by C. C. Hunter
“I still have one good arm,” she said.
He shook his head and walked on. He stopped at the gate, waiting until the low click sounded. A small light on the gate turned from red to green. Shadow Falls’ security system was probably the best out there.
Burnett glanced at her. “You know until we figure this out, you can’t be leaving alone.”
“You really think someone is after me?” she asked.
“I don’t know, but I’ll err on the side of caution if you don’t mind.”
She heard frustration in his tone. They walked through the gate.
“Thanks for everything,” Miranda said, following him. “I’m sorry all this happened.”
“You didn’t cause any of this.” His honest empathy rang into the darkness.
His sentiment sent a shot of emotion to her chest. “I really don’t think Tabitha did, either.”
While they had waited for the release papers, Burnett had her go over everything Tabitha had said. He also told her that they had tried to track her sister’s and Anthony’s phones, but they had both been turned off.
Miranda knew that made Tabitha look guilty, but Miranda refused to believe it. She knew her sister inside and out.
“I don’t think Tabitha is a bad person,” he said. “I’m just not clear how she plays into all this.”
“She thinks she’s in love with Anthony, and maybe she’s blinded to some things, but I can’t see her involved with robbing a jewelry store. She’d never hurt Agent Farrell, and even Anthony’s not like that.”
“I know,” Burnett said. “Nothing makes sense. It’s chewing on my sanity right now.”
They neared the path that lead to her cabin and she reached for her backpack.
Burnett pulled it back. “I’ll walk you there.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Humor me,” he said.
She fell in step beside him. The trees lining the path seemed to close in and sway in the still air. A bird called out in the night, and Miranda’s thoughts went to Perry, to the almost kiss, to the way his hand had felt slipping out of hers. To one of the saddest good-byes she’d ever experienced.
“Do you know what’s going on with Perry?” she asked, her words seemed to hang in the muggy night. A mosquito buzzed close to her ear.
Burnett’s jaw clenched, then unclenched. “What has he told you?”
They continued walking. The sound of their footsteps on the moist graveled path played like music in the humidity. “He said his parents are up to something that’s ‘not right’ and that he’s got to figure it out before he can hand it over to you.”
“He told me the same thing.” But the vampire’s tight tone had Miranda’s apprehension growing.
“It’s hurting him. I can feel it, see it in his eyes. I hear it in his voice.”
Burnett inhaled. “I know. I tried talking him out of it.”
“Is he in danger?” She put the question out there, just as another bird called out.
Slow air came from Burnett’s lungs. “He swears he can handle it.”
“And you’re a vampire. Was he lying?” An achy sensation filled her chest.
“No. He thinks he can handle it.” The doubt slipping and sliding on his words echoed in Miranda’s chest.
“What do you think?”
Burnett hesitated. “I’ve tried to find out information on his parents before, but they aren’t registered and have stayed off the FRU radar, which could mean they aren’t hardened criminals. Petty stuff seldom gets reported to the FRU. Or they’re smart hardened criminals. Because Perry’s not telling me much, I can’t say if he’s bullshitting himself about handling this.”
She took a few more steps. The sound of insects singing in the distance filled the air. “Something changed with whatever is going on with him,” she said.
“What do you mean?” Burnett slowed his steps.
“Earlier today Perry told me he was leaving and would try to see me every few weeks. Then this afternoon, he said he wouldn’t be gone long. Like he’d be back in less than a week.”
Burnett seemed to consider her words. “Maybe he’s just … worried about you.”
“Maybe,” she said, but didn’t buy it. “Couldn’t you just send someone to watch over him?”
Burnett looked off into the trees.
“He’d be really pissed if I did.”
“That’s never stopped you with anyone else,” she said.
Burnett didn’t answer. Miranda found the tiniest bit of hope that it meant Burnett had sent someone.
Her first instinct was to push him to confirm it, but pushing Burnett never worked out. Not for Miranda. Della seemed good at it though.
