by J. C RIMELL
“I'm a wolf shifter.”
“Shit,” she breathed.
Except that.
Chapter Twenty
Cade studied her with care. Kit was in shock. He knew this because she had yet to respond to him announcing that he was a wolf again. Only this time it wasn't in a dream.
It was real.
She'd attempted to say something several times now. Opened her pretty mouth, closed it, opened and closed it, but nothing came out, not a single sound. There was no fear in her eyes that he could tell and he couldn't scent any either. She was―he figured―trying to get her head around such an incredulous notion.
He stood suddenly and sent his chair sliding against the smooth, glossy surface of the wooden floor. His wolf was uneasy. Her eyes widened and her mouth parted as she gazed up at him with a thousand and one questions skipping across her perceptive stare. Shit. It made him want to envelop her with his body, make sure she didn't run. Forcing himself, he took another step back.
“Yeah, well, anyway,” he said running a hand through his hair for the hundredth time, wondering just how he could un-fuck up the whole situation. The silence between them would have proved more painful if not for his supernatural hearing picking up the rhythmic thrumming of her heartbeat. In the spur of the moment a suggestion left his lips too quickly to take back. “Listen, do you wanna go for a ride?” He rolled his eyes at how stupid the proposition sounded. He'd just told the woman he was a wolf for chrissakes, like she'd want to go anywhere with him now.
The lull stretched, and the sunlight faded, leaving the room a dusky gray as heavy clouds closed in. He took the lack of conversation for what it so obviously meant. She didn't run, she didn't have to. Her message was loud and clear and wrapped itself around his heart, wringing the living life right out of it.
Kit wanted to say something, she really did. But words completely failed her. He was telling her things she believed to be a load of nonsense, fantasy, stories, were actually real.
I'm a wolf. I'm. A. Wolf. It was like an echo repeating over and over in her head.
He pivoted to leave, but she caught the sudden shift in his gaze before he did. Gone was the metallic shine full of heat, misting over with a look so dejected and melancholy her heart ached with the emotional weight.
Turning away with a heavy sigh, Cade was held back by the feeling of smooth skin on his own. Kit had reached forward and grabbed his hand, the sensation a soothing balm, calming his inner beast.
“The dream was real―wasn't it?” Kit whispered in what was more of a presumption than a question, and he could feel her wide, inquisitive eyes pinned firmly on his back. Cade didn’t turn to meet her gaze, he couldn't bear the rejection, but neither could he let go of the delicate hand engulfed by his own, so he simply nodded.
The ticking of the clock on the wall became overbearing and Kit was on the verge of a decisive moment. The one where you either sink or swim, fight or flight, the sort of decision that can change the course of your life forever. His hand was a hot, velvet glove encompassing hers, and it felt… safe despite everything he'd told her. The truth of it being so hard to imagine to be real, she couldn't ignore the inner voice that was telling her to believe him.
Kit wanted him, the flame of desire still burning in her core was proof of that. “I would love to go for a ride with you.” What am I saying? It was too late to take back, to say no would be to show him the fear, the guilt. Years of pain bubbled to the surface and she forced it into submission, but only by the tightest grip on her emotions.
Cade closed his eyes and thanked his lucky stars. He slipped his fingers through hers and craning his head over his broad shoulder, he flashed her a triumphant smile. “Then come with me.”
Chapter Twenty-One
The lighting was neon and the dingy club smelled like stale alcohol and sex. The Grave Yard was a popular hangout where many of the humans dressed in various ensembles of latex, leather, and chains. A place they went to get an easy lay, among other things.
The Grave Yard was further inland at the end of a street in a less attractive part of town. Sam's Tattoo Parlor, Becker's Bar and a small cinema complex that had seen far better days were the only neighbors. Scantily dressed ladies with heavy makeup and too much hair danced on small podiums and in the laps of guys, turning tricks for a price. And those wanting to drown their sorrows and get shit-faced with narcotics or alcohol did so with unthinkable ease.
