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

by Renee George

  “Benie?” He cupped her face. Her skin was hot, really hot, and dry. “She’s running a fever.”

  Trace took off his jacket. “It’s like a fucking sauna in here.” He walked toward the back room. “What’s going on with her face?”

  Ian took a closer look. Benie’s skin was changing color, which by itself wasn’t so unusual, but this was different from her normal chameleon-like ability. Dark areas appeared then disappeared as her skin transformed. He pulled the covers back. It was happening with her entire body—like a Christmas tree light with bad wiring, winking and blinking all wrong. He pressed a finger against one of the darker areas on her shoulder, and it was like nothingness—a small black hole. Instantly, the area firmed and pushed his finger out of the empty space.

  “So cold,” Benie said through chattering teeth.

  “It’s all right, baby.” Ian smoothed her thick red hair.

  She curled into a tight ball.

  “Here.” Trace handed Ian a thermometer, one that worked from the ear.

  A quick beep later, Ian handed it back. “105.6. Too high. Way too high. Her brain is baking.”

  “I’ll get some aspirin, you get some cold cloths.” Before Trace could leave, Benie’s hand snapped out and latched onto his wrist.

  “No. I need you. I need you both. Touch me. Please, please.” She turned, stretching herself before both of them. “Take off your clothes. Off. Off.”

  Ian quickly pulled off his clothes. Benie’s own urgency ran through him, a combination of lust, fear, and anxiety. He didn’t have any embarrassment about being naked in front of Trace anymore. All that mattered was Benie.

  “Do it, Trace. She’s sick. Can’t you feel it?” His mark, the violet line and circle on his shoulder, throbbed.

  Trace nodded his head and undressed. “I can.”

  Benie pushed her hair back, which had grown out just past her shoulders. She spread her legs and reached down to the tangle of dark red curls at the apex of her thighs. She slipped her fingers between the lips of her sex. “I need.” Tears streaked her burning cheeks. “I need.” The dark swirls appearing randomly on her body disappeared as her gaze swept across both men.

  Her dusty-green eyes turned nearly fluorescent and caused Ian to catch his breath. She’d pushed her blankets aside, exposing her pale, pale skin with slight freckles, her soft breasts with erect nipples. Blood rushed to his groin, making him hard as the overwhelming scent of her desire drove him insane.

  He glanced at Trace. The man, naked now, was just as hard.

  Trace’s pupils dilated. “She’s so damned beautiful.” He lowered to his knees in front of Benie.

  Benie met Trace’s mouth with a fiery kiss. Ian watched him rub his palms over her breasts. She moaned against Trace’s mouth. Strangely, the mark on Trace’s back, a mirror twin to Ian’s, pulsed with light as he teased one of her nipples between his thumb and forefinger, his tongue flickering over the tightly drawn crux. Ian wondered if his own pulsating mark was doing the same.

  He knelt next to Trace as the man moved further down her body. He and Benie both watched as Trace slid his tongue down her stomach. Her skin visibly quivered under his touch. The back of Trace’s hand traveled up her thigh until his fingers reached the soft folds of her damp sex. He spread her open and twirled his tongue around her swell, sinking a finger into her wet channel.

  “Yes,” she groaned.

  Watching them, Ian found he enjoyed seeing Benie in the throes of desire, being able to fully view her flushed face and body as she writhed with passion. He suppressed his uneasiness, the part of him that said it was wrong to take pleasure in another man touching the woman he loved.

  He watched Trace’s fingers glide in and out of Benie in the same rhythm he used to lick and suck her swollen sex. Every hormone in Ian’s body sizzled at the sight of her squirming under Trace’s seductive attention.

  Trace thrust another finger in, and she moaned with pleasure. Ian’s breathing and heart rate increased.

  “Ian,” Benie said, heady and husky.

  Ian’s body shivered with anticipation. He knelt beside her, and dipped his head to meet her parting lips and kissed her hard. When her tongue darted past his own, Ian closed his eyes, savoring her as he fed from her lips.

