Butterfly Assassin

by Annabelle Jacobs

  “Help’s on its way.”

  Miller blinked at him, eyes struggling to focus. “Blake…,” he whispered, then pointed a hand towards the dead body. “Think… killed… W-white.”

  “What?” Michael glanced over at the body on the floor. “Why the fuck would he kill his—”

  “Because he was as good as dead anyway.” Blake appeared in the doorway, his approach so silent, Michael almost dropped his gun again.

  His gaze shot to what Blake held in his hand, mouth falling open.

  No way. “Is that how you killed them?”

  Grinning, Blake lifted the two metal hands higher, then slipped his own hand inside one. “Amazing what you can make these days with the right tools and a captive shifter.” They were exact replicas of a shifter’s hands—claws fully extended as though half-shifted.

  Without taking his eyes or his gun off Blake, he gestured to White’s body on the floor. “Is it how you killed him?”

  Blake’s grin faltered as he glanced at White. Guilt maybe? “No.”

  Tyres screeched to a halt outside on the road.

  “It’s over, Blake,” Michael said, Blake’s choice of words registering too late.

  With a roar that shook the walls of the cottage, Blake half-shifted. His jaw bone lengthened, fangs dropped down, and razor-sharp claws slid out, turning his hands into weapons.

  “I didn’t need them to kill him.”

  No, because he had the real fucking thing.

  “Surprise,” Blake slurred around enormous fangs and tilted his head to the side showing off his almost-healed bite mark. He moved with shifter speed towards Michael, but Michael still had his gun raised, and he got off two shots before Blake grabbed him. “Fucking yes!” he yelled as his body began to heal where one of Michael’s bullets had grazed him.

  The other had wedged in his left shoulder, but Blake ignored it, not even slowing down. His claws dug into Michael’s side and his shoulder, finding purchase, and Michael screamed as Blake dragged him through the house away from the shouts of the police coming in through the front.

  “White was never a shifter, was he?” Michael gritted out, the pain from Blake’s grip almost unbearable. Blake’s claws sank deeper as he blasted through the back door, cracking it in two.

  “No.”

  “You killed him and forced Wilson… to… to bite you. Why?”

  Blake skidded to a snarling halt in the back garden and tossed Michael to the ground at his feet. “Because Smith made it sound so fucking appealing, I thought why the hell not? Why should I do his fucking dirty work when I could be the one with all the power?” He growled low and menacing and grabbed Michael again, pulling him against his chest, claws pressed against the vulnerable flesh of his exposed throat. He turned them to face the darkness behind. “One more step and I’ll rip him to pieces.”

  Michael couldn’t see who he was talking to, but he didn’t need to.

  He felt Aaron’s presence like a tingle under his skin.

  “I see now why people ask for the bite.” Blake cracked his neck from side to side, grip on Michael never loosening. “All that power…”

  “Being a shifter isn’t all about power.” Aaron melted out of the tree line and walked towards them, dark brown hair a tousled mess, eyes wild.

  “Isn’t it?” Blake held a hand out, the one not currently wrapped around Michael’s neck, and admired his claws. “We’re stronger than everyone else, faster. Our senses are fucking amazing.” He laughed and tightened his hold on Michael’s throat, claw tips digging in further, making Michael gasp. “I heard them coming ages before they got here. With all that going on, what else do you need?”

  Aaron took a step closer. “Let him go. The police are all over your house. They’ll be out here any second.”

  “That’s why he’s coming with me. They’re not going to shoot me while I have him.”

  At first Michael thought the low, rumbling growl came from Blake, but it was Aaron. Michael watched, fascinated, as Aaron’s teeth extended and his claws came out.

  “Let him go. I won’t ask you again.”

  Blake’s mocking laughter filled the night air. “Fuck off.” He took a step to the side, pulling Michael with him. “Come any closer and I’ll kill him.”

  Michael struggled to gain his footing, heart pounding against his ribs and mind racing with some way to get out of this.

  “I don’t think so,” Aaron said softly.

  It seemed like the next few seconds happened in slow motion.

