Midnight Shift (Episode Five): a Shapeshifter Menage Serial Romance

by Renee George

  Why did Garrick want this Benie chick dead? What was it about the girl that had the king of the Caledon so freaked out? And why should Shade care? All good questions. She planned to get answers before she left the safe house to begin her hunt for Caledon.

  Garrick Mauldin, reigning king of Caledon, and a person whom he considered beneficent in his rule, stayed in mist form until the polandrial poison could no longer affect him physically. The venom, even without a body, burned. His daughter had been stronger than he imagined. Her power growing beyond that of her mother. Marta had been born with a chameleon-like ability, but Benie had become more somehow. He’d felt the power of the Triune pulse through her when they’d grappled. He missed how comforting the marks could be during stressful times.

  In a way, the girl’s strength had made him proud. He’d been a part of creating such a unique and dominant creature. Maybe he’d been wrong in wanting the child dead as well as his wife and first husband. He could have molded and shaped her as a weapon in his rule.

  Garrick shook his head. No. If anyone had discovered she still lived, they would have backed her against him. It was the very same reason she had to die, but maybe not as soon as he’d planned. Calder bore the mark of the Triune on his shoulder, the same as Garrick had all those years ago. It meant for a certainty the girl was pregnant with an heir to the throne. If her child held even a fraction of her power, she could strengthen Garrick’s rule and make him untouchable. He just needed to figure a way to separate his daughter from the two would-be fathers.

  The pain ate at Trace. Every cell in his body screamed, and instead of getting better, the agony seemed to be getting worse. Keane injected him every day before the torture began, but Trace hadn’t been familiar with the serum or the technique. He’d never been on that end of the wardens. He hadn’t been responsible for intel gathering, so torture techniques had not been a part of his training.

  He burned as if acid flowed through his veins.

  “You’re awake,” a soft voice said, barely a whisper.

  Trace blinked, unable to enhance his vision. He couldn’t even change his eyes. However, he did recognize the woman. “Semina.”

  She was crouched next to the bed, her long hair pulled back tight and out of the way. “It’s just Shade now.”

  Trace nodded his understanding. It had been six years since he’d last seen her. He’d married her when he was nineteen, and she’d excited him like no other woman. But after a couple of years together, the shine had worn off for both of them. He’d told her he wanted to quit the wardens, that he’d had his fill of killing. It hadn’t been the direction she wanted to take her life. So when she’d told him she was leaving him, Trace hadn’t been surprised.

  When he attempted to move, the pain in his joints made it hard to breathe, let alone speak.

  Why are you here? he projected into her mind. It was a relief when she opened her thoughts to him. Semina, now Shade, wasn’t a telepath like Trace, but she was an empath. She could sense feelings in people, which made her a very good hunter, investigator, and assassin. It had also been why they’d been paired together.

  Who is this woman? Shade asked. “Who is she to Garrick, and why does he want her dead?”

  You don’t know?

  Would I be asking?

  She is... Before he finished, he felt Benie sit up behind him.

  “I’m his daughter.”

  Shade seemed genuinely startled. “He doesn’t have a daughter.”

  “Yes, he does,” Benie said. “And he’s trying his best to remedy the situation.”

  Trace leaned his head back into Benie’s hand as she wound her fingers in his hair. The light touch relieved his aches and warmed him. He watched as Shade studied them both. “Then you are the rightful queen. I will serve you. If you’ll have me.” She was talking to Benie, not Trace.

  Benie ran her hand lightly down Trace’s arm—a small act of possession. It made him feel stronger.

  “Okay,” Benie finally said. “Now, get the hell out of our bedroom.”

  After Shade left, Benie asked, “Do you love her?”

  “No,” Trace said, surprised by the question.

  “Did you?”

  “Yes, once.” When Benie didn’t respond, Trace added, “It was a childish love. One built on sand and never meant to last. I don’t love her. I don’t hate her. She isn’t even a painful memory anymore.” Every deep breath he took to get the words out made him physically hurt, but he knew Benie needed to hear them. And whatever Garrick had done to him was killing him, and so, Trace also needed to say them. “You are the only thing that matters now. The last two weeks showed me just how much I love you. How much I can endure to keep you safe.”