They got to the turn in the path where she could spot her cabin through a line of trees. The golden rays of light flowing from the windows seemed to call her name. Were Kylie and Della still awake? Or had they just left the light on for her?
For all she knew both Della and Kylie might be hanging with their boyfriends. They did that quite often.
She increased her pace, needing, wanting a little girlfriend time, but then Burnett cleared his throat. She looked back.
He handed her the backpack. “You care, don’t you?”
“Care?” she asked.
“Perry?”
“Of course.” She sensed he was talking about … romance. But on second thought, no, not Burnett.
“It’s none of my business, but…” He reached back and squeezed the back of his neck. “I know Perry hurt you when he left. My wife reminds me that he did it to you twice. She’s also said that if it had been anyone else, I’d kick you for giving him another chance, but…” He inhaled again. “He’s not just anyone else.”
Miranda realized that Burnett might not care about romance, but he did care about Perry.
She recalled thinking Burnett wasn’t all that happy about her seeing Shawn, but when he never spoke up she just assumed she’d imagined it.
Burnett scuffed his feet on the gravel, reminding her of Perry’s nervous habit. Of course, Burnett had probably influenced Perry during their time in the foster home. She’d always known that Perry carried a soft spot for Burnett. She knew Burnett felt the same, but she’d never seen it more than right now.
The vampire looked down and then up. “Sometimes, when you don’t have a great home life, it makes you feel … like damaged goods. Both times Perry screwed up, it was never about you. It was about him.”
“I kind of know that,” she said. What I don’t know is … what’s stopping him from doing it again?
* * *
Perry walked into the bar. The lighting was low, the music live. The walls shook from the beat and so did his eardrums. Thankfully the bar catered mostly to supernaturals so the bouncer checked out his forehead and didn’t bother to check his ID.
Standing a few feet inside, he waited for his eyes to adjust. Because he’d lived in the shadows of the human world most of his life, the bar scene still felt awkward, and a little dangerous.
The smell of alcohol—malty beer, vinegar-scented wine, and fruity drinks—scented the air. He’d tried beer a few times, and learned that alcohol inhibited his ability to control his shifts. Considering he struggled with this stone sober, it was a good thing he hadn’t acquired a taste for the stuff.
If he needed a mood enhancer, he’d take to flying. The only thing that topped flying was being with Miranda. Just the time he’d spent with her today had sent his mood soaring.
To his right was the dance floor. Couples moved, bumped and grinded to the music. Immediately, he recalled Miranda teaching him to dance. The memory of her laughing as he’d copied her moves brought on a smile. “Don’t try to imitate me, listen to the beat and move.”
“But I’m good at imitating. Not so good at being original.”
“Yeah, but the way you do it, it looks … too sexy.” She’d giggled.
“Then I must be doing it right,” he’d teased, “because you look hot doing i
t, too.”
Yup, emulating was both a gift and a curse of being a shape-shifter. Because when you could be anything, sometimes you had trouble just being yourself. Or maybe it wasn’t something all shape-shifters dealt with, maybe it had something to do with how he was raised, or not raised.
He took a few more steps inside; the band ended their music, said their good-byes, and promoted the sale of their CDs out front. Perry continued to check out the patrons, most were supernatural. He spotted his mom walking out of the bathroom. Her blond hair hung in soft waves around her shoulders. The tight red dress, better suited for a woman ten years younger, was low on the top and short on the bottom.
Lifting his left shoulder, he rubbed it against the side of his neck, as if to wipe off the feeling being around his mom brought on. There wasn’t one memory that caused it. It was all of them. Being a shape-shifter, his mind retained memories from as young as a year old.
She hadn’t hit him. He hadn’t gone hungry.
She just … hadn’t wanted him—funny how someone that young could pick up on that. True, considering his ability to shift at that early age, he’d been a pretty big undertaking. But—
“Perry!” someone called out. His father stood next to a table occupied by two other men. As Perry drew closer, he noticed the empty glasses littering their table.
