Callan: Outback Shifters #2

by Chant, Zoe

  “This was a trap,” Callan snarled, turning, doing his best to track the man’s movements. “It was always a trap.”

  “Oh, well done. What tipped you off?” The mocking tone drifted to him through the haze. “I’m guessing they don’t recruit you guys for your brains. But that doesn’t mean you’re completely useless, I suppose. You were a good test subject for this, for example.”

  Callan shook his head, trying to sort through the jumble in his mind.

  A test subject?

  Even through the effects of the gas, Callan could work out what that meant. Hargreaves had wanted to test out whether the gas that currently filled the warehouse would work. And now, they had their answer. The man had said they’d been told to bring them in alive, so Callan had to assume that the gas wasn’t designed to be deadly.

  No, it just removes your ability to shift and clouds your senses. While leaving complete arseholes like this guy completely unaffected, apparently.

  Maybe being an evil prick inhibited the gas’s effects, Callan thought vaguely as he struggled to keep track of the man who was still slipping in and out of sight through the haze. He’d come off worse in their earlier fight, and he was obviously waiting to see whether Callan would simply pass out of his own accord.

  Not when I have my mate to save, Callan vowed, gritting his teeth. But he knew all the determination in the world wouldn’t save him if he couldn’t get away from this gas.

  Dragging all his concentration together, Callan looked up. The gas was still drifting downward, but it was no longer spraying from the pipes.

  Downward. It’s heavier than the clear air. If I can get up higher, the gas won’t be so thick.

  Forcing his legs to move, Callan made a run for the metal stairs leading up to the gantries. He couldn’t see them through the haze, but he could remember where they were – but even so, he almost missed them, and the pain in his legs made them almost impossible to climb.

  Gritting his teeth, Callan took hold of the stair rail with his hands, hauling himself up, forcing his muscles to move. Pain screamed through him at every movement, but he refused to stop and give up, refused to give in to the part of him that cried out for him to stop, to sink into unconsciousness.

  “It’s no good – you can’t win.”

  Callan heard the voice from behind him, but ignored it. Dragging himself hand over hand, sweat dripping down his forehead, he slowly made his way up the stairs.

  He turned his head at the sight of a movement to his left, in time to see the man’s massive eagle form alighting on the railing next to him. Its cruelly curved beak opened, eyes glinting.

  Pulling himself up the last of the steps, Callan took a few steps away from it, raising his hands to protect his eyes in case it launched a sudden attack.

  The air up here was clearer, but Callan still felt like he was wading through syrup with every step he took. Only the golden glow of the mated bond was even keeping him upright at this moment, fatigue from his climb dragging at his limbs.

  The eagle seemed to regard him for a long moment, and Callan readied himself for an attack. But then, the eagle bubbled, feathers and skin writhing, as it began to shift.

  Callan almost expected the form of the marsupial lion to appear in front of him, but instead, the seething mass it had become resolved itself into the shape of a man.

  Watching it, Callan had to repress the urge to shudder. There was something unnatural about the way this man shifted.

  Perhaps that’s why he’s unaffected by the gas, Callan thought. He’s not a normal shifter, that’s for fucking sure.

  Maybe some of his thoughts showed on his face, because the man smiled smugly, cracking his knuckles.

  “Feeling obsolete? Can’t say I blame you. Soon there’ll be a time when all of Hargreaves’s field agents are like me – and good luck countering any of us then. None of you will stand a chance.”

  Callan growled, still backing away. He needed more time. The air here was growing clearer and clearer the more the gas sank down toward the floor of the warehouse, but it was still far from clear. And no matter how hard he called to his diprotodon, it still wouldn’t answer him.

  “What’re you talking about?”

  The man laughed coldly. “You heard me – stop trying to play for time. Hargreaves has found a way to improve us – to make us superior to other shifters. All the strengths, and none of the weaknesses.”

  And two shifted forms, Callan thought, sliding into the shadow of a huge pipe.

