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

by Renee George

  She crossed the floor to one of the three windows covered by blue curtains and opened it. As she gulped in the fresh air, trying to catch her breath, she didn’t notice the shadow slipping into the room.

  “Hello, daughter.”

  Benie’s eyes widened as she pivoted around. Standing less than six inches from her was Garrick. He was wearing a sweater vest over a man’s blue dress shirt, buttoned tight from the collar to the cuffs, looking all Mr. Rogers meets Nightmare on Elm Street. The short, neatly cut gray hair and fashionable wire-framed glasses finished out the effect.

  Before Benie could scream, his hand went over her mouth. She smelled the pungent aroma of a sweet honey. Her legs felt suddenly wobbly, and her mind fogged. A couple seconds more and she passed out cold.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “The compound is impenetrable, even if we knew for sure Garrick had her, which we don’t. He’s taken precautions to make sure no one can sneak back in.” Myron Gray paced the room outside the midwife’s office. Max, Destan, and Eustan, all dressed in identical jeans and black T-shirts, which made them impossible to tell apart, stood near the office door. Ty Wasape, who stood taller than the brothers, leaned against the wall with his arms crossed.

  Trace picked up a medical book from the sink and chucked it against the wall. “He fucking has her. Proof or no proof, you know it as well as I do.”

  The triplets took a step, but Gray gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. The three dragons relaxed. The small man raised his hand toward Trace in a “calm down” gesture. “Likely,” he said. “But until we know for certain, there’s no sense in rushing in blindly and getting ourselves killed in the process.”

  “He has her,” Trace said firmly, the overwhelming frustration making his voice sharp.

  Ian shook his head, and Trace could tell he’d been fighting the shift, his wolf’s demand for action, for nearly two hours. “We have to think about this logically. Why would Garrick take her? Wouldn’t he just have her killed on sight?”

  Trace punched the top of the desk, his body vibrating with sheer rage. “Do you think she left on her own? That bastard has her, and there’s no telling what he’s already done to her by now. I can’t allow it. I won’t…”

  The silence after Trace’s outburst sat in the room like three-day old tuna.

  “I’m not disagreeing with you,” Ian finally said. “I think you’re right. But he must not want to kill her anymore. At least not right away. Think about it. Our marks are still active. She’s alive. If Garrick wanted her dead, we wouldn’t still feel the Triune.”

  “She’s alive.” Trace’s hand went absently to the mark on his shoulder.

  “Exactly.” Ian threw up his arms. “She’s alive. We both know it. So…”

  “We need more information.”

  “Yes.”

  Trace half-mused, “You know, you’re pretty smart sometimes.”

  “I have my moments. If I’d been really smart I never would’ve left Benie alone in the room. That would’ve been genius.”

  Trace agreed with Ian. They shouldn’t have left Benie alone in the room. He turned to Gray. “Whatever happens, it needs to happen fast. Before Benie becomes toxic to herself.” He didn’t add and the pregnancy, because if they couldn’t save Benie, then nothing else mattered.

  “We make a plan,” Gray said. “I’ve already got Eustan on every contact he has in the Caledon regime. So far, no one has heard anything.”

  “You have a burner I can use?” Trace asked.

  Gray snapped his fingers and the large Native American bear shifter reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out a flip phone. He handed it to Trace.

  Ian sidled next to him. “Who are you calling?”

  “Someone who owes me a favor.”

  Keane Silvertail paced the floor of his office. Since Calder’s escape, Garrick had shut him completely out. The king of Caledon refused to allow Keane to put wardens on him for a protection detail, and according to Keane’s ears in the palace, the king had been coming and going in frequent intervals... until last night. They reported that Garrick had closed off his chambers and ordered, “No one in or out,” on the penalty of death.

  What was the lunatic up to now? The man had been unstable for as long as Keane had been chief warden. But unstable or not, Garrick had had the right of rule, and Keane was loyal to the throne as had his father and his father’s father. He still could find no information or confirmation about the girl Garrick wanted dead, but from the tattoo on Trace Calder’s shoulder, Keane had a developed a theory about her. If he was right about the woman, the wound in Caledon made by Garrick’s rule might be healed.