Seth spent most of the past few days hanging low and out of sight. The cops had swarmed the Bar after he'd left it, and there were still a few uniforms asking questions around town which he'd also avoided. It was still relatively early as he sat at the bar of the club sipping on a Jack Daniels. The skirt he was sporting was thigh high, showing off the perfect pins of the female host he'd acquired.
His eyes scanned the bodies grinding on the dance floor to some weird metal shit that split his eardrums. The intermittent red flashes of light set his nerves on edge. He wanted to get what he came for and to get the fuck out of the place. Luckily, he didn't have to wait much longer before he felt a tap on his shoulder.
“Can I get you another one of those?” The voice was young with a deep Southern drawl that shouted in Seth's ear. He craned his neck around and checked out the guy that stood behind him. Easily over six feet and with a ripped body beneath a black shirt and black jeans.
Perfect.
The guy snaked his hand through his thick blonde hair, fixing his hazel eyes on the hint of cleavage Seth had purposefully left on show.
“Actually, I've had enough to drink.” Seth's voice came out a little deeper than the host would've sounded like, but it passed as feminine. Besides, a human could hardly hear themselves think let alone talk above the screaming guitar riffs.
The guy leaned in. “Perhaps something a little stronger then, honey?” He smiled, opening up the palm of his hand discretely between them, offering an array of blue pills in a neat little plastic bag.
It always surprised Seth how humans had grown so dependent on such paraphernalia. Was life so dull and worth so little to them? And scum like the guy offering his pills and powders were guilty of helping spread the disease of drug addiction to the weak, naïve and vulnerable. To children, the most precious gift of their race. They were growing up in a world where it was becoming the 'norm' to be taking something that gave you a buzz or a rush. Unable to find natural stimulants such as the innocent joy of childhood.
Standing up, he gave the blonde guy his best sultry gaze that translated as: 'I want to fuck you'. After seeing the recognition flash across those hazel eyes, he took his hand and led him out of the club.
Paper and trash blew around their ankles as they entered the alleyway at the side of the club. The wind had picked up, and the air was thick and heavy with a promising storm. In the street light, Seth could see just how handsome the blonde guy was. Not that he found guys attractive that way, but looks came in useful when attracting a new host.
Further into the alleyway, the street light faded and the flaxen-haired male pulled Seth into a recess beside a large dumpster. The guy slipped his arms around Seth's waist and pulled him against his hard, muscular body. He smelled of spice and expensive cologne as he leaned in and tried to kiss him. Seth assumed the guy was just selling narcotics in the club. He was clean, good looking and could probably bag any female he set his sights on, so he wasn't there just to get laid.
He'd just scored extra lucky tonight.
Running his hands through the guy's hair, he accepted the kiss, making sure the male was oblivious to the strands he tugged loose. The kiss wasn't unpleasant, but it did nothing for him.
Blondie, on the other hand, was fully aroused and his tongue was now half way down Seth's throat. Once he'd got a few strands between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand, he gently pulled away. Licking his lips he dropped to his knees watching delight spike in the guy's eyes. “Oh, yeah, you want some of me, baby?”
Seth smiled, a sadistic curve lifting the corner
of his mouth. “I want all of you.”
As Blondie fumbled with his fly, Seth reached below his blouse and discreetly pulled out his leather pouch and tucked the golden locks into it. Seconds later, the strapping guy stood with his cock in one hand and the other fisted in Seth's hair.
Seth raised a brow, the erection was impressive as sizes went. “I want to watch you,” he said, then teasingly licked his lips. The guy threw his head back and started pumping. Soft grunts covered the whispers of Seth's chanting. Blondie’s groans got louder...
“Fuck, suck me… oh… please suck my cock.”
Seth caught the guy as he slumped, thankful he hadn't had to give him oral. He thought of Daniel, one of his brothers who did swing that way. He'd be jealous as fuck right now.