  Blake let out an anguished howl, his claws suddenly gone from Michael’s neck, sending Michael stumbling backwards into a rock-hard chest. Only Isaac’s quickly whispered, “It’s me,” stopped him from panicking.

  An angry roar pierced the air, and Michael glanced to the side to see Blake picking himself up off the ground, one arm badly mauled and hanging limply by his side.

  He took a step towards Michael.

  Aaron’s answering howl of rage was louder, scarier, and Michael watched in awe as he leapt through the air, shifting on the fly into a beautiful grey wolf.

  He hit Blake full force, knocking him onto his back and out cold. Aaron had his teeth around Blake’s throat in an instant.

  “Aaron,” Isaac urged. “Leave him for the council.”

  Aaron growled and remained in place a few long moments more before finally stepping away from him.

  Blake started to moan, obviously regaining consciousness.

  “Change back and come over here,” Isaac said, voice calm, coaxing. He gently eased Michael onto the ground so he could lie down. “I’ll keep an eye on Blake and you see to Detective Archer.”

  That seemed to snap Aaron out of it. He changed back in a flash, and Isaac handed him his shirt to cover his nakedness.

  The next moment Aaron’s arms were around him—one hand on his shoulder, the other pressed to the wounds on his neck as he peered down at him.

  Glancing to the side, Michael saw Isaac—half-shifted—pinning a now fully conscious Blake to the ground.

  Aaron snarled as he looked over at them. “Being a shifter means pack—first and foremost. Someone always has your back.” When he turned to face Michael again, his expression softened. His gaze flicked from Michael’s neck to his arm. “He shot you too?” Panic laced his voice, but Michael waved his good arm.

  “’S just a graze.” He met Aaron’s gaze. The intensity in his eyes was more than he’d expected to see. Reaching up he cupped Aaron’s cheek. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  Michael huffed out a laugh, wincing when it pulled at his wounds. “You saved my life.”

  “Nah, that was all Isaac. I was just the distraction.”

  Despite everything that had happened and the pain currently running through his body in a steady throb, his lips curled into a smile. “You are very distracting. Especially half-naked.” Aaron smiled back and turned to place a kiss on Michael’s palm. The voices inside got louder, and Michael suddenly remembered. “Shit, Miller. Is he—?” He tried to sit up, but Aaron gently pushed him back down.

  “The paramedics are with him now.” He cocked his head to the side, listening. “He’s lost a lot of blood, but they’ve stabilised him.”

  “Fuck.”

  Aaron gripped his hand. “You need to go to hospital too.”

  “No, I’m fine I—”

  “You’re not fine.” Aaron’s grip tightened. “You need stitches.” His eyes found all the places Blake had hurt him. “Lots of them.”

  Frank burst out of the back door, followed by Sam and Harry. “Arch? Aaron? Christ.” He took in the scene, gaze zeroing in on Michael’s wounds, then immediately shouted for the paramedics. Kneeling beside Michael, he said. “Couldn’t wait for backup, eh?”

  Michael shrugged with his good shoulder and nodded over at where Blake lay, suspiciously quiet. “He came out to meet us.” Frank spared Blake a quick glance, his lip curling in distaste. “What took you so long anyway? You were only down
the bloody road.”

  Frank rolled his eyes. “Would you believe that more of Smith’s bodyguards arrived at the same time we did? Apparently Blake had summoned them. Let’s just say they were reluctant to come quietly.” He looked back at Blake, smile rueful. “Besides, Sam assured me Isaac and Aaron had things under control, and it appears he was right.”

  Isaac stood, no longer in his half-shift. He pointed down at a heavily restrained Blake. “We need to transfer him over to the council. I imagine they’ll want him at Krillick Hall.”

  The paramedics appeared, blocking Michael’s view of Blake and ushering Aaron out of the way. Michael missed his presence immediately. Closing his eyes as they started to work on his injuries, he listened to the conversation going on around him, answering the paramedic’s questions in between.

