Shifter's Claim (The Shadow Shifters)

by A. C. Arthur

  Finally, as he stood in that doorway he checked his weapons—the gun at his back beneath the lightweight coffee-bean-colored suit jacket he wore. His white shirt was crisp, and the yellow-and-white-checked Ermenegildo Zegna silk tie provided the perfect amount of color to his otherwise dark ensemble. He backed out of the doorway to lean down and check the weapon at his left ankle. Standing again he adjusted the com link in his ear, confirmed that his cell phone was in his right pants pocket.

  “This is going to work, Bas. She’s going to do her job and this will all be over.” X had come into the dwelling as quietly as only a cat could.

  Bas nodded in response to the very thing he’d just been trying to convince himself of. “Right. It’s going to work and then this will all be over.”

  “Not all.” X shook his head. “Something’s still going on over at Comastaz, something big. And this rogue drug and weapons bullshit is just a smoke screen. Somebody wants us to keep running around behind the rogues instead of focusing on what’s really going on.”

  Now, even more thoughtful, Bas asked, “Which is?”

  X shrugged. “Don’t know yet. But we’re damned sure gonna find out.”

  To that Bas nodded, the cause, his tribe, the life he’d had a week ago, coming back to the forefront. And everything else in between, well, he’d decided in the early morning hours to let all that go with the breeze. He had no other choice really.

  The next ten minutes went by in a blur of activity. Reporters had already begun to arrive when Bas first came out at nine, their equipment spread out over every open space. Three rows of ten chairs had been set up behind the podium, reserved for high-ranking law officials and the town government. Directly behind the third row three of Bas’s men stood dressed in slacks, dress shirts, and ties, ready to keep watch on the front of the area. The remaining guards mixed in among the reporters and around the buildings.

  At exactly nine thirty, the mayor was escorted by the chief of police from a side walkway to the stage. They both took their seats behind the podium. From the other side X and Nick walked in front of Rome. Kalina stood by her companheiro’s side. Ezra and Jax filed in closely behind them.

  Bas would take the stage in a moment and Priya would follow. Only Bas hadn’t seen her yet. Dressing early, he’d left the suite without waking her. A call to Jewel had assured him that Priya would be up and dressed in time. Now, he’d wanted to act like he wasn’t looking for her, like worry wasn’t beading a tight rope around his spine, but figured he was failing dismally as he searched the area for her once again.

  “Good morning.”

  Bas spun around at the sound of her voice then watched as Jacques walked beside her, coming in from the back entrance of the rental building.

  “Good morning,” he replied, his chest settling from its previous constriction with every inhale he took. It was the sight of her in a straight white dress, wide yellow belt at her waist, and high-heeled yellow sandals on her feet—as if they’d conferred on color-coding their outfits—that held him still.

  “We’re ready when you are,” he heard Syfon say through the com link.

  With a nod Bas looked at Priya once more as she came closer to where he stood. She wore light makeup, her eyes wide and expressive with only a hint of color on her lids, her lips pert and lightly glossed. At her ears were stud earrings, not diamonds, but he loved seeing that bit of sparkle there, around her neck a thin gold chain.

  “Jacques will stay with you the entire time,” he told her, as a reminder to Jacques not to let her out of his sight.

  The Lead Enforcer responded with a curt nod.

  Just as he turned to leave, Priya reached out and touched a hand to Bas’s arm. He turned slowly, heat searing through the material of his jacket and shirt where her hand rested.

  “This is going to work,” she told him. “I know what to say to make it work.”

  Then she smiled and Bas’s vision blurred. Everything except her went out of focus and all he could see clearly was her face, and that smile. What he sensed without any doubt was her amazing strength and the new scent—the “sweet” one as she’d called it—that now hovered around her like a full-body halo. Clearing his throat abruptly, Bas nodded then turned away. He had to or he feared he’d never be able to move from that spot.