  “Oh Trace,” her voice broke.

  He couldn’t stop the groan of pain when she wrapped her arm across his chest, but he found the strength to grab her hand as she recoiled when she realized she’d aggravated his shoulder wound.

  “Stay,” he said. “Touch me. It helps.”

  Benie inched her body closer to his, pressing her breasts and stomach against his back. His mark began to pulse as it had when she crawled into the tub—when they were skin to skin. The pain ebbed, and for the first time in weeks, he could inhale without feeling like he would shatter.

  The bright, clean lab filled with whirring noises and ticking sounds as the centrifuge separated blood solids from serum through centripetal force. Ian tried to relax under the siege of white noise. The logical part of his brain, which in his case, happened to be the largest, told him that everything in the physical world could be explained with science, and the things that couldn’t was a failure of man’s intelligence, not magic.

  But the less logical part, the part that craved the high of shifting from man to beast, believed that some things defied explanation. He was a creature of evolution now, like Benie, and he had to stop thinking so linear if he wanted to resolve Trace’s inability to become a wolf. When the machine slowed to a stop, the silence startled Ian from his reverie.

  The tox-screens showed elevated levels of arsenic. He smeared some of the separated blood onto a slide and held it up to his nose. He breathed in deeply, allowing his wolf’s keen sense of smell to take over. He detected whiffs of lead, iron, and... Mercury? Quickly, he grabbed the tub of sodium bentonite from the lower shelf in his supply closet. He used it as a desiccant for lab spills, but its absorbent and adsorbent properties made it a good detoxifier. The bucket was only half-full. Hopefully, it would be enough.

  Ian ran into the room with a bucket of gray powder, a gallon jug of distilled water, a power drill, and a large beater attachment from the kitchen. He mixed the mud and water using the power drill with the beater attached, and instructed Benie to position Trace onto his back. In his weakened state, Trace didn’t resist.

  “Why are we packing mud on him?” Benie asked.

  “To draw out the poison.”

  After a few minutes, when the mud turned into a gel-like substance, Ian began to scoop handfuls of the stuff and push it over each of Trace’s wounds.

  “Wet some towels, Benie, and bring them in here. We’ll cover the poultices to keep them wet.”

  She knew Ian had his reasons, and his confidence gave her hope.

  “How do you know Trace was poisoned?” She’d made herself sick with fear for Trace, and she needed reassurance from Ian.

  “I discovered it was heavy metal toxicity. Specifically, mercury. The bentonite should draw the metals out.”

  “Mercury?”

  “Yes, and I believe in wolf shifters, it’s crippling. I called Gray, and he concurs.”

  “I thought silver was a werewolf’s kryptonite.”

  He continued to ply Trace’s skin with the mixture. “That’s a myth. I’ve tested silver on myself without any ill effect.”

  “Of course you have.” Benie fought not to roll her eyes. It didn’t surprise her that Ian had been experimenting on himself again. “So, mercury.” She knew it was a poison fo
r humans, and if it had made Trace sick, she didn’t doubt for a second it was deadly for wolves. “How will we know if it’s working?”

  “If the clay can draw the metal from his wounds and leech the trace amounts from his skin, we should see some improvement in the next couple of hours.”

  Again, it was a waiting game. Benie rubbed her stomach as she felt a flutter across her lower abdominal area. “Oh,” she said, when it happened again.

  “What’s wrong?” Ian’s alarm startled her.

  “The baby,” she said. “I can feel her.” For the first time since she’d been told about the Triune, told about her legacy and the pregnancy, it felt frighteningly real.

  Ian wrapped his arms around her and held her close to his chest. The strong beat of his heart calmed Benie.

  “It’s okay, Benie. Trace is strong. You’re strong. Together, we will get through this.”

  “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she said, leaning her head against him.

