“What have you gotten yourself into?” Morgan asked. Cyan Group was definitely an or something and more frightening than the Russian mafia. This helicopter was for show. It wasn’t a personal vehicle. Morgan had picked up on the little nuances from the interior that gave it away as a chartered ride, little stickers of communication that someone who rode in this cabin frequently would know and remember, and have removed.
“I’ve gotten into the real game, real wealth, real influence. And Cyan Group won’t be able to touch me, not with what I have on them. If they make one move I don’t like, I’ll go public with my information, and they’ll be out of business and in jail. They won’t even get to enjoy watching it go viral.”
Morgan shook his head. Real stupid and real dead. Maplecourt was proving himself to be an idiot. A dangerous idiot. He turned back to the Japanese man.
“What does your boss want from me?”
“Bring down the alpha of the Aventine pack.”
“Nature is already doing that. His wife is dying of cancer. He no longer pays attention to his family or his business.”
“Take out the second, the son.”
“Why? To what end?”
“Destroy the Aventines.”
“And if I refuse this offer?” Morgan’s eyes cut away from the Japanese man, quickly glancing at Maplecourt. “He’s supposed to shoot me?” Clearly, this was a set-up. Maplecourt needed to prove his loyalty to the new master so they’d let him into their little club. Have him kill someone in front of witnesses, and they would have Maplecourt by the balls for the rest of his life. At this rate, it was going to be a very short life.
Maplecourt chuckled. “Do you even know who they are talking about? Aventine Industries is a bigger conglomerate than that paltry little get-up you work for. Taking them down will cause a disruption in the market. Not ripples, but a tsunami. A tidal wave I plan to surf to financial glory.” Maplecourt turned to face the men opposite. “I told you when he was unconscious, he’s a nobody, a construction site manager. I don’t know why he’s in a suit. Must have been meeting with the boss, and you grabbed the wrong guy. He’s not who you think he is.”
Maplecourt was an even bigger idiot than Morgan thought moments ago. How many meetings had they had and he still thought Morgan was the site manager. He let his gaze rest on the pale man. This one hadn’t said anything.
“He’s a real moron, isn’t he?” Morgan asked, inclining his head towards Maplecourt. The other man grimaced, flashing his teeth. Naturally sharpened canines. A daywalker. That explained why Morgan couldn’t figure out the man’s scent. They never smelled right, and if he was drugged, that would explain why Morgan couldn’t identify his smell earlier.
Daywalkers were the biological offspring of mated vampires. Vampires were not exactly the undead of legend, but close. They had fangs and a physical need to consume blood. They possessed extreme strength, had proclivity towards psychic abilities, and developed extreme burns when exposed to sunlight. Unlike their progenitors, daywalkers’ fangs were neither as large or retractable. The need for blood also differed in daywalkers. They did not need to consume it for sustenance; however, they required infusions of clean blood on a regular basis. With comparable strength but without the need to avoid daylight, daywalkers tended to be the assistants and henchmen in the vampire world. While vampires tended to have a higher occurrence of telepaths in their ranks, the mental development of daywalkers leaned towards the unbalanced. Daywalkers were beneficial to vampires because they didn’t have to avoid the sun which had fatal consequences for vampires.
Morgan stared at the daywalker. What would make a daywalker and a wolf work together? Typically, the two groups couldn’t stand each other. The rivalry that made the centuries-long feud between the Palatine family and the Aventines look like the petty corporate squabble between Coke and Pepsi. And why did they want him?
Morgan addressed the wolf. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why me? What purpose will killing Aventine serve?”
“It will serve our Lordship’s purpose. That is all that concerns you. If you do not comply, our friend here will shoot you.”
Morgan pursed his lips and looked out the window. The helicopter dipped, following the tree line down to fly low over a body of water. Lake Tahoe? He let his gaze wander around the cabin. Idiot boy Maplecourt, no physical threat, sat to his left. He probably couldn’t even aim a gun properly, let alone hit him even in this confined space.
