Of course they can! You didn’t think we kidnapped and infected them, did you?”

  She shook her head, blushing. “Course not.”

  “You did!” Lawrence crowed. He burst out laughing, and had to struggle to stop. “I’m sorry, Chris, but your face…”

  She growled, crossed her arms, and waited for an explanation.

  “Sorry. Shifters can have children, but it’s a bit complicated. Carrying to term is really hard for our females because of the Change, but it can be done.”

  “How do the kids handle it?”

  “The Change you mean?”

  She nodded.

  “Thank the Lady they don’t have to deal with it. The beast won’t awake in them until puberty. The parents have to watch carefully for the first signs of it, and schedule the ritual on the first night of the next full moon.”

  “That must be a bit of a worry.”

  “A bit,” Lawrence agreed. “Hey, I forgot. Ronnie wanted me to come get you.”

  “She did?”

  “Yes. We have rooms here at Millie’s place. Ronnie wanted to introduce the two of you.”

  Chris nodded and followed Lawrence into the guesthouse.

  They found Ronnie with Lephmann chatting to a silver-haired woman. Chris guessed this was the friend Ronnie wished to introduce. The woman was a shifter and about sixty years old. She was wearing a colourful flower-patterned blouse tucked into a dark knee-length skirt, and was quite short. Ronnie was taller, and she was a short woman.

  Chris reached out with her senses as Jonas had taught her, to sample the woman’s Presence, and found it surprisingly weak. Ronnie and Lephmann were acting very deferential, which was all wrong. Shifters did not defer to those weaker than they were. She slowed her approach; she didn’t like situations she didn’t understand.

  Ronnie leaned forward and whispered something to her friend.

  The woman turned toward Chris with a smile that faltered when their eyes met.

  Chris frowned, unable to think of a reason for it.

  “Millie Ryason, this is Chris Humber,” Ronnie said, oblivious to her friend’s sudden tension.

  Chris closed the distance. “Nice to meet you, Millie.”

  “Is it?” Millie asked. “You don’t remember me, do you? Perhaps that’s best.”

  She frowned. Millie was vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t say where or when they had met. Why was it for the best that she not remember?

  Millie turned and hurried behind the reservations desk to collect some keys. She tossed two to Lawrence. “Show Chris to her room, would you, Lawrence? I’ve put you two next to each other. Don’t forget, kids, dinner is at seven sharp.”

  Lawrence nodded. He checked the numbers on the key tags and led the way.

  As they walked, she tried to remember where she was supposed to know Millie from. It couldn’t have been recently or she would remember. Where had they met?

  “Farris loves Sanctuary, Chris. He can hardly wait to show Smoke his favourite places. He says you’ll both like it here.”

  The thought of so much emptiness reminded her of living on the farm and made her uneasy, but she was certain Smoke would enjoy it. Lawrence took a shortcut through the dining room, and then followed a carpeted hall toward their wing of the guest house. She hardly noticed her surroundings, so intent was she on dredging her memory for Millie’s face. Her steps faltered and her eyes flew wide as she remembered how she knew the woman. They had met a couple of months before she made detective. Twelve years ago…

  She and her partner had been patrolling Monster Central’s streets in their black and white when they received a call about a disturbance. Information was sketchy, but there appeared to be a robbery in progress at a restaurant owned by a Mr. Ryason. Ryason was a Human that had chosen to risk living among shifters in order to make a living. He and his wife, Millie Ryason, lived above their little restaurant on Trinity Street, and served their community with cheap drinks and meals.

  When Chris reached the scene, she found the bodies of three men. All of them had died hard; something with sharp teeth had torn their throats out. She recognised two of them as AML sympathisers. They had caused trouble for her before.

  Her partner shouted a warning, and she snatched her stunner free of the holster at her hip. She ran to join him as he headed for an adjoining street. There they found a shifter in wolf form mauling a man on the sidewalk. The wolf was Millie Ryason, but Chris hadn’t known that then. No one had known Ryason’s wife was a shifter, or rather, the authorities hadn’t known. The shifter community had of course, but they knew how to keep secrets better than anyone.