  His phone rang. The number unknown. He swiped his finger across the screen and put it to his ear.

  “Hello?”

  A female voice on the other end said, “We need to talk.”

  “Shade?”

  Benie’s mind drifted, heavy with fog and disorientation. The last thing she remembered was the triumphant look on Garrick’s face, right before… She bolted upright, ready for him this time.

  Ow. Her head throbbed with the sudden movement and the brightness of the room. As her eyes adjusted, she took in her surroundings. The king-sized bed she rested on was soft and plush, covered in rose pink silk sheets and down pillows. The floors were white marble with blush pink veins. The high white walls were accented by billowy curtains of a darker rose color, making the tile colors pop.

  Confused, she propped herself up on one elbow. Not what she expected. Instead of shackles, her arms were adorned with gold-colored forearm cuffs—too light and too hard a metal for real gold. Her legs were decorated similarly with three-inch wide anklets, and she felt a metal collar around her neck. The hospital gown was gone and replaced with a diaphanous floor length gown.

  “Oh man.” A sinking feeling formed in her gut. “I’m dead.” She scrambled from the bed and padded across the cold floor to the nearest window. There were white bars no more than two inches apart behind the pane of glass. Every window was the same. She tried the door.

  Locked.

  If this beautiful prison turned out to be the afterlife...

  Voices carried from beyond the door. Benie scooted her body tight against the wall, positioning herself so that if the door opened, she’d have the element of surprise. The jiggle of a key in the lock brought her to full alert. She shimmied from the gown as her skin rippled and changed to adapt to the white wall and marble floors, everything except those flipping gold bands. Benie tried to slide them off. They wouldn’t budge. She looked for a latch, anything that would pop them open. They appeared to be solid. “Crap.”

  Benie scouted the room looking for something, anything to use as a weapon. Other than the bed and its bedding, the room was bare. She didn’t think a pillow fight was the best means of defense.

  She ran to the nearest window and yanked down the high curtain. An aluminum dowel fell with it. “Fan-fucking-tastic.” It was flimsy and blunted on both ends.

  Keeping it anyway—if nothing else it might startle whoever came in—she ran back toward the door, sliding the last couple of feet as it opened.

  A dark blond man stepped inside. He wore black pants with black leather boots and a white shirt, which fit him snugly across his broad chest. A jagged scar ran down the left side of his face, red and puckered, fresh. She recognized him as the amphyr from the fight after Trace’s escape. The wound had been made from Benie’s knife. How had he survived the bullet wound to his heart?

  His left eyelid had been sewn shut, while his other eye, ice blue, stared down at Benie with cold contemplation. The effect was instantly terrifying, especially since she had no defense against the brute.

  So much for the element of surprise. She screamed, bringing the curtain rod around in an arcing swing. Unsurprisingly it snapped in half as it hit the hulking man’s shoulder. Without flinching, he kicked the door closed behind him.

  Benie followed with a palm heel strike, thrusting her ar
m straight up with her hand flat and her wrist locked. She connected with his nose, and he staggered back, dark blood gushing from his nostrils.

  The door flew open and a hulking barbarian with pale blond hair and bronze skin ran inside. He had a sword held aloft his head, and without hesitation he charged forward.

  Benie yelped, scrambling backward, as she recognized him as the man who’d brought Trace to her during the rescue. Easily, he sliced through the neck of one-eye. The amphyr’s head hit the floor before his body.

  She knew the guy stalking toward her. She’d seen him in Trace’s mind when he’d showed Benie what happened to him. Keane Silvertail. The man who’d tortured her mate.

  Keane rushed forward with lightning speed and grabbed her arm, and she turned into him, sending her leg out in a sweeping back kick. As if made of rubber, the chief warden jumped and flew in a high arc over Benie, landing in front of her, still holding her wrist.