Perry hadn’t planned on coming here. Yet, now knowing that Jax could be mixed up with what happened to Miranda and her sister made him even that more determined. It wasn’t just about him or justice anymore, it was about protecting the girl he loved.
For that, he’d deal with his mom.
“There’s my son,” his mom said, arriving at the table the same time he did. She hugged him. Her embrace felt plastic. Who the hell was she trying to impress? She pulled back. “Your dad said you’ve got a girlfriend!”
“Dad talks too much,” Perry said.
His mom touched her dad’s elbow. “Paul, go get your son a whiskey. He’s a man now.”
“I don’t want—”
“Sure you do.” She motioned for his father to go. He didn’t argue. He never did. Not even when she’d told him to take their son to the mall and leave him there.
His mom looked back at the two guys sharing the table. “Meet our new friends. Charles and Mark, this is my oh-so-powerful son.” The two men nodded, thoroughly unimpressed.
Perry checked their patterns. Charles’s pattern showed mixed blood, part were and shape-shifter. The other was all shape-shifter. Their glassy-eyed expressions said most of the empty glasses belonged to them.
“What happened to your eye?” his mom asked. She grinned as if a black eye made him a more deserving son.
“I ran into a fist,” he said.
“Whose fist?” she asked. “Your girlfriend’s?”
“No.”
“He can’t be your son,” Charles said, his green gaze raking over his mom. “You’re not old enough to have a boy that old.”
“Well, aren’t you a prince. Prince Charles.” She leaned down and kissed the guy. Just on the cheek, but Prince Charles gaped at his mom’s cleavage. Obviously liking what he saw, he fit his palm on Perry’s mom’s ass.
An unnamed emotion swelled inside him. Then he recognized it: shame.
Not for his mom.
For his dad.
Perry considered grabbing the guy’s hand and breaking a few fingers. But if she didn’t want the guy fondling her ass, shouldn’t she stop it?
Yet, unable to stop himself, he cleared his throat in warning. Charles lifted his eyes and his hand from Perry’s mom’s butt.
Standing, she inched in as if to sit down in the chair beside the horny prince. Perry flopped his ass down first. She cut him a that-was-rude frown.
He smiled. “I’m sure you want to sit next to your husband.”
Her lips tightened.
The shape-shifter, Mark, took a sip of his beer. “If your girl’s here, why didn’t you bring her with you?” The question, suspicious in tone, had Perry mentally backtracking. He’d thought these two men were just bar patrons. Had he thought wrong?
Could they be mixed up with Jax? The suspect behind the robberies and possibly even the drug house?
He took another look at Prince Charles, recalling the interrogation with Lily Chambers. Yup, the dark-haired, green-eyed mixed-blood with loose hands looked more like a Chuckie than a prince.
Right then Perry realized a potential disaster. What if the shape-shifter he’d fought with at the hospital had shown up, too? He glanced at Mark’s and Chuckie’s faces, searching for bruises.
Perry had hit that guy as hard if not harder than he’d been hit. They were bruise-free. And their stature didn’t match, either.
Then it hit Perry. Caleb was about the right size.
Holy shit! Had he fought Caleb?
“His dad thinks he’s keeping her away because he’s ashamed of us,” his mom added.
“Go figure,” Mark said.
“Now why would I be ashamed of you?” Sarcasm dripped from Perry’s words. If anything, his mom’s behavior just gave him a good defense for not bringing a girlfriend.
“Well if it isn’t the prodigal son?” A voice rang out behind him. Palms came down on each of his shoulders and squeezed. Hard.
He didn’t have to look back to know who stood behind him.
Caleb’s voice struck all kinds of nerves. But more important than his voice was his face. Was the lowlife sporting a bruise?
Perry’s instinct to shift pulsed through his blood. He fought it.
Reaching back with one hand, he caught one of Caleb’s wrists.
“Enough,” Perry ground out.
His skin around his eyes tightened, his natural instinct, begging to morph. If it was Caleb who Perry fought, Caleb would see the bruise and know. Or maybe Caleb already knew.