  That confirmed what they’d already suspected about these men, then. They might already have been shifters, but Hargreaves had developed a way to alter them, give them extra abilities, more power, more strength.

  The man was right, Callan thought, watching him closely. If they had extra forms and fewer weaknesses than other shifters, then the Agency would have no way to counter them. Hargreaves would be a step ahead of them, yet again.

  That was a problem for the future, though, Callan decided.

  Right now, he had to focus on the one directly in front of him.

  And despite all of his talk about being superior, Callan had fought him before.

  Whatever powers he thinks he has, he can still bleed, Callan thought. And if he can bleed, then I can kill him.

  The thought surprised him in its ferocity. Callan had felt this before, when he’d imagined Ella in danger: a pure animal drive to protect what was his. Red misted his vision, as a growl rose in his chest.

  The diprotodon flashed in his mind, teeth bared, eyes furious.

  This man dares to threaten our mate?!

  But it was gone as soon as it came, receding once more before Callan could draw it forward.

  Goddammit, I need more time.

  “Where do you think you can go?” The man was slowly approaching him, a lion stalking its prey. “You’re just delaying the inevitable. Why do you even want to protect these things that’re so inferior to us, anyway? Humans are like ants to us shifters – all we’re doing is taking our rightful place at the top of the food chain.”

  At first, Callan tried to block out his words for the asinine bullshit they were.

  Top of the food chain? Is this piece of shit serious?

  Callan resisted the urge to shake his head, until he felt the hot surge of anger within him – accompanied by the low, dangerous growl of his diprotodon.

  Anger. It’s anger I need.

  The realization hit him in a flash. It was something that had been drilled into him that he should never do: allowing the bestial fury that all shifters were capable of to take over his mind was a dangerous path. It carried the risk of never being able to find his way back to his human side, of allowing the animal side of his nature to take him over completely. It was something all shifters had to learn to control; something they were all aware was dangerous.

  But now, I have no choice. Not if I want to be able to protect Ella. I need to be able to shift, no matter what the risks are.

  Callan closed his eyes, letting the surging rage fill him. Fury at Hargreaves. Fury at all the evil they had done. Fury for his teammates, lying unconscious below him. Fury that someone would dare to even attempt to hurt his mate.

  How dare they. How dare they.

  Anger filled him – but so did energy. The energy to pull his mind from the haze the gas had filled him with. The energy to reach out to his diprotodon, and shift.

  Callan had to swallow down the urge to scream as he felt his body begin to change – shifting had never been painful before, but this time, it was agony.

  Pain ripped through him as his body pulled itself apart and reformed, the diprotodon roaring in confusion and rage.

  Kill. Kill the ones who did this. Kill the ones who hurt our mate.

  The single-minded animal desire for blood clouded Callan’s mind. The diprotodon’s heavy, clawed forepaws crashed down onto the metal floor of the gantry, making it shake. Through the red mist of his rage, he could see the man raising his arm, an angry
scowl crossing his face – and then he too began to shift, his body bubbling as it took on the form of the marsupial lion.

  Its dewclaws clicked against the gantry as it settled, baring its teeth, hunching its shoulders as it prepared to attack. Callan roared, daring it to do its worst.

  The lion leapt forward, front legs outstretched, dewclaws extended. Callan lifted a heavy front paw, rearing back to swat it away as it approached, sending it crashing into the metal wall of the warehouse. But the lion recovered quickly, shaking off the hit and launching itself forward again, using the wall as a springboard.

  Callan tried to twist away, but the lion was too fast, landing on his shoulder and slashing at him with its claws, teeth burying themselves in his neck. Grunting in pain, Callan tried to throw it off, hoping to hurl it over the gantry railing and onto the concrete floor below.

  The lion held fast, sinking its teeth and claws in deeper. Pain shot though Callan’s neck and shoulders, and he could feel blood dripping down his sides. The diprotodon roared, its rage redoubling, and Callan could feel himself being pushed further and further down inside the creature’s mind as its anger took over, sending it almost into a frenzy.