  She punched out, twisting her arm, trying to land a blow to his neck. Unfortunately, with the gold cuffs highlighting her camouflaged limbs, Benie lacked her usual element of surprise.

  Keane grabbed her other wrist. Benie roared as he brought both her arms down to her side, twisted her around, and then pushed her to the ground. He held her arms behind her back in an awkward and painful position, while his knee rested in the middle of her spine.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said. His voice had the same unnatural, metallic quality she’d noted when he’d presented her with Trace.

  Other than the fact that he was freakishly strong, and fast, and a psycho, Keane sounded almost reasonable. But sociopaths usually did, until they had you helpless and strapped down on their table slicing and dicing you.

  “What do you want from me? Why am I here?”

  He leaned forward, and she could feel his cool breath against her neck. “Calder sent a message for you. They are coming. Keep faith.”

  “Why would Trace tell you anything? After what you did to him...” She shook her head. “This is a trick.”

  His expression soured. “Never trust an Adam,” he said.

  “What?”

  Keane rolled his eyes and sighed. “I was told to tell you to never trust an Adam.”

  “Oh.” Benie snorted. “Not Adam. Atom.”

  The blue-eyed brute shook his head. “If you say so.”

  “It’s a science joke. Never trust an atom. They make up everything.” Only Ian would have sent that message. Reluctantly, she quit struggling in Keane’s grip.

  “We must go.” Keane handed Benie a knife and turned his back to her. “Unless you decide you want to kill me now that I’ve delivered the message.”

  Benie considered sinking the blade into the considerable expanse of his wide back, or better yet into the base of his skull. “Why are you doing this?” She fingered the sharp tip of the six-inch blade.

  He turned around, his gaze steady on her. “You are Garrick’s daughter.” His tone implied a question.

  “Yes.”

  “Then he is not the rightful ruler of Caledon. And as long as you are alive, he never will be. My family has served yours since before written history.” He knelt down on one knee and bowed his head. “I am your loyal servant...if you’ll have me. If you won’t then I ask that you end my life, for I have no life outside of service.”

  Benie’s eyes watered as thick emotion clogged her throat. “You’re my best bet at making it out of here. We’ll discuss whether you live or die if either of us survive to have the conversation.”

  “I agree to your terms, my queen.” There was no attempt at humor in his words, not like when the dragon triplets teased her, and she suddenly felt the weight of her birthright as an anvil around her neck.

  “I’ll follow your lead.”

  Keane glanced at the door. “Outside of Garrick’s wing, guards are posted every two feet in the hallway beyond the three-inch-thick security doors. Inside, the windows are barred with reinforced steel. I tell you this not to frighten you, but only as a warning. I managed to lie my way in past his guards, but even if we manage to overpower one guard, there will be at least twenty more to stop us from stepping foot out into the rest of the kingdom.”

  Benie understood, escape would be next to impossible, but what she didn’t get was why Garrick hadn’t just killed her. She was a threat to his rule. Keane’s turning was more proof of that. “Why bring me here? If killing me solves his problem, then why hold me captive?”

  An inky shadow Benie hadn’t noticed before shimmered into solid form in front of the door. “Plans change, my daughter.”

  Benie glared at Keane, as if he’d somehow betrayed her. He shook his head, his stance widening as he readied himself for a fight. The headache she’d felt when she first awoke thrummed and throbbed with dull tension. “Oh, for the love of Pete.” This was no time for her pregnancy hormones to go on overload.

  “I was wrong,” Garrick said, ignoring Keane as a threat. “I should have raised you myself. Brought you up as a proper heir to Caledon.”

  “So what? You’re planning on handing me the keys to the kingdom now? Just like that?”

  He stretched his arms, long and languid. A breeze from his direction blew across Benie’s hot skin. “Not exactly. I think it’s too late for us to have a real… connection. But your child, my granddaughter, well, we can have something magnificent. It’s a terrible shame that the the assassins who killed my beloved wife and first husband had also kidnapped our daughter, that she survived only long enough to give birth to a new heir...,” he finished sadly, as if already giving the speech to his followers. “Then I will be the guardian to the new Triune, and the people will have no choice but to fall in line.”