  “Let him go or I’ll shoot!” she ordered.

  Her partner fired without giving a warning, and the wolf howled in pain. It turned to rush them.

  Chris opened fire, and must have put three out of five slugs into the wolf before it retreated. When they reached the guy on the ground, he had already bled out his life, but that wasn’t the end of the story.

  Millie Ryason remained at large, spending her nights attacking AML supporters, killing them when she could, infecting them when she could not. She knew their friends would do her work for her by killing those she infected. The newsies screamed about a serial killer loose in the city, and task forces were set up to hunt Millie down, but before they could find her, the killings stopped.

  Millie Ryason had vanished without a trace.

  Chris turned back, and found Millie in the entrance to the dining room watching her. Chris hesitated. It had been a different time; a time when she wore a black uniform and did what she was told to do in the name of justice, even if that meant shooting unarmed shifters. Those days were gone. The woman who had done those things was gone long before she lost her humanity to Ryder in a dirty alley.

  Millie nodded and smiled.

  Chris nodded back, and hurried to catch up with Lawrence.

  She joined him outside her door. He had opened it for her, but had not entered. She stepped inside, and saw the note on the bed. She snatched it up before Lawrence noticed, and read it quickly.

  I have what you need.

  Meet me behind the school at ten.

  G.

  She crumpled Geoffrey’s note and stuffed it in her pocket.

  Lawrence dropped the key to her room on the nightstand. “Is there anything you need?”

  She took off her coat and jacket, and threw them on a chair, before crossing the room to the door. She locked it, and faced him undoing the buttons of her blouse.

  Lawrence watched intently. “Are you sure? What about Smoke?”

  She chuckled. “Smoke has been pushing me to do this since we first met you.”

  Lawrence grinned and took her in his arms. “She is a very discerning wolf. What about you, what do you want?”

  She took possession of his lips with hers for a long kiss. “That will do for starters,” she said and smiled mischievously. She pushed him so that he fell back onto the bed, and then joined him for another kiss. “And now for the main course…”

  Chris followed the path running along the outside of the school’s boundary fence, and met Geoffrey at what she felt like calling the edge of civilisation. Now that she knew of its dual purpose of providing fugitives a safe haven, while offering shifters somewhere to roam in safety, she wasn’t sure the appellation really applied to Sanctuary.

  Geoffrey stepped out of the trees carrying a black nylon bag. His eyes shone like flashlights in the darkness. “Ryder crossed the border an hour ago.”

  Border?

  Sanctuary wasn’t a country; non-humans might populate it, but it was still part of the Republic. Lephmann, and now Geoffrey it seemed, acted as if that wasn’t so.

  Would you prefer otherwise? Where else could we kill Ryder and not be arrested for it?

  She frowned. You’re right. This way is better.

  “I have what you asked for, Chris. I couldn’t get much ammo—you didn’t give me enough time—but there should be enough
to get the job done.”

  “How many is not much?”

  “Sixty rounds.”

  “Sixty!” she gasped. “Damn it, Geoffrey, sixty is nothing. I’ll burn through that in seconds!”

  “Best I could do. I loaded the magazines so that every third round is silver. I had to have them custom made, Chris, you’re lucky to get that many.”

  She nodded unhappily. It would have to do.

  “Are you sure you don’t need me with you?” Geoffrey said, looking concerned.

  “I’m sure.”

  He nodded and pulled a hand-drawn map out of his pocket. He crouched, and spread it out on the ground. Chris willed her eyes to change, and the night brightened. She joined Geoffrey in a crouch and studied the map.

  “We’re here,” he said, tapping the bottom edge of the map with a finger. “You need to follow the grade up to here.”

  “Got it.” There was an X marking her destination. “What are these lines?”

  “Game trails. Smoke will find them useful. Marty and his mate are using one of the cabins. There are quite a few of them up here.”