After the transition, Seth sank his fangs into the woman's neck and drained the remaining blood out of the body. Then swept his tongue across the two puncture wounds and watched as they sealed, still finding the healing process quite amazing. It was a small ability he'd gained by the change. The healing property of the saliva was the only one he was the slightest bit thankful for. At least he could leave his victim's bodies unscathed―even if a little hollow.
Then gathering the limp, weightless corpse into his arms, he placed her in the dumpster.
Guilt smeared his conscience once again, but she'd been dying and he supposed he had saved her from a slow, painful death. Still, he was sorry for the way he had to leave her as he closed the lid slowly like it was a coffin.
Seth turned his back on the woman he'd just buried beneath bags of rotting food and litter and tried on the male's body for size. He checked the wallet. The two hundred dollars he stuffed into the front pocket of his jeans, along with an ID card.
Leaving the credit cards, he found a sleek cell phone and a set of keys in the left seat pocket of his jeans. He'd have to toss the keys; vehicles were too easily traced.
Feeling good and replenished, he now had to find his brothers.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The late afternoon air had grown cool as a fitful breeze whipped up and Kit pulled on her cardigan and slipped into her Converse plimsolls. Heavy clouds were casting shadows over Kit and Cade as they stood beside his Harley. It was a bike that looked as intimidating as it sounded. Midnight black with hints of polished chrome, it wasn't a conventional Harley. It was a beast of a bike that promised a thrill of a ride for anyone brave enough to mount it.
From the way her chest had grown tight and restricted her breathing and her knees knocked together, she knew she lacked the courage. Her stomach swirled. The very thought of getting on the thing brought memories flooding back, her palms turned sweaty and her mouth went dry as a desert.
She watched Cade shrug into his leather jacket and straddle the seat with an air of male confidence. Well suited to the machine he so obviously governed and looking just as dangerous, should have reassured Kit. Instead, she felt one of her panic attacks creeping up on her.
Cade flicked on the main beam. “You look a little nervous,” he commented with a devilish curve to his lips. “What's the matter? Don't you trust me, Kit?”
Kit looked away. She knew that all her fears, all her secrets had wormed their way to the surface and if she allowed him long enough, he'd see everything. She couldn't do it.
“I, I can't.” It was a small sound, and she hated herself for having said it, for revealing her weakness, and she instantly wished she could take it back.
It wasn't what she said, but the way she had said it that drew both Cade's attention and his wolf. Dismounting, he moved in close brushing his knuckles softly over her cheek. “Hey, it's alright,” he reassured gently. But when she still wouldn't look up at him he knelt down, so she was unable to avoid his gaze, letting his hands settle loosely on her hips.
His touch scorched her skin, as lightly as it had drifted across her face, it had caused her breath to stop. And now his hands were on her body, resting possessively, familiarly on her hips. The heat from his palms seeping through the thin cotton of her dress and making the pit of her stomach coil into a tight knot of need.
The moisture in her eyes had turned their normal bright sapphire into a deep inky blue. She was hiding something, a pain so profound, fear speared him in the chest like an arrow. “Kit?”
He watched her suck in a shaky breath.
“I had a sister, a twin,” she revealed quietly. “Her name was Clara.”
Cade's brows bowed up in surprise, astonished that she was letting down her guard, trusting him, he stayed silent, attentive.
Kit let her hands settle onto his broad shoulders, their sturdiness anchoring her while she was weak and vulnerable. “It was Christmas Eve, and she desperately wanted to go to a club in town,” she paused, “Clara loved to dance,” she remembered with fondness. A smile creased her face coaxing a tear to fall and betray her. Cade reached up and wiped it away gently and she leaned into the touch. “I said I'd drive us, I'd passed my test first time and had saved enough money for a car.” Her parents wanted to buy her a car, but she'd insisted she wanted to be independent and had used all her savings to buy the lovely little red Mini Cooper. “My parents wanted us to get a taxi, but I'd persuaded them to let me drive, we wouldn't be drinking. I drove carefully. I always drove carefully, but there had been some snow and it had turned so cold. Freezing cold.” She shivered, the cool breeze brushing her hair back off her face, the memories slamming into her mind.