  After an initial “oh crap” moment, the burden of her circumstances crashed down around her shoulders. “No.” He wanted her baby. Not. Going. To. Fucking. Happen.

  “I’m thinking of the name Serene,” her father said. “What do you think?”

  “I think you’re nuts.” Benie involuntarily hugged her stomach as a cramping pain doubled her over.

  “I’ll teach the child respect. Something you obviously never learned.” He transformed to shadow once again. “She shall rule by my side, and Caledon will be united once again.”

  Benie sat in stunned silence for a moment. Then she turned to Keane. “He’s insane.”

  The blond man nodded. He picked up his sword and rushed Garrick. The older, frail-appearing man, laughed as Keane passed through his mist. And with a sharp crack, he hit the chief warden across the back of the head and sent him sprawling unconscious to the floor. Three guards came running into the room.

  Garrick motioned at them. “Take him to the cells.”

  And just like that, Benie’s only ally was gone. She grunted as another pain nearly took her to her knees.

  Garrick tsked and shook his head. “Really,” he said, his voice heavy with disappointment. “I have not held on to the rule of Caledon because I am weak, daughter. If that were the case, the rebels would have killed me long ago. The gray man would have taken my life personally. But I am strong and my abilities are powerful. It’s the reason the Triune chose me in the first place. You, your mates, and the rebels are no match for me, girl.” His face pinched, and his eyes narrowed until he looked as sinister as his words. “I will outlive you all.”

  Benie shrieked and lunged at Garrick with the knife Keane gave her. Her father laughed, his body turning to shadowed mist again, as she landed on the floor. The chill of fever shook her as she lay on the cold tile. She felt a hand at her elbow.

  “Let me help you up,” a woman said.

  Benie turned, a sob escaping her as she saw her betrayer. Helen the midwife.

  She’d been relegated to nothing more than an incubator. Another means for Garrick to assert and keep control. That would not fucking do. She clutched the knife, and in one swift jab, she stabbed the midwife in the stomach and yanked the blade in an upward motion, slicing the wretched woman from belly but
ton to sternum.

  “No!” Garrick hissed as Helen toppled over, her guts bulging from the gash.

  When Benie finished the woman with a second jab to the throat, Garrick wisped into mist, flew across the room, and knocked the knife from Benie’s bloody hand.

  He rematerialized a few feet away, holding the blade. “She was your hope for a healthy child, daughter. Now you take your chances with fate. Live or die, I win.”

  He called in an exterior guard to remove the dying midwife, and without a courtesy glance back, he strode out of the room and slammed the door behind him.

  Benie crawled on the bed and curled into a ball, huddling in for her own comfort. She rubbed her belly. “Your fathers will find us. All of us.”

  She could only hope it wouldn’t be too late. She could feel the hormones inside her already developing to toxic levels. The headache was a sure indication. She had maybe a day or two she guessed until the fever and madness would completely take her, killing her and the babies. If that was the case, so be it. Better to die than allow her children to be raised by an insane murderer. Maybe better all around.

  The point of the “V” at the small of her back throbbed. She needed her men, her mates. “Trace. Ian.” She stretched out her thoughts. “I need you.” She rubbed her stomach. “We need you.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The lamp in the small room flickered, annoying Ian as he watched Trace continuously monitor his phone.

  “Anything yet?”

  Trace shook his head, the dark rings under his eyes mirrors to Ian’s.

  It had been two days since Benie’s disappearance. Trace had called his ex-wife, Semina, also known as Shade. She in turn passed a message on to Keane Silvertail, the head of the wardens.

  Since that time, they’d heard nothing. In a rare moment of need, Ian placed a hand on Trace’s shoulder. They usually avoided each other, but his mark had been itching and tingling all morning, and the urge to touch Trace, as if the marks called for contact, had been nearly impossible to resist.