  “Both Alpha Wallace and Alpha Jones are still with Wilson,” Frank said. “They were waiting for paramedics from the nearest shifter hospital to come and take him. Alpha Jones seemed to know what he was doing, though.”

  Isaac hummed in agreement. “He should. I believe he was a doctor at a shifter hospital before the council was formed.”

  “Good. We’re going to need to talk to Wilson. Later.”

  Michael huffed out a laugh. Good old Frank, tactful as ever. “White was never bitten.”

  “We know.” Frank stood, dusting dirt from his jeans. “But his throat was torn out.” He gestured to Blake. “Probably by him.”

  Michael went to nod but thought better of it. “He admitted as much.”

  The paramedics finished bandaging him up and loaded Michael onto the stretcher.

  “I’m fine,” he tried to insist, but they were having none of it.

  “The wounds on your neck and side need stitching, and possibly your arm too. You’ve also lost a lot of blood.”

  “Stop being such an arse and do as you’re told,” Frank grumbled at him as they started to wheel him away.

  “Wait.” He grabbed Frank’s arm as he passed. “The murders… Blake said it was him. With the…” He waved a hand in the air, words failing him. “Things.”

  “The fake metal claws? Yeah, we found them. They’ll be sent back to the lab for analysis. They’re also searching both White’s and Blake’s houses now. Hopefully Wilson can tell us more when he regains consciousness.”

  They wheeled him the rest of the way to the ambulance, Aaron following just behind them. Before they loaded him inside, he stepped forward.

  “Can I have a minute, please?”

  “Two tops, mate.”

  “Thanks.”

  The paramedics moved away, and Aaron stepped close, taking Michael’s hand. “Is the case over now? With White dead and Wilson found?”

  “I don’t know. We still need to prove Blake committed the murders, but I think once we get forensics back and can talk to Wilson, that’ll get sorted.” He had no doubt Blake would deny everything as soon as he woke up in Krillick Hall.

  Aaron nodded and bit his bottom lip, and Michael knew what he was thinking. Well, he hoped he did because he was thinking the same thing. “So, then, we could see each other without it affecting anything.” He met Michael’s gaze, eyes alight with hope. “If we wanted to, that is.”

  “Yes,” Michael said softly. “We could. If we wanted to.” He squeezed Aaron’s fingers, smiling. “And I do want to.”

  Aaron’s answering smile was blinding. “Me too.”

  “Time’s up, guys. We need to get going.” The two paramedics moved to load him into the ambulance, and Aaron stepped to the side.

  “I need to go back with Sam and the others,” he said, sounding reluctant to leave.

  Michael waved him away. “Go. As soon as I get back to London, I’ll call you.”

  “You promise?”

  “I’m a man of my word, you know that.”

  Grinning, Aaron nodded. “I do.”

  The doors of the ambulance closed and Michael shut his eyes, smiling.

  An SCTF officer and a shifter. It sounded like either the opening line of a joke or a fairy tale.

  Frank would tell him it was the first one, but as the pain meds flooded his system, Michael liked to think it was the latter. But instead of a Prince Charming, he got a bare-knuckle fighting shifter.

  My Butterfly Assassin.

  He had so many questions to ask and things he wanted to find out about Aaron. As he lay there, pleasantly numb from the pain, he realised two things. One, he would’ve waited however long it took to be with him because Aaron was special and they’d be great together.

  And two, with the case virtually done, he didn’t have to wait any longer.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Two weeks later…

  Michael woke to the sound of a text message on his phone. Smiling, he reached for it, having a good idea who it’d be from.

  Morning.

  Aaron had sent the same message every day since Michael had got out of the hospital. They’d stitched him up and were only going to keep him in a day or so, but he’d developed a nasty infection from the wounds in his side.

  He’d ended up being there just over a week before they’d let him home.

  Morning, he sent back, stretching gently.

  His stitches were all out, but the soreness remained, would do for another two to three weeks according to the doctors. Being shot turned out to be the least of his injuries—that healed up nicely. Blake had made a mess of his left side, claws tearing through the skin, leaving behind five short, jagged, and ugly-looking scars.