“Don’t shoot me in here. You’ll never get the deposit back.” Morgan muttered. The daywalker sat furthest away and was buckled in. The only real threat was the wolf across from him. Morgan focused on the door and the little sticker that indicated which way the lever pivoted to unlock and slide the door open.
“I think—” Morgan leaned forward towards the wolf. The Japanese man sat back, relaxing into his cushioned seat, assured he had won. “—that will be a no.” Moving quickly he rolled back, kicked the lever then kicked a second time to open the door.
The helicopter wobbled as wind buffeted the cabin. Maplecourt let out an undignified squeal, and a shot rang past Morgan’s head as he jumped.
Another shot, and a sharp sting bit into Morgan’s arm. Adrenaline-fueled rage brought Morgan’s strength roaring back. He snapped his restraints in time to pull his arms in tight as he hit the water feet first.
Rising to the surface, Morgan searched for the helicopter. He saw it circling low ahead of him. They hadn’t seen him. Morgan gulped down air then sank below the surface of the water, striking out in the opposite direction.
He felt the fabric of his trousers tear when his knee crashed into a rock as he climbed to shore. His muscles felt shaky after the long swim. He still had the sedative in his system. It made him feel weak. Morgan looked around. The helicopter was nowhere in sight, but he could hear it.
His first inclination was to call for some backup, get Shane out here. Find out what the hell was going on. He pulled his cell phone from his jacket breast pocket. Damn. Plan A ruined by water-soaked technology. He began working on plan B: getting the hell out of there. Morgan removed his clothes and shoes, then tied them into an easy to carry bundle. He was going to need them later.
He reached out in a stretch. The muscles in his long legs and arms clenched and bunched as he willed the shift. He blinked, and his vision changed. The world shifted from flat and full color to infinite depths and details in black, white, and shades of gray. His bones shifted. He reached forward and landed on large paws. He shook as if he shook water from his dry, mottled brown fur. The sluggishness from the drugs left his muscles. The pain from the shot in his arm was now a dull, ignorable ache, as his natural accelerated healing began repairing the flesh and muscle.
A shot rang out. The psfft of a bullet sped past him. Morgan froze. Another shot. This one closer, hitting a tree less than a yard away. Morgan lowered his body and ran. Another bullet exploded into a tree as he ran past. They were in pursuit.
He hadn’t smelled them or heard them approaching. That could only mean they hadn’t brought the human Maplecourt along. Good. Then he still had no idea what Morgan was.
He ditched the bundle of clothes he carried and ran faster, circling around behind his hunters. Once downwind of them, his nose confirmed his pursuer was the daywalker from the helicopter. Morgan couldn’t smell the wolf. Maybe he had stayed behind. The daywalker stood with his back to Morgan looking in the other direction for him.
Morgan attacked.
He clamped his teeth onto the wrist holding the gun. The daywalker shrieked as the large brown wolf bit through sinew and muscle. The pistol forgotten, Morgan dropped the wrist then lunged for the man’s neck. He fought back, but not with the ferocity Morgan expected. This one was weak, all bluff and bluster. There was no fighting power in his arms. Morgan fought with teeth and claws. The man fought with knees and punches. In the end, teeth won against soft belly flesh.
The daywalker was down, possibly dead. Morgan circled back to where he dropped his cloth
es, picked up the bundle with blood soaked jaws, and ran back to the body.
In an instant, Morgan changed back to his human form. Momentarily, he thought about trying to hide the body, but he didn’t have time for that. He had to get out of there before the wolf showed up. He searched the man’s pockets for a cell phone. Nothing. What kind of person didn’t carry a cell phone these days? No cell phone, but there was the gun. He didn’t need that in wolf form, but he might need it as a human. He rearranged his bundle to now include the gun.
Back in wolf form, Morgan headed deeper into the forest. He had to find out what was going on. Daywalkers and wolves, and who was this Lordship guy? He also had to get back to Honey, keep her away from Maplecourt. That ass had just proven himself to be more dangerous than merely being a sadistic, abusive ex-boyfriend. They were grooming Maplecourt to be a fucking minion and he was clueless. By the time the vampires were feeding from him, he would welcome it. And worse, Maplecourt was stupid and dangerous enough they might turn him he was good-looking enough they would want him—that is, if they could control him. If they couldn’t, then that was his tough luck.
