Storm Shift (The Charming Shifter Mysteries Book 1)

by Calinda B

  “No,” Mike spluttered. “We don’t know how it happened.”

  She could hear the scowl in his voice. “So, no one knows, that’s what you’re saying. He just up and poofed from the room.”

  “Pretty much. It’s the oddest thing. No way could he have escaped. That’s a windowless, door-less room back there. Well, except for the exit to the hallway but he would have had to exit through the front room.” Mike seemed to be talking to himself.

  “Seems negligent. How can a prisoner just slip away? I’m not going to have to consider this in my new role as town manager, am I?” A weighted silence met her ears. “Mike?”

  “Still here. Look, girl, I’ve known you since we were kids. Don’t get all ‘I’m the boss’ on me. I’ve got one boss. That’s enough for me to handle.”

  “I know, it’s just…” Just what? Her cheeks flamed with heat. The Jeep surged and bucked over the potholes, making it difficult to hold the wheel and the phone. “Look, I can’t chat. I’m on that ridiculous excuse for a road leaving the lake.”

  “Okay. Got it. What did he look like? The guy who shot at you, I mean. Did you get a good look at him?”

  I’ll say. She gave a description, neglecting to add anything about his sex-laden appeal.

  Then, she said, “I’m going to cut out any second. You know the cell reception out here is weak, at best.”

  “Understood.” Mike’s voice came out in a rush. “Head home. I’ll send a patrol officer out to your house. We all know how stubborn you can be. Stay put.”

  “What’s that? Mike? Mike? Can you hear me?” she said, pretending she hadn’t heard every word he just uttered.

  She disconnected and tossed the phone on the seat. Then, she turned onto the road leading toward her grandparents’—her—home.

  When she pulled up to the house, loneliness filled her veins. Once she parked in the dirt driveway, she smacked the steering wheel with the heel of her hand.

  Behind the house, the glacier winked at her in the distance. The creek burbled along the side of the driveway. Lined with the four-foot-high copper fence her granddad had made to redirect the bears, the fence had several large “viewing holes” her grandpa put in for her when she was a child. When she and grandma went out to pick wild berries in the summer, grandma would crouch next to her and, together, they’d watch the bubbling creek or the distant elk or oxen, lumbering across the tundra.

  “I miss you already, grandpa and grandma. You gave me a wonderful life.” She jumped out and stared at the hand-hewn timber home. Designed and built by her granddad, the house boasted a wraparound porch they used even in the winter.

  The house was always a beacon of love and warmth in the wild, cold landscape. Winters were one of her favorite times. When she was little, her granddad would wrap her in furs from the game he caught.

  Then, her grandma would bring her hot cocoa with marshmallows.

  They’d sit on the porch, watching snow fall. Sometimes, one of her grandparents would tell her a story of the native peoples who used to roam these lands. Or they’d speak of the trickster coyote spirits or the mythology of the owls and the bears.

  Much later, when she’d moved back home after a brief stint with her parents in New York to attend Charming High School, she found out about the shifters. She asked granddad if any of the furs he used to wrap around her shoulders had come from a shifter.

  “No way,” he’d said to her. “I know each shifter from here up to the north slope, way up yonder. No way would I harm a shifter. They’ve got it rough enough, what with the lack of acceptance in these parts.”

  As another slew of tears formed in her eyes, she sighed and made her way toward the house. Wiping her feet on the Logger’s Welcome mat, she paused.

  Her grandma never failed to fix the lumberjacks huge meals when they drove their trucks out this way. Anyone who made it this far would be given a bowl of soup, some homemade bread, and a warm “sit-by-the-fire.”

  Clutching the brass knob, she shoved open the massive timber door, stepped into the foyer, and sighed into the emptiness. She shrugged off her coat and hung it over the pine coat stand her grandpa had built.

  “He was always tinkering with something,” she muttered, running her hand along the pole.

  After removing her boots, she wandered into the living area and slumped on the colorful overstuffed sofa.

  Her grandma had purchased fabric from the local Tlingit tribe. Then, she’d re-covered all the living room furnishings with the bold red and black designs.