  “You’ll never have to find out.” He kissed her cheek before letting her go to resume his care for Trace.

  Benie reached down and touched Trace’s cheek. Her own mark warmed with a prickling sensation that verged on unpleasant.

  “Ian,” she said, as he finished off the bucket. “Do you feel it?”

  He touched his own shoulder almost absently. “Yes.”

  “His mark feels... sick.”

  “It’s the poison.” Ian sat down on the bed, Trace between them. “Give the clay a chance to draw it out.”

  She remembered how Trace had relaxed in the tub when their skin pressed together, and again, when she’d curled behind him after Shade had left. There had to be a deeper reason for the marks other than decoration. Some benefit she hadn’t yet discovered.

  They’d watched Trace for hours, and he wasn’t getting better. Benie worked to suppress the part of her that feared he wouldn’t survive.

  “He needs you,” Ian said, breaking his silent vigil. His tone had taken on a lost boy quality. “I didn’t see it before, Benie. You really care about him. You love him, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I do.”

  Ian looked toward the window. “When I saw him half-dead on the ground, I felt such rage. I’ve never been that angry in my life. I wanted to kill everyone. I felt like...” He hesitated as if grasping for the right words.

  “...like someone had to tried to cut off your leg?” Benie supplied.

  “Yes,” Ian said. “But even more than that.”

  “He’s ours, Ian.” She propped up on her elbow and looked down at Trace, his eyes closed against the world. “And we’re his.”

  “I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

  “I’m not sure you have a choice.” She shook her head and reached across Trace for Ian’s hand and lightly rested their joined fingers on Trace’s chest. “I’m sorry. I took that choice away when I marked you.” At her apology, her mark warmed, and the prickling turned to a persistent pulse.

  Ian looked down at his hand in hers, and his eyes widened. “It’s turning black.”

  Startled, Benie stared at Ian’s hand.

  “Not my hand,” he said. “The clay. Look as his joints.”

  It was true. Even through the towels, she could see the clay, which had been a light gray, was now developing spots of inky blackness. “What does it mean?

  “I think it’s working.” Ian pulled his hand from Benie’s grip and turned on the ceiling light to brighten the room. The black started to disappear.

  “What’s happening?”

  Ian’s confusion mirrored her own. “I don’t know. It was working.”

  The itchy tingle returned. Could the marks be the key? “I think he needs our touch.”

  “Maybe yours,” Ian countered.

  “No,” Benie said. “I haven’t taken my hand off him this whole time. Only when we both touched him did the clay turn dark.”

  Ian reached down and placed his palm on Trace’s stomach. Benie put her hand above his, and the clay around their hands darkened. “Wow.”

  “Yeah,” Benie said, pulled the damp towels off Trace. “Take your clothes off.”

  Ian rolled his eyes and sighed, but he did as Benie asked. She pressed her naked body to one side of Trace while Ian occupied the other side. They stroked his skin where their bodies couldn’t touch their poisoned mated. Soon, the clay turned all black.

  Trace opened his eyes, surprised when he saw Ian curled against his left side. “Arent,” he said gruffly.

  “Calder,” Ian responded.

  Benie gripped Trace harder when he no longer moved with pain. His voice was strong and certain when he turned his head and drank her in with his soft brown gaze. “I’m alive,” he said.

  For the gazillionth time since Trace’s rescue, Benie felt tears slide down her cheek. “Welcome back.”

  Within seconds, the man was replaced by a large gray and white wolf lying between Benie and Ian.

  Ian raised a brow, his eyes already amber. “Run?”

  “We are in suburbia,” Benie said.

  “The state park isn’t that far away.”

  “What happens if someone sees three wolves slinking down the streets?”

  “It’s after midnight, Benie. They’ll think we’re dogs.”

  “Big ass dogs,” she said, stroking her fingers through Trace’s fur, her own wolf close to the surface now.

  I need to run, Benie. I need to stretch. Trace’s words cut off her doubts.