Morgan needed to speak with Cyan del Fuego from Cyan Group. See what she knew about this “Lordship” person. Morgan had an idea, but he needed confirmation. This mess came with a whole list of questions without answers. More fucking work for him, and all he wanted to do was get back to Honey and make sure she was safe.
11
“Lana’s on a rampage,” Seth announced. He and Honey leaned on the counter looking out of the large picture window front of the coffee shop. They watched the short black spikes bob as Lana stomped along the sidewalk into the shop. Lana only ever bobbed when she was spitting mad.
“Whatever it was, I didn’t do it,” Seth said as he slunk away from the counter.
“Have you seen this?” Lana slammed the newspaper down on the counter. It was folded to a random interior page of the paper. The headline Lana pointed to stated Potential Rape Spree on the Peninsula.
“How is a rape spree potential, I ask you?”
Honey knew best not to interrupt Lana.
“It says there is a serial attacker. His style is much like a rape. He attacks from behind, cuts clothing, hits, threatens. Basically everything except for penetration. Then he steals the victim’s stuff and takes off. Now, get this. Apparently, he’s a complete moron He wears the same yellow jogging jacket.” Lana looked at Honey quizzically. “What the hell is a jogging jacket?”
Lana leaned over the counter, “Seth, get your butt out here!”
Seth looked completely guilty entering the serving area “I di—”
“Shut up and listen. Look, this guy has attacked at the Wharf and few places in Carmel. He’s targeting tourist spots and hitting the employees who have to work late. He probably has already, or is about to, target down here. I don’t want Honey or Joyce closing alone anymore. Got me?”
Both Honey and Seth nodded in agreement. One thing about Lana, she didn’t get mad without also getting a plan. Honey, go get the schedule from the office, please.”
Returning from the office, Honey slid the clipboard with the weekly schedule in front of Lana. “I want this schedule changed until this guy gets caught. Seth, how many closing nights can you give me?”
Honey’s attention drifted as Seth and Lana set up the details of his new closing schedule to thoughts of Morgan. He would meet her as she closed and would walk her to her car. Her vision blurred as she just experienced pain, pure empty pain.
“Honey, got that?”
“Eight friggin’ days— Huh? Sorry, I guess not.”
“Honey, I need you to open tomorrow, Thursday, and Friday and do standard day shifts on your regular scheduled days. Seth will close on the weekends and Wednesdays and Thursdays.”
Seth’s look suggested a deer caught in a car’s headlights. “But I’m no good at closing, remember. I keep fucking up the register.”
“Shit. That’s right.” Lana glared at the floor thinking. “Okay, Seth, you still close but just pull the tape and lock it and the cash drawer in the safe. Honey, you come in early the next day and close Seth out before you open the drawer. I’d rather risk a little mess-up with the drawer than risk Honey or Joyce. I will close on Mondays and Tuesdays.”
“You can’t close alone, Lana. Do ya—” Honey began.
“I won’t be alone, I’ll bring Big Dog to work.”
“He can’t come in here, you know that,” Seth said, using his Mr. Know-it-all voice.
“No, he can’t, but he can hang out on the back-loading dock. No one will mess with me when I’m with him.” Big Dog’s size was intimidating, especially to those who didn’t know he was really a snuggly, fluffy, oversized puppy. Lana picked up the revised schedule, “Okay, Seth, you can pull this off tonight, right?” She waited for his nod. “I’ll go call Joyce and let her know what’s going on even though it doesn’t really affect her schedule.” Lana scooped the clipboard off the counter as she breezed past behind the counter and off towards the office.
Seth quickly resumed his slouching posture next to Honey.
“You’d think that with the boss here we would be inclined to look busy or something.”