Deciding better sooner than later, he looked back, checking Caleb’s face for bruises.
None.
“Can’t handle a little pressure, kid?” Caleb pulled away, but his bullying tone scraped across Perry’s nerves. He hated bullies.
Caleb looked at his mom. “Someone hit your boy, mama.”
Perry inhaled through his nose, bringing air in only through his right nostril, and out his left, a trick he’d learned in Paris to help garner control. Why had his father forgotten to tell him his friends would be joining them tonight? He wasn’t prepared for this. Wasn’t completely sure what his dad had told Caleb about his leaving this morning.
Or had his dad told him what these goons thought. That he’d come to Houston to see a girl?
To use one of Miranda’s sayings, mother cracker. He’d better be ready to up his game.
His father moved in. Perry saw his father’s tight stare go to Caleb, who was still standing behind him.
“Looks like daddy wants to protect you,” Caleb said.
His father dropped the two glasses of whiskey down, his eyes glowing yellow. “I don’t have to protect him.”
Caleb laughed, not believing it. “I’ve seen your boy shift, ol’ man. He’s not that fast.”
The speed of a shape-shifter’s shift generally marked their power. During shifts, both in and out, was the most vulnerable time for a shifter. Even a shifter’s human strength was compromised.
Perry would admit that Caleb’s powers were impressive. What Caleb didn’t know was Perry had never shown his cards. Not that it made Perry invincible, but a hell of a lot less invincible than Caleb assumed.
“You don’t know what he can do,” his father said. “If he wanted to.”
Perry didn’t know what he fought off the hardest, his need to prove his dad right, or the need to deny his father was actually standing up for him.
“Sorry,” Caleb said. “I haven’t seen it ol’ man.”
His father reached for one of the drinks. “I get a feeling that one of these days he’s gonna show you how wrong you are.” He pushed the other drink to Perry. “Right, son?”
�
��One of these days,” Perry repeated his dad’s words. Problem was he planned to show everyone at the table, even the one defending him, how wrong they were.
Caleb pulled a chair over between his mom and dad. “Aren’t you looking hot tonight, Sophie.”
“Thank you.” She ran her tongue over her bottom lip.
His father’s eyes grew brighter. Was that why his father didn’t like Caleb? Did his dad not care that the man was an all-around bastard?
“How did you get the shiner, boy?” Caleb asked, now focusing on Perry’s face instead of his mom’s lips.
“He ran into someone’s fist.” Mark chuckled.
“How did the other guy look?” Caleb asked.
“About the same,” Perry said.
Caleb made a belittling laugh and looked at Perry’s dad. “And you say he’s all-powerful. If someone did that to my face, they wouldn’t be breathing.” Smirking, he pushed the glass Perry’s dad had brought over to Perry. “Drink up, kid. Or are you a wuss? You need me to order you a Shirley Temple?”
A low growl hung in his throat. Even his fingernails ached to turn. After the breathing trick didn’t work, he conjured up an image of Miranda. That was always his last resort.
“Drink!” Caleb bullied.
Somehow knowing the man wouldn’t let this go, he picked up the drink and downed it. The amber liquid burned going down his throat. Burned when it hit his stomach. The need to cough clawed at his throat. He swallowed that need.
He never flinched. Never blinked.
Dropping the glass back on the table with a clank, he leaned back in his chair, hoping he didn’t have anything else to prove.
Chapter Sixteen
Miranda watched Burnett leave then she turned to go inside. When she saw both Della and Kylie sitting at the kitchen table with three diet sodas, waiting for their round table meetup, Miranda’s chest swelled with warm gooey emotion.
“You waited up,” she said, biting down on her lip.
“Duh, you thought we wouldn’t? We’re just wondering what took you so long,” Della said. “Can I open my drink now?”
“Yes.” Miranda moved in. She dropped in her chair and opened her own soda. The two cats, Socks and Chester, came running up, both doing figure eights around her ankles.