“I'm sorry Cade, I just can't.”
He stood up to his full height and tugged her into the warmth of his body. Cade could see where she was going with this and his own loss stirred deep inside. Now he understood why she rode a bicycle everywhere. He didn't want to push her. She'd already opened up to him and he would be patient, let her finish her story when she was good and ready. Caressing her hair he placed a kiss on the top of her head, feeling her arms wrap tight around him, he wanted to take her pain, make it go away. He could easily use his ability of teleportation to take her where he wanted to go. But didn't feel she would be ready for that revelation on top of everything else.
“You got a push-bike, right?” he whispered in her ear.
Kit nodded against his chest before pulling back a little to look at him with a questioning look. “Yes, my aunt brought it back here for me.”
“Come on then.”
Ten minutes later Cade was pedaling Kit's bicycle like an Olympic champion with Kit sat on the front of the handlebars. He was far too big, even with the seat at the fullest height, his knees were bent outward, but he didn't complain. She giggled every time they went over a bump in the road, and couldn't remember a time when she'd laughed so much at something so silly.
Then they hit a dip. The hill was steep and his speed picked up along with her heartbeat as they raced down it. Kit gripped the handles tighter sending her knuckles white as a mixture of adrenaline and fear raced through her veins. She let out a scream and squeezed her eyes shut.
“It's okay,” Cade shouted, covering her hands with his own. “I've got you.”
She heard his voice. Heard the rumble of thunder erupt in the distance. And it could've easily been mistaken for the sound of her hammering heart.
Chapter Twenty Three
Jack Henderson stepped back from the dumpster.
“Jesus Christ,” he spat out, his hand clutching the radio. “We've got another one. Get SOCO down here, ASAP.” He kicked the dumpster in frustration, denting the metal. Bodies were dropping like flies on his turf and it was leaving a very bad taste in his mouth. It wouldn't be long until the Society would be breathing down his neck.
The young woman laying atop of the garbage fitted the description of the missing person from Becker's. He could scent the Others, it reeked―even above the stench of the rotting food and rat piss. He swallowed hard, almost wishing he didn't have the wolf's preternatural senses. He beckoned the patrol car that had just turned the corner to come further into the alley and took out his phone. In the glow of
their headlights, he pressed speed dial for the Shadow Pack.
“Fleet, we've got a situation.” Jack moved out of earshot of the human officers who were setting to work cordoning off the crime scene. “These fuckers are having a field day, and quite frankly it's pissing me off.”
In his office, Fleet paced with the phone pressed tight against his ear, clearly able to hear the wolf's irritation coming through the line. It wasn't good news. How many dead bodies would turn up before they found the killers? He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. “I've tasked my team with carrying out patrols in and around the area. See what they can pick up.” He stopped pacing, his eyes glowing brightly in the darkness of his room. “I'll get back to you within the hour.”
Henderson let go of a heavy sigh as he looked to see the Society's number on the caller display of his phone. Fuck… things are about to get messy.
§
Madeleine took the fax from the machine as soon as it came through from Ken, the human Scenes of Crime officer. Jack Henderson had assured her Ken was as sound as they come, and he would cooperate and help as much as he could, no questions asked. Ken's notes along with the pathologist's report told Madeleine of the latest findings.
The male body found at Becker's Bar had been drained. The organs were completely spent and looked as though they belonged to the body of a morbidly unhealthy ninety-year-old. Only twenty-seven years old, the male seemed to have been extremely fit. The brain was covered in a deep brown, tar-like substance, and a small trace of blood remained in the veins. The only thing left intact was the skeleton, also severely deteriorated, leaving the skin sagging over the bones.
Continuing through Ken's report, he had noted that there wasn't a single shred of evidence to suggest an implement being used on any part of the body. Nor any sign of force―suffocation, needle marks, fissures―or objects that might have been used in any orifice of the body to inflict the kind of damage sustained.