“Well, all of the or somethings have been done.” Honey ticked off all the maintenance chores on her fingers. “Everything is cleaned, dusted, inventoried and restocked. There is very little for her to have us do. If there is no one coming in, and since the work is done, then we wait. Besides, I’m not cleaning the coffee maker midday. I officially protest doing that job.”
“You certainly took care all of the to-dos.”
“Nothing better to do. Keeps my mind occupied.”
“Still mooning after that construction worker?” Seth quirked an eyebrow at her.
Honey cut him off. “I’m not mooning. I stopped mooning two days ago. He was only worth six days of mooning. Now I’m just, I’m just…” Honey pursed her lips and stared at Seth. Her eyes bore a hole into the center of his nose. “Gaaaa!” She stormed out of the front of the shop, trying to fight off tears.
Honey still mooned. She was more than mooning. She missed Morgan. She felt hurt and left behind. She played the voicemail he left, again. But he never answered whenever she called back. She didn’t know if she was abandoned, or if something happened to him, or had their date really been that bad and he changed his mind after the message. She felt conflicted. Should she be worried or mad? Or both?
Twelve days ago he smiled that smile at her, and she could have sworn he was about to kiss her. Twelve days ago he had said he had a good time and that they should go out on a real date. Nine days ago their date had been a royal disaster, and she wanted to ask him for a do-over. She attempted to return his call the next day, and the next day after that. Honey had been waiting for eight days to ask him to go out with her again and not to hate her. Waiting for him to saunter into The Corner and ask when her next break was. Waiting to hear the deep tones of his voice. Waiting to hear him say her name again.
Honey dropped the pendant and used her fists to rub the tears from her cheeks. She stopped. Tourists bustled around her as her abrupt halt interrupted the flow of pedestrian traffic. She spun around on her heel and stalked back to the café.
Honey returned to the counter. Seth handed her a whipped fruity tea concoction he had been developing. “Here, it’s pink and fruity. Whatcha think?”
Honey sat and took a long hard sip through the straw. She closed her eyes as her tongue enjoyed the sparkling frozen berry flavors mixed with green tea and honey. Then she clenched her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Brain freeze!”
When she recovered from the cranial chill effects of the blended ice drink, she blinked at Seth. “Thanks. Sorry I…” She twisted and pointed at the door. “Ya’ know, he never once made a comment about my name.”
“Seriously? Not one crack about the color of golden honey?”
Honey sniffled. “Not one. I thought that was a sign or someth
ing.”
“It certainly seems like it would have been. I was sorta hoping he wasn’t a jerk to you, but I guess he was.”
“Yeah, I guess he was.” Honey said sadly.
12
Morgan had been wrong. Disastrously wrong. South and east only revealed more forest, not civilization. That assumed he still traveled in that compass direction. And followers of the Lord person hadn’t given up pursuing him. The daywalker had not been their last attempt at eliminating him. Morgan sensed the other wolf followed him. Whiffs of the other wolf’s scent when the wind changed alerted him to his constant danger. Morgan realized his adversary was a skilled tracker. His strategy of circling to position himself downwind of the other wolf worked only for a short while. They spent days like this, circling each other, in a constant rotation to be downwind of the other.
Morgan rested against his paws, letting his eyes drift shut if only for a moment. He instinctively ducked when bark exploded when a bullet impacted the tree above him. There was no way he could be seen, he was certain. The fallen branches provided excellent coverage. He waited. When another bullet shattered branches on a nearby tree, he knew the shooter couldn’t see him but was targeting by scent.
Morgan dropped his bundle of clothes on the ground and slipped from his hiding spot and ran. The sound of shots grew faint as he put distance between himself and the shooter. Counting on his pursuer tracking by smell and not visually, Morgan crossed a stream. He ran back and forth several times, pooling his scent into a dead-end for his tracker. Once his smell was concentrated in the small area, Morgan trotted in the middle the stream, following the flow of water uphill. When the creek thinned to a trickle Morgan rolled in the mud of the stream bed to further hide his scent.
Protective: Legatum - Book 1 Page 10