  No!

  Callan forced himself to stay lucid, to not allow the animal side of him to overtake his rational mind.

  I won’t lose myself. I won’t let the beast take over. I need both sides of myself to fight this thing, and to find Ella.

  But despite his resolve, Callan struggled to keep his hold on the animal’s mind. He would have to end this fight quickly, or risk losing himself completely.

  Turning, Callan threw himself upward, feeling the lion at last losing its grip and falling from his back. It hit the ground with a metallic bang, rolling on the floor. Callan didn’t give it a moment to collect itself, charging forward, aiming to trample it under his huge feet. The diprotodon was more than heavy enough to break bones with its weight alone.

  The lion was too fast, squirming away from him, its tail whipping through the air, dewclaws slashing at him as it escaped. Callan felt the pain of the wounds, but now, it seemed a distant, irrelevant sensation. The only thing that mattered was his rage.

  He slammed his paws into the lion’s side as it scrambled away from him, limping. He had it now – it was pinned against the wall, with nowhere to go. Roaring, Callan raised his massive forepaw… only to find it passing through thin air.

  It shifted, Callan realized, as a bubbling shape passed above him. Turning his head up as far as he could, Callan saw the eagle, still half-formed, fly over him. It was clearly a struggle for it to fly while it was still shifting, but it managed to stay airborne.

  Callan felt anger pulse in his heart.

  I should have realized.

  He circled, snorting, as the eagle swooped above him. Despite its talons, it couldn’t do any real damage through the diprotodon’s thick hide. It needed the lion’s viciously curved dewclaws for that.

  But if it’s not attacking me, I need to go find Ella, Callan thought, forcing his human thoughts into the diprotodon’s furious mind.

  That, however, was something he didn’t need to tell it twice.

  Our mate. Find her. Protect her. Kill whoever is threatening her.

  The diprotodon snorted in fury, racing across the gantry. The stairs might be difficult, but it didn’t pay any attention whatsoever to Callan’s warnings on the subject. It was going to charge down them, no matter what.

  But before he could reach them, a shape landed in front of him, dropping down from above.

  The eagle. It’s becoming a lion again.

  Sure enough – as soon as it had formed legs, it sprang forward, teeth and claws bared.

  Callan turned aside to protect his eyes, and the lion’s claws slashed across his neck, inflicting deep wounds behind his ear. If he’d been a moment later, he knew he would have been blinded – but a deep neck wound was bad enough.

  Clearly, the lion, knowing it couldn’t match him for strength, had decided on a different tactic: to strike at him quickly, causing as much damage as it could, before shifting again into its eagle form and flying to safety, only to strike at him again the moment it could.

  It was a clever plan – and one that would kill him by inches. In a stand-up fight, there was no way this shifter could hope to best him.

  But it didn’t have to.

  With its altered form, given to it by Hargreaves, it could take its time and play with him, slashing at him before shifting and flying away, waiting for him to weaken from blood loss. His healing powers couldn’t keep up with the swiftness of the lion’s claws.

  Frustration ripped through him as, sure enough, once again the lion shifted into the eagle, just as Callan raised his paw to strike. Flapping its wings, it ascended to safety, leaving the diprotodon roaring in rage.

  But – wait –

  Something about the way the eagle was flying caught Callan’s attention. Its wings, long and elegant, were struggling to keep it airborne. The bubbling, seething mass of its shift continued for far longer this time, as if the bird was unable to fully take shape.

  The diprotodon, in its fury, didn’t care about that. It roared again, anger filling its mind, pushing out every other thought.

  But Callan shoved his way forward again, not allowing the beast to have its way. He needed to think.

  There’d always been something weird about the way these two had shifted. Callan had called it unnatural before, and obviously he’d been right. He was a shifter by nature, born that way. This shifter had been created – perhaps in a lab, or something like that. Maybe he’d already been a normal shifter, with a single form. But now, he’d been changed into something different. Something that he’d called superior.