  Benie’s mind began to clear the more Trace touched, groped, and sucked—and the more insistent Ian’s kisses grew. She wriggled her hips, relishing the feel of Trace’s mouth on her. She gazed at Ian until he looked back. His blue eyes looked so lovely, especially this close. Ian’s lips parted to suck in her tongue. She tasted him with a hunger food could never satisfy. The delirium of her fever began to clear as they both attended her urgent desires, but her body craved more.

  “I need you in me,” Benie said to both of her lovers.

  Trace sat back on his heels and Benie twitched at the loss of his lips and tongue. Without needing direction, Ian moved Benie over, sat down next to her on the couch, and then pulled her on top of him. Her thighs burned as she positioned her slick sex over his shaft and slid down on him. Instantly, she felt more connected, more alive.

  Trace scooted his body behind her and between Ian’s legs. Lifting her ass to him, Benie arched in anticipation. She could feel Trace’s fingers lubricating her anus. She tensed as he penetrated her with a finger.

  He leaned to her ear. “It’s okay, Benie. I’ll take it slow.”

  “Yes,” she said, as Ian gripped her hips. She closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to feel Ian’s thickness stretching her, filling the aching urgency. The marks on her back thrummed when she felt Trace’s hands spread her buttocks. The tip of his lubricated cock slid the divide, stopping for a moment before he pushed inside her.

  Benie moaned at the burning ecstasy that rocketed up her spine. Trace held still, allowing her to adjust to his size, but Ian thrust his hips upward to meet Benie. She squeezed her muscles around him, and in doing so, did the same to Trace. Noises of pleasure sounded from both men. She rolled forward then arched back and down to take them both deep.

  Benie raked her nails down Ian’s back until they rested under his firm buttocks, and dug in. Her headache was gone, the cold was gone, all she felt was rapture and bliss as they joined with her, made love to her so fucking good. Stroking, gently, rhythmically, in sync with each other. Pressure built in her groin, scorching red-hot with the promise of gratification. It didn’t take long.

  Her upper body jolted at the shockwave emanating from her vibrating depths. She sang out her pleasure in one long blissful moan. Her climax triggered Ian’s and his head flew back, his hands gripping her hips as he drove his cock deep. A howl of final ecstasy poured from his mouth. He collapsed back onto the couch.

  The heat of his body soothed her every nerve.

  “It’s okay,” Trace said, his fingers twining her hair. “It’s okay. You’re okay now.” He withdrew from her, slowly, as if trying not to disturb the serenity, but the absence of him settled in her like a bottomless ache. He disappeared to the bathroom and came back a few moments later, dressed in boxers, and holding a towel. He handed it to Benie, and sat down beside them. She drew herself off Ian and sat up on the couch.

  “How do you feel?”

  She heaved a breath and moved to settle between the men. “Better.” Sweat leaked from every pore in her body, soaking the cushions beneath her. “Damn, it’s really hot in here.”

  Trace shrugged. “You had the thermostat set on tropical, babe.” He felt her forehead with the back of his hand. “Your fever’s broken.”

  Ian had covered his lap with the towel. “Let me check your temp.” He grabbed the thermometer and put it to her ear. “Yep. Down to 100.2 now.”

  “I don’t understand what’s been happening lately. It seems like I’m getting sick all the time. It can’t just be the pregnancy.”

  Nodding, Ian put his arm around her shoulders. “I agree, Benie. Another thing to ask the midwife.”

  “Already on my list.” Benie bit the inside
of her lip. Her body’s strange behavior had been growing increasingly whack over the past week or so, but she’d noticed it was worse when… “I… no, that’s crazy.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t want you guys to think I’m trying to manipulate you.”

  Trace sighed. “Just say it.”

  “Well.” Benie tapped her chin. “I feel better when I’m with you. Both of you.” The dull throb of her marks acted to confirm her theory.

  No Ian and Trace, bad stuff.

  With Ian and Trace, all better.

  Ian wiggled his nose, something he did when in deep thought. He shrugged. “Could be. I’d like to do some hormone and blood studies when our marks are the most active to see how our bodies behave under their... influence. But I need my lab stuff.”

  She knew he missed his work. Ian’s need to discover the world on a microbiological level was insatiable.