  Ian’s features were already shifting. Benie grabbed a T-shirt and a pair of shorts from the drawer. “One of us should have opposable thumbs if we plan to leave the house,” she said as an explanation. Instead of going to the front door, she grabbed Destan’s SUV keys from the hook on the wall near the interior door to the garage. Benie glanced at her two wolves. “I’ll drive us to the park.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Benie piled another blanket around her body, her lips shivering against the deep bone chill running through her. She’d turned up the thermostat to ninety degrees, and it still felt freezing in the new safe house. Turning off the television, she hunkered deeper into the cushions of the couch. They’d moved after several reports from the neighborhood watch to animal control about a pack of wild dogs running loose. Gray thought it was a good idea for them to relocate to a more remote area. This place was surrounded by woods, like the first had been, but had a lovely view of the lake off the back deck.

  It had been four weeks since they’d rescued Trace. Four weeks since the combination of clay and marks had brought him back from the brink of death. The new safe house was small, and it didn’t afford any room for Ian to have a real laboratory. He and Trace had been using the free time to hone Ian’s new abilities as a shifter, but there was still an unspoken tension between the two men. Since Trace’s return, she’d made love to both him and Ian individually, but not together. The men didn’t seem to want to share her time, and she tried to respect their needs, even if their needs superseded her own. She’d already saddled them with a life they may not have chosen for themselves. Was it fair to try and make them bedmates too?

  Goose flesh raised tight bumps on her arms, and she rubbed them hard in an effort to warm herself. It was getting damned near ridiculous. The throbbing headache pounding against the temples of her skull didn’t help matters.

  For over a week now, it seemed like her body had been rebelling, with heartburn, having to pee all the time, and a wonky body temperature that made her feel either overly warm or cold. Pregnancy could explain some but not all of what was happening to her body. She had an appointment with a midwife in a few days, her first, and had a full list of questions to ask.

  For now, she’d just be happy if she didn’t feel so goddamn cold. And her head, if it would just stop hammering. Her eyes felt hot and tired, such a contrast to the rest of her. Counting the polandrial poisoning, this was the worst she’d ever felt.

  Her vision blurred as the headach
e worsened to the point where she thought her brain might start leaking from her ears. Where were they? Where were Trace and Ian? They were supposed to take care of her, damn it.

  Writhing on the couch, Benie buried herself deeper into the blanket and cushions. They were coming. She knew it. But why weren’t they already there? “Trace? Ian?” Delirium settled in. “Where are you? You said you’d be here for me. You promised. You promised you wouldn’t leave me…”

  Ian had picked up Trace on the way back to the house. He had sympathy for what the man had gone through, even worried a little for him, but he spent most of the time worrying about Benie. Trace no longer talked much, and his sense of humor had long dried up. Frankly, Ian thought, in their situation, humor might be the only thing that would get them through each day.

  As they neared the front door, Ian felt the tug of Benie, as if his body instantly reacted to a distinctive distress signal. “Do you feel that?”

  “Yes,” Trace replied. The sullen expression had been replaced by alert intensity. “Get the fucking door open.”

  Ian jiggled the key into the lock. It wouldn’t go in. The anxiety and distress grew more acute. “It won’t work.”

  “Damn it to hell. Give me the keys.” Without waiting, Trace yanked the keys out of Ian’s hand. They went flying out into the dark yard.

  “Jesus, Trace!” Ian turned and banged on the door. “Benie. Open the door.” He could feel his wolf scrabbling frantic inside him. Their mate was in danger.

  Next Trace pounded. “Benie. Let us in.”

  Benie’s stress level was skyrocketing, and Ian could sense it as if it were his own.

  He roared, kicking the door and splintering it inward. The path open, he rushed to where Benie lay all bundled except for her face. Her skin was flushed, nearly baked.

  Trace gave one amazed glance at the shattered door before he dropped to Benie’s side.

  Ian hadn’t meant to break the door. Hell, he hadn’t even known he could do it. He was sure it had something to do with the enhancement serum he’d been developing. It was as if his fear and panic had turned his wolf into Wolverine.