  Twenty steps would take Bas from the entrance of the rental building to the stage. He’d counted earlier and now did the same to keep his mind focused. At eighteen his cell phone vibrated in his pocket but Bas kept walking, wanting to get this all over with as quickly as possible. He stepped up onto the stage amidst flashing lights, clicking and whirling cameras, and a low hum of whispered and expectant voices.

  Approaching the microphone, he began immediately.

  “Good morning, and welcome to Perryville Resorts.” Bas spoke in a clear and confident tone. He continued with a brief history of the resort and the statistics of his guests. He ended with his contributions to the town and how important all of their safety was to him.

  When Bas looked to his left he saw Jacques escorting Priya onto the stage. He stepped to the side as she moved to stand behind the microphone. She was shorter so he reached forward to adjust the mic for her. She nodded and smiled a thank you, then she spoke.

  “Good morning, my name is Priya Drake, public relations for Perryville Resorts.”

  She sounded confident, intelligent, determined. The title she’d given herself sounded right and made sense given what she was about to say. He tuned in once more when she was saying, “We assure you that last night’s incident was an isolated event. There has never been and never will be in the future any type of animal attacks or threats at the resort or in the surrounding area. With the dedicated assistance of the local authorities and the added force of our skilled staff, we will continue to work toward ensuring the safety of all our guests and the people of this great town.”

  Loving her words almost as much as the sound of her voice, Bas was transfixed, caught in the sweet-smelling and all-consuming web Priya had woven over the entire crowd. Reporters were still but for their pencils moving over notepads, cameras had ceased clicking, lights paused flashing, no one wanted to miss a word she said.

  Then his cell phone vibrated again and Bas wanted to curse. Instead he reached inside his pocket to turn the damned thing off, annoyed at the constant interruption. Cupping the phone in his hand and holding it down at his side so that no one would see him, he read the illuminated screen.

  You took mine. Now I’ll take yours.

  As he read the last word Bas lifted his head up slowly. His gaze caught Jacques’s cool, questioning stare about two seconds before Priya’s words were abruptly cut off. She stumbled back, his name falling in a choked whisper from her lips, “Bas?”

  He moved quickly to her side just in time to see the red stain on the white dress she wore, a growing circle that solicited immediate screams from the crowd.

  All hell broke loose at that moment. Bas caught Priya in his arms as she collapsed on the stage.

  “She’s been shot!” he heard somebody yell.

  “Get a medic!”

  “Someone’s shooting!”

  “Oh my god! Oh my god!”

  The voices grew louder and louder in his head. The air around him lifting as the stench of panic and blood seared the air. Bas looked down into Priya’s eyes—eyes that had been bright and inquisitive. Eyes that were brown, not blue, courageous and not afraid. A tear fell from those eyes and Bas felt a clenching in his chest that threatened his breathing. She’d cried last night after he’d killed Palermo, broken little sobs that had felt like pinpricks against his skin. This one lone tear was like a hot blade straight to his heart, the bloodstain still growing on her chest, yanking his breath from him in ragged gasps. He blinked once, twice, then again, gritting his teeth all the while. She was still warm in his arms, still alive, still looking at him, wondering if he would save her this time.

  “Take her,” he said to somebody, anybody, then look
ed up to see Rome. “Take her, please!”

  Rome nodded, replacing his arms where Bas’s had been. Kalina was right beside him, holding onto Priya’s hand, whispering something to her as the crowd continued to go crazy around them.

  Bas removed his arms from beneath Priya. He looked into her eyes one more time just as she blinked and more tears fell. He thought she called to him, asked him to stay with her or something like that. But he couldn’t, he wouldn’t, not this time. Bas turned away then, standing up to look straight ahead. Then he was off and running, only he knew where, his cat leading. His cat was in hunting mode, ready to break free and find the bastard that had done this, the one that had hidden in wait and struck when he thought the moment was right. The one that had been cocky and foolish enough to send Bas a warning that he was going to take what was his.