  Chia ran her fingers over the rough fabric. “Damn. I should have contacted Cecil to keep me company.”

  Her laptop sat on top of the coffee table, next to a huge pile of bills. Her grandparents had left her with a megaton of debt to sort through. She’d been trying to make heads or tails of it, but hadn’t made much progress yet.

  She flipped the lid open and powered it on. Then, she opened her browser, typed in a quick, private message to his Facetime page, and pressed send. Knowing Cecil, he might get it on his phone, he might not.

  Letting her head drop on the back of the sofa, she closed her eyes. I’m not ready to face this empty house.

  A few minutes later, a strange knock sounded on the door. It consisted of several soft taps.

  She lifted her head and frowned.

  The tapping came again.

  “Coming,” she said.

  She stood, strode to the front door, and opened it.

  No one stood on the front porch. No car sat in the driveway. She started to close the door, when a falcon rocketed through the entrance.

  “Whoa!” She managed to get out of the way before being skewered by its beak or talons.

  A bright light flashed.

  She blinked, trying to clear the dots from her vision.

  The tall, naked body of the guy who had murdered Megan stood in her foyer.

  “I knew you were a shifter!” She threw her arms over her head.

  “Yeah? Whoop-de-doo. We need to talk.” He started to step toward her.

  “Stop right there. Don’t come any closer.” She opened the coat closet door, and retrieved a rifle, and some men’s clothes. She extended the clothes with one hand, while the other held the gun to his head. “Put these on. Slowly. Then, put your hands up. Then, and only then, will I listen to what you’ve got to say.”

  Chapter 9

  Slowly, the naked man reached toward the clothes Chia held out to him. He took them, eying the rifle she pointed at him.

  “I don’t want trouble,” he said. “I only came to explain why I shot her. I didn’t mean to harm her.”

  “Tell that to the other guy looking for you. The one with a Ruger Hawkeye Alaskan. That’s a gun meant for bears, in case you didn’t know.”

  “I know what the fuck a Hawkeye is, little girl.” His hazel eyes narrowed to slits.

  She kept her rifle trained on the bounty hunter. “He seemed to be a bit attached to her—the girl you murdered. I think he’s coming for you and he won’t take no for an answer. That’s my guess, anyway. So, between him, me, and the police, one way or another, you’re a dead man.”

  A flash of concern shimmered across his face. Whatever it was, he covered it by saying, “I really don’t need these. I won’t be staying long.”

  He dropped the clothes on the floor by her feet.

  “You got that right. The police are on their way as we speak.”

  That same spark of concern flashed across his face. “I see. Well, at least let me explain before they arrive.”

  “I’m going to have them put you in a windowless room,” Chia said. “Try escaping that, why don’t you.”

  “Looks like I’ve been outsmarted,” he said, amicably. “Here’s the deal. That girl…Megan, I think her name is.”

  “What about her?” Chia had to work to keep her eyes above his hips.

  That was the thing about shifters. Once they shifted, they left their clothes behind. Once they shifted back, they returned
in their God-given glory. And this guy sure has a glorious looking…

  “She’s not what you think she is. She’s no angel.”

  “If you call her the town slut, I’m going to try target practice aiming for that thing dangling between your legs. I’m a damn fine shot, in case you wondered.”

  “What? No!” His hand flew to cover himself. “That’s not what I was going to say. You’ve got me all wrong. The name’s Kyle, by the way. Kyle Rudhart.”

  He removed the hand guarding his precious bits and extended it in her direction.

  She stared at his hand. “You realize that hand has just cupped your dick, right? I’m not interested in touching it.”

  She kept her eyes fixed on his face.

  He scowled and dropped his arm. “Okay, have it your way. Megan’s no saint. She got messed up with a monster. She hurt me.”

  “Oh, boo-hoo. So, you’re the jilted lover. And what do you mean by ‘monster?’ Last I knew we didn’t have any monsters around here.”