  Trace rubbed his forehead. He tipped his head down and kissed Benie’s cheek. “If you’re feeling better, I’m going to lay down a bit.”

  Are you okay? Benie asked, reaching out to his mind.

  Just tired, his mind whispered back.

  But Benie couldn’t help but wonder if there was more going on with him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Trace lay in bed for a long time counting the ceiling tiles. He hated himself for what he was doing to Benie, or rather what he wasn’t doing. He longed to share a life with her, even if that included Ian Arent. But a part of him had been lost in Garrick’s chamber, there had been a lunacy to Garrick’s thoughts, a brokenness in the man that had infected Trace with his jealousy, his rage, and his loss. The man had killed his wife and first husband because he’d felt second best, and he’d had an extreme reaction to such a petty feeling. But killing them had broken his Triune and fragmented his psyche. If it hadn’t been for Trace’s one-time friend turned enemy, Keane Silvertail, who’d delivered the torture, all the while begging Trace mentally to stay strong—even if it had been merely a ploy to find out about Benie—Trace would have completely disappeared in Garrick’s madness. He still felt the void, the empty space in Garrick’s soul.

  For whatever reason, it affected his intimacy with Benie. Not because he didn’t want to be close, because God knew his body yearned for her constantly. It was because Garrick’s doubts and insecurities had somehow wiggled their way into his thoughts and sometimes became his own. Anger, rage, hate, along with the love. He couldn’t let Benie see those thoughts. Ever.

  The light went out under the door to the living room, which meant Benie and Ian were coming to bed. Closing his eyes, Trace simulated sleep. He couldn’t face them. Face her. Every time she looked at him, he feared she’d know the truth.

  Benie rolled onto her side, watching as Ian softly snored—so peaceful. She looked over her shoulder at Trace. He twitched, his face grimacing with unknown horrors. Sighing, Benie shifted onto her back and placed her palms on both men, skin to skin. She felt the tingling of the marks on her back. She was part of a Triune, the central part, the necessary part.

  She hated it at times. Hated being other. She’d been a weapon in a war against her own kind, but it didn’t matter now. None of her life before Trace, Ian, and the baby mattered. She wanted to run away, but it wasn’t possible. Not anymore. Her father Garrick had killed her mother and her other father, because of jealousy and to gain power, and he wouldn’t stop until Benie and her child were dead too. All because he was afraid she’d usurp his throne and claim it for herself. All hail, Queen Benie.

  Ugh. She felt a wave of disgust at the thought. She didn’t want to be queen of jack shit. All she’d ever wanted to do was hang out with her best friend Ian and kick some evil other ass occasionally. Was that too much to ask? Of course it had been.

  Truth be told, all that mattered to her anymore rested beneath her fingertips. She brushed a curled brunette strand of Ian’s hair from his eyes. My genius, she smiled.

  Benie shuddered as she remembered the four years of hell she’d endured at the mental hospital. When she got out, Ian had managed to make a life for them. He’d created a safe place for Benie, and until she’d met Trace Calder, Ian had been Benie’s only family in the world, and she loved him fiercely.

  She turned to Trace, unsure of why she’d chosen him, or rather the Triune had chosen him. It wasn’t just because he was handsome, even though he was. Very much so. Tall, muscular, thick black hair, bright amber eyes, and an ass that would make most women fall out of their seats. No, it hadn’t been just the looks. A lot of men she’d met had been good-looking. Something else in him had called to her baser self, the part of her that coveted what it craved and wouldn’t let anything get in its way.

  Benie nestled her fingertips in the soft black hair on his chest. She felt the rise and fall of his chest, his breath shallow and quick. Trace’s heart raced, and she worried for him. As usual, his dreams were dark, his sleep restless. Please, let me in.

  He could if he chose to. Trace’s talent didn’t stop at being able to read thoughts. He could join thoughts. But he’d closed her out. There was nothing he could show her that would make her look at him with anything other than acceptance and love. But he didn’t trust her.

  Gray had said to give Trace time, he would eventually come around, but time was not on their side. More and more of Garrick’s henchmen had been catching up to them. With every move came a new battle. She needed Trace to be whole again. As much as she needed her genius, she needed her warrior as well.