  Chapter 29

  Bas ran straight to the gate that marked the boundary he expected his guests not to cross. It was an eight-foot-high metal gate that remained mostly hidden by the surrounding trees. Without a second thought he leapt over the barrier, crashing through trees as he landed on the ground on the other side. The minute his feet touched soil Bas shifted, the seams of his six-hundred-dollar suit ripping as his bones cracked, bent, reformed.

  His cat didn’t roar loudly to announce its pursuit of the shooter, but rather bared its lethal teeth and chuffed. Lifting its sensitive nose to the air it picked up the scent quickly enough. Rogue. And took off in that direction. Experienced with this terrain, the cat ripped through the forest, its paws pressing with the full brunt of its two-hundred-plus pounds into the branch-filled soil until the trees parted, opening up to a small clearing where all around it, red rock formations reached skyward. It inhaled again and ran to the left, up then down the face of the beautiful rocks.

  Bas knew exactly where they were headed. Ten feet beyond the rise of rocks there was another copse of trees. It stretched for at least forty miles wide and probably half of that in length. This was the private field where Bas allowed his cat and the other members of his teams to run free. It was also where they were trained by Syfon and Jacques.

  Once inside the trees the cat moved slower, acutely aware of all that was going on around it and in full predatory mode. This was nothing like the Gungi—the ground wasn’t spongy with moss, the sounds of monkeys and toucans didn’t speak to the cats about intruders, and the trees weren’t so tall and so overgrown that a canopy of shade had been produced, keeping the lower floor of the forest moist and oftentimes humid.

  No, this was Sedona, all the air around them was dry and thick, the sun blazed for hours on end, pressing dominantly through trees to burn into the ground. If there were any other animals, such as coyotes nearby, they would take shelter after having scented the rage from the bigger cats. Later, the jackals would come out to claim any carcasses as if they were the spoils of their own personal victory.

  A familiar sound, one that was made in challenge, alerted Bas to the fact that he’d found exactly what he’d been looking for. From the trees to his left came another cat, one only slightly smaller than Bas with dark rosettes against its likewise dark coat. Its eyes weren’t golden but dull and filled with hunger as it stalked out into the open, coming to a stop only about ten feet away from Bas.

  It lifted its broad head in an effort to introduce itself, but there had been no introduction necessary. Bas knew exactly who this was.

  Kazmere Rutherford was a twenty-nine-year-old shifter. As a man he stood five feet eleven inches and weighed somewhere around one eighty or one ninety-five. He’d been like Paolo’s shadow ever since he arrived at the resort just about a year ago. All the while Bas and Jacques had thought Paolo was the one to be concerned about, it had been this one, the quiet follower. Bas should have known.

  Instead of dwelling on the past, Bas made his move first, taking slow, steady steps toward the other cat. Kaz didn’t move. When Bas was maybe three feet away from him the others arrived. Coming from all directions, including behind, Bas could hear and scent more rogues entering the clearing, most likely with death in their eyes, just like Kaz. Well, Bas always aimed to please his guests. So without another thought he lunged for Kaz, catching the cat off guard since he probably believed Bas would hesitate to act now that he was surrounded. His teeth sank into the cat’s neck with ferocious accuracy and Kaz yelled out.

  Not a second later there was movement as Nick, X, and Syfon arrived in cat form. Bas didn’t see them but knew his fellow shadows would appear to back him up without his having to give the command. That’s just the way they rolled. With the others there to handle the rogues, Bas focused solely on Kaz, the shifter he’d known had fired that shot. Last night the rogue Palermo had said those exact words: that Bas had taken what was his and so in return he would take what belonged to Bas. With Palermo dead but Kaz obviously working for him, it made sense that he’d feel the same way, that Bas had taken their stash so they should take what belonged to Bas.

  Only Priya didn’t belong to him.