  The ones on his neck and shoulder were cleaner, less noticeable as they healed.

  Michael was just thankful he and Miller made it out of there in one piece. Although Miller’s recovery would take a little longer, he was alive and that was the important thing. Wilson survived, too, which had a massive impact on their case against Blake.

  Blake and White had snatched him from one of White’s coffee shops. White was in there doing his monthly inspection when he overheard Wilson on the phone to his sister. He knew then that Wilson wasn’t from a London pack and therefore wouldn’t be missed. He must have called Blake, laced Wilson’s coffee to incapacitate him enough. Wilson remembered going to the toilet but not much afterwards. They probably injured him somehow to weaken him and, according to the hospital reports, kept him drugged the whole time they had him. Luckily for the SCTF, although Wilson lacked the strength to fight back, he was conscious for most of it, and both White and Blake liked to talk.

  Michael was due back in the office tomorrow and Frank had offered to pick him up. He couldn’t wait.

  With a sigh, he sat up and pulled on some pyjama bottoms. Better get used to getting up early again.

  When his phone buzzed, Michael picked it up and walked into the kitchen, reading as he went.

  Still ok for me to come round?

  Yes. Looking forward to it. Michael grinned as he typed, but a niggle of uncertainty crept into his good mood.

  This would be the first time they’d seen each other since that night. Michael had been recovering, and Aaron was busy with work. They’d texted, but it wasn’t the same as seeing someone in person.

  What if the spark they’d felt before was gone? What if it was only because of the case they were working on? If they saw each other and the attraction between them had fizzled out, how awkward would that be? More so if it was one-sided.

  Flicking on the kettle and popping a tea bag in his favourite mug, Michael pictured Aaron’s face in an attempt to gauge his own feelings.

  Warmth blossomed inside his chest, flashes of their bathroom encounter heating his cheeks. Yeah, if it was one-sided, then it would be on Aaron’s side, not his. If anything, not seeing him for all this time had only strengthened his desire to take this further. So, not a case of out of sight, out of mind.

  What time you coming? He typed, finishing off his tea and sticking a couple of slices of bread in the toaster—tea on an empty stomach always made him feel a bit sick. The toast popped
at the same time as his phone buzzed and the doorbell rang. Michael startled in surprise. Leaving the toast for a second, he opened the text message as he headed towards his front door.

  Now. That’s me at the door.

  Grinning widely, Michael went to slide his phone into his pocket before realising he had pyjama bottoms on.

  And nothing else.

  The patterned glass oval in his door clearly showed Aaron’s outline, and Michael’s pace quickened. So what if he was only half-dressed? With any luck, they’d be heading in that direction at some point.

  Opening the door, he was met with Aaron’s tentative smile.

  “Hey.” Aaron’s gaze swept over his torso before lingering on his neck and finally meeting Michael’s eyes. The flash of anger in his gaze took Michael by surprise before Aaron growled out, “I want to kill him for what he did to you.”

  His hands clenched at his sides, and Michael would bet good money his claws were out.

  Michael shrugged—carefully—and then took hold of Aaron’s fists, uncurling them gently. “The stitches are all out, and the doctors said everything’s healing nicely.”

  “I know, but—”

  Michael put his fingers over Aaron’s lips, silencing him. Aaron’s pained expression did something funny to Michael’s insides. It’d been a long while since he’d had someone care about him like this, since he’d had to reassure someone he was okay.

  “Can I?” Aaron moved his free hand towards the healing scars on Michael’s side, then hesitated.

  “Yes.” Glancing down, Michael watched as Aaron reached out a little more.

  The pads of his fingers trailed ever so lightly over Michael’s skin, eliciting a shiver.

  Aaron glanced up. “You cold?”

  “No.” Michael shook his head.

  Aaron continued his exploration. He traced the five puncture wounds with such tenderness that Michael’s heart did a little flip, and a quiet gasp escaped him. Placing his palm flat over the marks, Aaron finally looked up again. “Does it hurt still?”