  Leaning over, Benie kissed Trace on the forehead. The warmth of his skin pressed into her lips. Feverish—he always felt feverish. Benie had noticed it the first time they’d kissed. She lingered for a moment, comforted by the pressure and heat. Trace had shied away from real intimacy since his captivity. Benie hadn’t realized how sick she’d felt from not having them both with her at the same time. For the first time in a month, she didn’t feel achy all over. Had she tied them with the marks like a weighted ball and chain? Is that why Garrick had wanted out? He couldn’t take a life where he couldn’t exert any control? Is that how Trace felt now?

  “I miss you,” she whispered.

  Trace’s eyes opened, startling gold, framed by his dark, dark lashes. “Benie?”

  She smiled and caressed his cheek. “I’m here.”

  He stared at her, long and hard, grim, until Benie felt the smile leave her eyes.

  “Why won’t you talk to me?” she whispered.

  Trace shook, slight, barely perceptible, like a dog settling his fur. For a moment, sexual energy pulsed between them. Until Trace turned away and got up from the bed. The line of his naked body glowed against the moonlight pouring in from the bedroom window. The effect was ethereal, beautiful… disturbing. Trace was a ghost, and Benie could feel him slipping further away with each day.

  She watched as he turned the light on in the bathroom. Benie sat on the edge of the bed when the door closed behind him. Ian’s soft snoring drew her attention. A twitch of a smile formed on her lips. She wished she could sleep as soundly.

  With a weary sigh, Benie walked softly across the floor. She rested her hand on the knob. “Trace?”

  “Don’t come in, Benie.”

  “I just want to talk.”

  “Leave me alone.” His voice sounded strained. “Please.”

  Benie turned the knob. It twisted easily—the door wasn’t locked. Quietly, she opened it a crack, no more, then peeked in.

  Trace stared at his own haunted reflection in the mirror.

  “What are you doing?” she asked casually, carefully, worried she’d spook him.

  “I told you not to come in.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?” It was a question she’d asked once a day since his return.

  As usual, he said, “No.”

  “You can’t go on like this, Trace. You can’t keep shutting everyone out.”

  Anger edged his voice. “Everyone or you?”

  Benie was on the verge of anger
as well. The energy coming from Trace made her shudder. “Fine. Me. You can’t keep shutting me out. I need you. Not just in body, but all of you.”

  Trace didn’t respond. He gripped the edge of the sink with both hands. He had built a steel wall around himself designed to keep in the pain. If Benie had a metaphysical blowtorch, she’d cut a big hole in it and let the shit run out. Unfortunately, Trace clung to his pain like a child holding onto a comforting toy. A freaking wubbie of heartache.

  She grimaced at the thought. “How long do I have to wait?” She moved in behind him and slid her palms against his thighs. “A day? A week? A year? Forever?”

  “Wait for what?”

  Benie stared at Trace, forcing him to meet her eyes. “For you to love me. To let me love you in return.”

  Trace snorted, a derisive laugh, and he turned to face her. “You’re kidding, right?”

  She held her breath for a moment, allowing his words to sit in the pit of her stomach. Placing her fingers on either side of his face, she breathed, “Let me in. Let me take some of your bad stuff from you.”

  He tapped his temple. “Believe me, you don’t want what’s in here.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “For a bright woman, you’re goddamn stupid sometimes.” He pushed her hands away.

  A spark of fury formed like a tiny bomb in Benie’s chest, ticking away. She pushed it down, fighting to keep it from going off. Focusing inward, she counted back from ten, carefully working the tension from the top of her head to her fingers and toes. The spark ebbed, but didn’t fully go away. “You’re the stupid one.”

  “You’re right. I’m goddamn stupid too. Stupid to think this could ever work.” He stood up and walked past her, his thigh brushing her shoulder, as he made for the door.

  The dam burst. Without word or thought, only deed, Benie tackled Trace into the wall. The switch in her brain shut off as the fulminating madness of a berzerking rage took over. She screamed, pounding and punching his body, and when he tried to hold her, she kneed him in the stomach. Trace sidestepped the oncoming kick and managed to get behind Benie.