  It didn’t matter, Bas thought, coming down on his back legs as Kaz wriggled from his grasp. Right now the specifics didn’t matter, the only thing Bas was concerned with was that this particular rogue belonged to him. Kaz moved back, surveying the situation, assessing his opponent, just as he’d been taught. Bas rose on his hind legs and lunged, attacking just as Kaz rose to the same position. It wasn’t as he’d taught Kaz. The younger shifter was expecting Bas to circle, assess, then attack. Kaz caught deliberate pounding in his flanks for not being ready for anything. He pushed Bas back, his cat heaving, obviously in some distress already. Bas went in again, biting the other side of his neck. Kaz came back with strokes to Bas’s flanks that almost seemed like a two-year-old pounding against a locked door. Bas had years of training on this cat, he worked out in human form almost daily, and he was smarter than Kaz, there was no doubt. So they weren’t equally matched, not by a long shot. Kaz knew this, hence the amount of reinforcements he’d brought with him. But the cat was still a youngling, he’d been seduced by the rogues, made to believe he was superior to all other humans and shifters, and he’d been wrong. When Kaz lost his footing and tumbled back a step Bas went in for the kill. He leapt forward, mouth open wide, and clamped down on the top of the other cat’s head, piercing straight through to the skull until seconds later Kaz’s chuffing, roaring, twitching, and flailing ceased.

  Then, and only then, did Bas release the other cat. He took a couple of steps back and looked down at the bleeding carcass, his own flanks heaving with exertion. In the last two days he’d killed four shifters. In the last fifteen years he had killed none. That night in the forest as he watched them attack Mariah, he should have killed them all.

  Turning away, Bas surveyed the complete devastation that usually followed a Shadow Shifter fight. Every last rogue was dead. From across the clearing the other three shadows stared at him and Bas looked back at them. They’d gotten the job done, once again.

  So why didn’t Bas feel victorious?

  * * *

  Syfon and Paolo were on round-the-clock guard duty outside Priya’s hospital room. Bas had given strict instructions that no one was to go in or out unless he said so. That equated to her visitors being limited to Jewel and Kalina, himself, and reluctantly he’d agreed to Rome. Assembly Leader or not, Priya was Bas’s responsibility.

  And he’d failed her. He’d failed a human female once again.

  She wasn’t dead, Bas reminded himself as he stood at the end of her bed, arms crossed over his chest, brow tight with the frustration he’d been feeling since that shot sounded this morning. He’d been standing three feet away from her. On her other side was his second in command, a man he trusted with his life. Behind her were two more shifters with the capabilities to kill first and take names later. This should not have happened, she should not be lying in this bed hooked up to machines, enshrined in so much white material she looked pale enough to actually be dead.

  The press conference had bee
n a bad idea. He’d tried to tell her not to do it, not to get involved with this situation the shifters were in, but she hadn’t listened. Just as Rome and Jacques had tried to tell him to get rid of her. She didn’t belong in this hospital, let alone in Perryville being captured by rogues, guns held to her head, then a bullet in her shoulder. She should be in her tiny little apartment in Washington, D.C., going to work every day, having the life that she’d planned for herself. In one night, seduced by the darkness, the candlelight, the allure of the swimming pool, and the thought of her naked body submerged in the cool water, he’d sealed her fate.

  Making love to her that first time had been a mistake. Each time after that only adding nails to the coffin. He should have sent her away the moment he realized she was there, should have put her on a plane to Timbuktu or something. Anything.

  He just shouldn’t have touched her, ever.

  “At first I thought you were a statue,” she said, her voice a soft whisper amidst the endless beeping of the machine she was attached to. “Then you blinked and I knew you were real.”

  She chuckled softly, then winced with the effort.

  “Don’t,” he warned, albeit late. “I didn’t want to disturb you. The doctor said you need to rest.”

  “Is that why they gave me that tranquilizer?” she asked, this time with a grimace.

  “I told them to keep you as comfortable as possible.” Because he hadn’t been able to do the same, Bas thought.

  “Who shot me?” she asked after a few seconds of silence.

  Bas did not want to discuss this, but at the same time recognized her need for answers. For Priya it was as if nobody had ever given her what she needed as a child, not the love and attention of a parent or the support of a sibling, from what she’d told him of her past. She was thirsty for knowledge and from the start Bas had a problem depriving her of what she so desperately needed.