  “I thought the elves didn’t like you changing stuff.”

  Geoffrey shrugged. “A lot of them were already here, but we added more. As long as we build by hand and don’t bring in machines and high tech, they don’t seem to mind. The cabins are community property. We use them to store stuff while in beast form, or for shelter if the weather turns. You might meet other shifters on your way up. Be polite. Let Smoke handle everything and you’ll be fine.”

  “I can be polite,” she said, feeling affronted. “When haven’t I been polite?”

  Geoffrey shook his head. “Our beasts instinctively know when to lead and when to defer to another. Let Smoke have her way, and you’ll get where you need to be a lot quicker.”

  She grunted noncommittally. “What are the cabins like?”

  “Small. One room usually, rarely two, with a cellar and a loft. All log construction, no electricity—the town is the only place with power here. David had to talk fast to get the Queen to agree even to that. There’s a wooden-decked porch all round them, and only one door. The windows have shutters.”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  Geoffrey nodded. “When you get there, be careful of Rebecca.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You’ll be an unknown female encroaching on her territory. Keep your distance and explain why you’re there first thing. You don’t want her thinking you’re after her mate.”

  She sighed. “I’ll tell her Ryder is on his way.”

  “That should do it. What do you plan to do with them when Ryder turns up?”

  She shrugged. “Keep them in the cabin I guess.”

  “Can I make a suggestion?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Put them in the loft. That should keep them out of your hair.”

  “Why not the cellar?”

  “Would you want to be trapped underground with Ryder looking for you?”

  “Good point.”

  Ready?

  I am always ready.

  I meant, do you understand the map?

  I have told you many times that I know what you know.

  I should have remembered.

  Geoffrey rolled up the map and stood. Chris undressed and gave her clothes to him. He folded them neatly and put them in the bag for later. Standing naked before him, she took several deep breaths and nodded.

  “Let’s do it.”

  I come!

  The muscle-ripping pain seared through her accompanied by an explosion of heat. She felt as if she was flying apart; her scream sounded distant as the Change took her. Smoke was elated at being allowed out, and Chris felt a little ashamed that she had begrudged Smoke her freedom. Her consciousness wavered, and Smoke surged forward to replace her.

  Smoke scrambled to her feet and shook herself vigorously. It felt so good to breathe the air and feel the sod beneath her paws again. She wanted to run, she wanted to roll in the dirt, but there was something she had to do first. Ryder was coming, and they were destined to meet one last time.

  “Good luck,” Geoffrey said. Smoke butted him playfully in the stomach. He grabbed the fur of her ruff and bent to look her directly in the eyes. “Be. Careful.”

  Smoke felt like laughing; he was so serious. If he would but listen, Zelus would tell him that death was like the Change. It was just a passage to another form of existence. Chris had begun to see the truth of that. It had taken her a long time to acknowledge it, but then, she could be overly serious herself sometimes.

  Geoffrey released her with a final pat. Smoke grabbed the bag with her jaws and dashed into the trees.

  Smoke ghosted through the woods, silent as her namesake. The moon and stars lit her way as she ran. She had a long way to travel tonight, but she was surefooted and strong, and did not doubt she would reach the right place before dawn. The breeze of her passage through the trees brought her the spoor of another wolf—an old male past his prime. The spoor was days old, but she turned to follow it without slowing, knowing it would lead her to a game trail.

  The miles flowed beneath her paws as the night progressed. She followed the game trail for as long as it went her way then abandoned it for rougher terrain when it veered back toward lower climes. Her pace slowed as she scrambled over rocky outcrops, and slowed again when she forced her way through the sometimes-dense undergrowth. She ran all the harder to make up the time when she finally left the obstacles behind. An owl hooted; its hunting disturbed by Smoke’s rapid passage through her domain.

  Prey fled before her, as prey will when startled. A rabbit, a badger, another rabbit; lucky for them she was not hungry. Had she an empty belly, they would not have heard her before she pounced and made a meal of them.