  Kyle’s lip curled. Ignoring her question, he said, “You’re a bitch, you know that? I’m doing you a solid by coming out here, risking my life to tell you what you’re really dealing with and all you’re doing is flipping me shit. I could be halfway to Anchorage right now but instead I chose to come to your house.”

  She frowned briefly. Is he right? Is he really doing me a favor? Why would he do that? This must be some sort of set-up. And monster? Should I be scared? A shiver tickled her spine in answer.

  “So, tell me the news then…before the police come to cart you away. I’m dead accurate with this gun in case you’re thinking you’ll just shift back and fly away.” She waved the gun barrel back and forth in front of his face.

  “Understood. So, Megan got messed up with a monster…”

  “Will you stop with all the monster talk? What kind of monster? What are we talking here?” Her arms began to grow heavy from holding the gun up for so long.

  “Just that. A piece of shit monster from hell. She tried to hurt me. She hurt herself. I had to shoot her. There was no other way.”

  Chia’s eyebrows stitched together. “I thought you said you didn’t want to harm her?”

  His lip pulled back in a sneer. “I didn’t. I meant to send her straight to hell to hang with the monster who took her away from me.”

  “Jealous much? You’re talking crazy talk. You’ve been in the outback for too long.” Her arms shook with fatigue. “She was terrified of you.”

  Kyle’s face grew stormy. “He took her away from us. He took her soul, goddamn it! I’m telling you, she got in with a monster.”

  Chia racked her brain to come up with a shifter-type who might be a monster. A bear?

  “And I swear on my mother’s grave, I’m going to hunt him down and kill the bastard, sending him to the depths of hell.”

  The intensity behind his statement caused a shiver to ripple up her back.

  When a rumbling noise came from the outside, relief washed through her. This guy Kyle is bat-shit crazy.

  A cold smile crossed Chia’s face. “There’s your ride, Kyle. It’s been a pleasure.”

  She sidestepped toward the door, keeping the rifle trained on him. Her gaze locked on his face, she started to reach for the door handle.

  The door burst open.

  “Cecil!” Chia lost her focus.

  “Ms. Manager! I just got your message!” Cecil’s eyes widened. “Who’s this?”

  Kyle lunged at Chia. He grabbed the gun and twisted it from her grip.

  Before Chia had a chance to react, her swung it around and trained it on her best friend.

  Chapter 10

  The instant Kyle trained the rifle on him, Cecil shifted into a snarling Husky. Teeth bared, he leaped through the doorway Cecil’s clothes fluttered to the floor, half in, half out of the door frame.

  “Cecil, no!” Chia cried.

  Kyle stumbled backward. The gun in his hands went off, sending a bullet exploding from the barrel. It shot through her ceiling, setting off an explosion of dust and plaster.

  Cecil let out a high-pitched dog yelp.

  With a scream, Chia lunged at Kyle’s naked body. She threw her arms around his neck and hung from his back. She kicked at the back of his knees.

  Clawing at her hold, he fell backward. He shifted, mid-fall, turning into his falcon-self.

  With a grunt, she landed hard on her tail bone on the solid wood.

  The gun clattered to the floor, spinning wildly.

  Kyle the falcon flapped his wings furiously, and sped through the open door.

  Cecil barreled after the bird.

  Chia scrambled to her feet. She scooped up the gun. Then, she dashed out the front door, racing after Cecil and the falcon. Standing on the porch, she lifted the gun and aimed. She shot at the bird as it darted through the sky.

  The falcon wobbled, as if she had clipped it with the bullet. Then, it righted itself, soaring away.

  Cecil took off after it, his legs in a full, dog-sized gallop.

  “Cecil!” Chia called. You’ll never catch him! Come back!” Winded, she bent forward and rested the rifle across her knees, panting to catch her breath. When she stood upright, she scanned for signs of her friend. “Cecil!” she called. “Cecil!”

  She set the gun on the banister. Her hands on her hips, she continued her search for Cecil’s whereabouts.

  Several minutes later, Cecil trotted toward her, his tongue lolling, bearing that goofy smile dogs sported after a good chase. He trotted up the steps and shifted into his human self.