  But is it really?

  Callan watched as the eagle struggled to fly, the shape of its wings distorting. Screeching, it circled, and then, suddenly, dove lower, shifting again as it did so.

  Callan heaved himself backward, blood from his neck wound spattering onto the floor below him. He was getting weaker. His injuries and the effects of the gas were taking their toll.

  Even if what I suspect is right, I still have to end this quickly.

  The lion landed heavily in front of him, legs scrabbling as they struggled to support it. But it didn’t hesitate to spring forward, claws ready.

  Callan didn’t give it a second. He charged at it, raising his paws and slamming them down, forcing it to leap away to avoid being crushed. Even then, Callan didn’t slow down.

  I have to force it to shift, and keep shifting.

  He swung his heavy head into the lion, sending it flying, almost pinning it to the wall – and again, it shifted, taking the form of the bird.

  Only this time, it could barely fly away, its body stuttering in the air, faltering and falling.

  The seething of its skin and feathers didn’t stop this time. The eagle couldn’t take shape.

  Letting out a broken screech, it flapped its wings, trying to gain height. Callan snapped his heavy jaws at it, trying to push it away from the gantry, out over the open floor of the warehouse.

  If it falls from this height down there, it won’t be getting up. Or, it’ll have to shift again.

  The eagle had clearly realized what was going on. It seemed undecided for a moment, but then, with another burbling, distorted shriek of rage, it began to shift once more.

  Or at least, it tried.

  Callan watched as it flopped on the gantry, rolling over and over itself. First wings seemed to protrude from its back, before they melted away. Legs kicked, a tail thrashed. But it was clear that it couldn’t shift into one form or another.

  It’s stuck.

  Callan watched in fascinated horror as the creature – not eagle, not lion, not man – bubbled and shrieked, writhing on the floor, utterly useless.

  Finally, it stopped. It was still a terrifying mass of unidentifiable… stuff.

  Callan approached it warily. The horror of what he was looking at
had even cut through the diprotodon’s rage.

  He could see the thing in front of him breathing – it was shallow and labored, but it was breathing.

  We should kill it now, while it’s helpless, his diprotodon thought, but Callan shook his head.

  No. It could tell us more about what Hargreaves has planned. We need it alive. And anyway, it can’t attack anything anymore. Like you said, it’s helpless. Leave it.

  The diprotodon sniffed, disdainful.

  If we killed it, it would only be what it deserved for endangering our mate.

  Callan was tempted by that thought – but he dragged his mind away. Besides, now that this threat was dealt with, there were more important things to do.

  Ella. I have to find her.

  Callan glanced down over the gantry. The green haze of the gas still swirled below. He couldn’t go down there again. He was injured and weakened. Who knew if he could overcome the effect of the gas this time?

  If he wanted to find Ella, he’d have to stay up here on the gantry, and his diprotodon form wouldn’t be effective for that.

  I need to shift.

  The diprotodon lowered its head bullishly.

  But we need to protect Ella. In this form we are strong. We can help her.

  Callan shook his head in frustration.

  But I need more than strength now. I need to climb – I need to think, and keep a clear head. I need you to let me shift.

  The diprotodon’s rage of earlier swirled within him again. Callan felt his own desperation rising. Never before had he had such a problem. He’d been carefully trained in how to control his animal side. And now that it had taken over, it didn’t want to give up control.

  Please, Callan asked it. You have to – Ella needs us.

  As he thought of her name, Callan felt the golden pulse of the mated bond around his heart. At the feeling, the diprotodon seemed to hesitate.

  Protect her – protect our mate – protect Ella –

  We need both of us to do that, Callan told it, finding his way forward again. We need to shift.

  The diprotodon struggled against him, insisting that only it could save her. But Callan kept on coming forward, forcing the diprotodon back.