  The sounds of panting breath and pounding paws on earth became her companions. She met no other wolves. Though she sensed watching eyes in the darkness, she did not see them. She broke out of the trees into a clearing. The Moon’s meagre glow illuminated shadowy shapes standing motionless. A small herd of elk. They sensed danger, and heads turned toward her, but before their unease spread and caused them to flee, she had crossed the open space and submerged herself once more in the woods. That was the way of it for many hours. Loping through the trees was as natural to her as breathing. It took no thought, only action. Her body performed what was needful instinctively.

  Finally, she sensed the dawn approaching and slowed. She walked slowly along a well-used trail, knowing that she neared her destination. She stopped and sniffed the air. Wolves—perhaps the very ones Chris sought to safeguard from Ryder—had used the trail recently. She moved on, walking another mile, and found the cabin in the centre of a small clearing. It looked exactly as Geoffrey described it, and it was in the right place. The clearing was upslope of a lake, and the trees had been cleared far enough back to allow those within the cabin a clear view of it. She wondered if it the lake had a name. Probably it did; men liked naming things.

  She circled the clearing, keeping to the woods as she scouted the area. There was no sign of Ryder, nor sign of any other shifter. The only scents fresh enough to matter belonged to male and female wolves. Their scents lay thick over the entire area, and she assumed they were the ones Chris wanted to talk with.

  Smoke dropped the bag she had carried for so many hours and licked her lips. She was thirsty, and her mouth tasted foul. She had noticed before that manthings like Geoffrey’s bag often smelled and tasted awful. She wondered why that was so, and wondered if men knew or cared.

  She sat on her haunches, watching the sunrise over the distant hills, and wished she did not have to leave yet. Running through the woods, and breathing the air as her kind was meant to do, felt so good. She wanted to run through the woods and never stop, but Chris would never forgive her if Ryder escaped. She huffed, a deep and sad sigh. She watched the night flee, mourning the coming loss of freedom, and started the Change.

  * * *

&nb
sp; 25 ~ End Game

  Chris awoke lying on her side in the woods. She had dreamed about Smoke running through the night, tireless and otherworldly. She wished she could see the herd of elk again; they had been a wonderful surprise. She pushed herself up, groaning as her joints popped, and looked around. There was a clearing just ahead and a cabin, just like in her dream. It had been no dream. Smoke had found Marty and Rebecca… maybe.

  She dragged Geoffrey’s bag closer and dressed quickly, keeping constant watch on the silent cabin. It was past dawn; Marty and his girlfriend might wake and decide to leave. She needed them under wraps where she could keep an eye on them, not wandering the woods. Once dressed, she assembled her FP90 assault rifle. She had specifically asked Geoffrey to get it for her; she had carried one on riot duty her third year in uniform. She remembered how the FP90’s ejection port caused it to pull slightly to the right when fired full auto, but most of all, she remembered the kind of damage a 7.62mm round could do. The thought of shooting Ryder with it made her feel positively cheerful.

  She finished the assembly, unfolded the stock, and sighted on the cabin briefly before delving into her bag for ammunition. Geoffrey had supplied three sixty round magazines. She loaded the rifle, and pushed the spares into the waistband of her pants where she could reach them quickly. Leaving the rest of her stuff in the bag for now, she climbed to her feet and approached the cabin.

  “Stop there!” a man—Marty Preston, she hoped—shouted from within the cabin before she reached the porch steps.

  She resisted the urge to raise her rifle. She left it hanging from her shoulder by its strap. “Marty Preston?” Silence greeted her. “My name’s Chris Humber. Jay sent me with a message.”

  The door opened and a man matching Marty’s picture stepped onto the porch carrying a machete. She didn’t like that. Getting shot was one thing—she could probably heal a bullet wound now that Jonas had shown her how—but if Marty hit her with that thing, she could lose important parts of her anatomy. She stepped out of his reach as he descended the porch steps.

  Marty studied her carefully. “I don’t know you. Who sent you, what pack?”