  Chia threw her arms across her eyes.

  “I wish you guys could shift without a light show.” She lowered her arm, blinking the spots away. Her gaze landed on Cecil’s fine body. The older he got, the more muscular he became. Still, he was merely her friend, not a love interest. “Get fully clothed.” She pointed at the pile of clothes resting in the door jam. “Put those on.”

  A smile spread across his good-looking face. “I saw you checking me out. I loves to get me some good sex with a good woman after a fine romp in the woods.”

  “You and all your goods,” she said, blushing. “I’m sure you can find a willing female somewhere in town.”

  He curled his hands under his chin and whined.

  “Town’s so far away. You and I…” One side of his mouth quirked up. “Well, we’re standing here, right now.”

  She turned away from his deliciousness and pointed at the clothes. “Put them on. Now.”

  He chuckled and bent to retrieve his pants.

  She sidled past him, heading into the room she used to go to when she needed comfort—the kitchen. That’s where she’d usually find her grandma, baking bread or cookies, stirring huge pots of soups and stews for anyone who might stumble onto their property, or, simply sitting at the kitchen table, reading. Her grandma would always give her a hug, before offering her a bite to eat. Sighing, she leaned against the oak kitchen island. “God, I miss you, grandma.”

  Her ridiculous energy blips settled onto the white tile counter.

  Sturdy iron cookware dangled over her head, hanging from hooks along the rectangular metal holder granddad had forged. A nearby step stool allowed her to reach the heavy pans.

  With her fingers curled around the edge of the island, she stared blankly out the bay window above the sink. One lone potted plant—her grandma’s Peace Lily—still showed signs of life, even though its leaves were wilting. Guess I better water that thing. She made no move, however, to save the plant. Woodenly, her eyes roamed the tundra, covered with vibrant green—a welcome change to the recent white snow which had blanketed the land for months. She barely heard Cecil trekking through the room.

  He grabbed a glass from the cupboard.

  She continued to stare into the distance, looking for answers.

  He stepped to the sink, disturbing her gloomy pondering. He filled the glass with water, pivoted, and thrust it out to her. “Here. You look like you could use some
comfort.”

  Frowning, she shook her head, waving her hand at the water. “Grandpa would keep marching on. He’d keep up the search, find the answers, come up with solutions. I don’t need to be babied.”

  She stared into Cecil’s clear, glacier-blue gaze.

  “You sure?”

  She turned her attention to the water, suddenly feeling parched. What I really need is a shot of tequila. Her gaze slid toward the pantry where she kept it, then back to Cecil.

  Suppressing her thirst behind stoicism, she said, “Thanks, dawg-man, I’m good.”

  “Suit yourself.” He brought the glass toward his lips, tossed his head back, and drained it.

  His Adam’s apple held her attention, as it bobbed up and down—as did his strong, thick neck, corded with veins—and his broad shoulders, resting atop his muscular chest. Stop it! She slapped her cheek.

  He set the glass down with a thwack and looked at her. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Uh huh. I saw you clocking me.”

  “I was deep in thought, I assure you.”

  “Uh huh.” He chuckled, and patted her on top of the head.

  She batted his hand away.

  “What next, Ms. Manager?” He folded his arms across his chest.

  She did the same. “Not sure.”

  “What the heck was he doing here? Who was he?”

  She described the course of her day after he left Charming Administrative offices, leaving out no detail.

  He listened intently, as loyal, and true as his shifter Husky self.

  When she finished, he let out a low whistle. “Damn, girl. I had no idea. I just thought you wanted company in your lonesome house.”

  She side-eyed him. “Yeah. Wouldn’t it be nice if that’s all there was to my story? Instead I’ve been shot at by two hunters, a young shifter has been murdered…and that’s all on top of my grandparents’ death. Oh…” She pressed her lips together. “I nearly forgot. I also had to argue with the director of Blue Horizons about where they’re going to bury grandma and gramps. Apparently, there’s some sort of issue with the plot they bought and paid for. Would you believe he offered to bury them in opposite corners of the dang cemetery?”