STACEY BRUTGER
Everything changed when Raven, a natural born conduit, accidentally walks in on a slave auction. She only wants a night out with her friends before her next case as a paranormal liaison with the police. Instead, she ends up in possession of a shifter and his guardian. When your touch can kill, living with two touchy-feely shifters is a disaster waiting to happen.
To make matters worse, a vicious killer is on the loose. As mutilated bodies turn up, she can't help fear that her new acquisitions are keeping secrets from her. The strain of keeping everyone alive, not to mention catching the killer, pushes her tenuous control of her gift and her emotions to their limits. If they hope to survive, they must work together as a pack or risk becoming hunted themselves.
This is a work of fiction. Names, character, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations for articles or reviews. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials.
Copyright © 2012 Stacey Brutger
Cover artist: Amanda Kelsey of Razzle Dazzle Design (www.razzdazzdesign.com)
Photographer: Sanjin Pajo of Razzle Dazzle Stock
Model: Jolien Delbeke
Editor: Erin Wolfe
All rights reserved.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Sneak Peak –Electric Moon
Sneak Peak –The Demon Within
About the Author
DEDICATION
To my husband, my biggest supporter, my best friend.
Thank you for helping me realize my dreams.
And to all those who have encouraged me to never give up.
This book is for you.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I want to thank the talented people who have helped this book along in its various stages of production:
To the wonderful cover artist, Amanda Kelsey, who took the gibberish I gave her and created a beautiful cover.
To my awesome editor, Erin Wolfe, who dug through the slew of words and polished them to a shine. This book is better because of you.
To the generous people who’ve offered support along the way.
And to my husband and family for believing in me.
Lastly, I want to thank the readers for giving me a chance. I hope you enjoy reading the book as much as I had writing it.
Chapter One
DAY ONE: AROUND MIDNIGHT
Talons.
The paranormal hot spot where the fanged, furry, and spell slingers went to blow off steam.
Raven tapped her leather-clad fingertips on the steering wheel, waiting for her friends to emerge from the club’s steel door. They were thirty minutes late and counting.
The prospect of going inside, risk being in public around other paranormals, twisted a small thread of excitement through her. That was if she ignored the dip in her stomach that threatened to bring supper back up for a revisit. Doing the best to disregard her swinging emotions, she assessed the building.
The non-descript warehouse appeared innocent enough. There were no lines, no bouncers. Nothing overtly threatening that would explain the way her mind screamed that going after her friends to pry out their asses was a very bad idea.
Another minute ticked by, and she blew out a breath, unable to ignore the dangerous lure of curiosity.
She got out of the car and cautiously approached the club. The building was crouched in the shadows as if it’d pounce and squish her like a bug the moment she dared to enter. Like it knew she didn’t belong. She eased closer to the entrance and pried open the heavy metal doors with a little shove of electricity from her gift. The industrial sized magnets that sealed the door ensured only the right kind of people were admitted.
As precautions went, it wasn’t bad. No humans, or what the shifter community called ‘normals’, were admitted without someone vouching for them. Prejudiced? Maybe. But it guaranteed that whatever happened inside would be handled by their own laws. The club was neutral territory for paranormals. No one dared pick a fight on the property. It could get you killed.
A long, shadowy hallway greeted her. The air rumbled with music, the pounding rhythm slapping her in the face. Heat blasted along her body, brushing the chill from her skin but did nothing to warm the cold lump in her stomach. There was no décor in the confining space except for one prominent word clawed into the heavy wooden panels.
Talons.
Raven lifted her hand, noting how her fingers sank in the deep grooves. Whoever created it had to be huge. Another frisson of doubt curled about her, but she quickly shoved it away before it could take root. She could hold her own against these people.
But not without a cost, her mind whispered. She ignored that, too.
Her next case was due to begin all too soon. Humans oversimplified the paranormal world, wedging all things supernatural into their too narrow viewpoint. Too bad it didn’t work that way. That’s why they hired her when they needed something done. She lived on the fringes of both cultures, and knew enough to get things done, but not enough to be a threat.
Despite the protest she gave her friends when they first invited her to the club, a little R&R sounded perfect. Too bad this place felt more like work and less like rest and relaxation.
Her friends had assured her that she’d find a suitable lover here if she dared to take a chance. Not an easy objective when her very touch could kill if she didn’t keep on constant guard.
And who better to choose from than a pack of paranormals? They weren’t immortal, but they could take a lot of abuse and survive. Although inflicting pain, even accidentally, didn’t spawn any romantic interest for her, she couldn’t turn tail for the seductive reason that all she had to do was choose someone inside to find the key to learn control over her own gift.
During sex, shifters were vulnerable, their beasts close to the surface. They had to exert tremendous control to keep from shifting.
If she could learn how they did it, she knew she could fix her own control issues. Unfortunately, that meant firsthand experience. Physical contact. Her heart thumped hard, imagining what it would be like to finally allow herself to touch someone without the fear that she’d kill them.
None of this would matter if her damn gift didn’t morph every time she got close to mastering it. If she didn’t get a handle on it soon, it wouldn’t be much longer before her secret be
came exposed to the paranormal world. Then she would be hunted in earnest. A conduit was too valuable, too dangerous to all sides to be left unclaimed.
If tonight’s plan didn’t work, the very short list of possible cures would grow even shorter. At least in this experiment, the byproduct wasn’t a bad exchange. Rumors said shifters were intense and generous lovers.
She took a deep breath to calm the shimmering power that rose at her initial unease. The energy that hovered over her slowly settled and soaked back into her skin, wrapping her in a warm blanket as if to offer comfort. She lifted her chin to the nondescript door at the end of the hallway, ready to face the beasts in their den.
She cracked open her senses. Smells crested over her in waves. The fresh scent of shifters, the spice of vampires and the sharp, overly sweet stench of an odd magic user were all added to the mix. Every time a practitioner used their craft, a splash of magic skittered along Raven’s arms like she’d brushed against cobwebs.
The knot in her stomach clenched. She called it excitement, refusing to admit she could’ve made a mistake coming inside. The last time she’d been around this many people, it hadn’t gone well. At the slightest threat, her power took control and did whatever it had to in order to protect her.
The harsh reminder soothed her ragged emotions, and she shoved them into the vault from which they’d escaped. Emotions meant loss of control, meant someone would suffer. Closing her eyes, she searched every nook and cranny of her shields for cracks.
When she found none, the last of the knots holding her muscles hostage faded. No one would attack her here. No one would be able to break her shields and discover the horrible truth.
“In or out?”
“Excuse me?” Raven whirled, her gaze unerringly finding those of a man...no, a wolf in human form who stood a little over six feet. He towered over her by at least half a foot, forcing her to take a step back in order to meet his gaze without cricking her neck.
Damn touchy-feely shifters. They didn’t have any boundaries or understand the concept of personal space, especially between unclaimed men and women.
Fresh air clung to him, relaxing some of her initial surprise at finding him so close. Though handsome, there was something a little too masculine about him, a little too purposeful in his actions that left her unsettled. She resisted the urge to fidget, glad she took care to make herself as forgettable as possible. Dressed in black, her distinctive, silver-tipped hair pinned back like a prim schoolmarm, she little resembled the carefree, underdressed partygoers who frequented the place.
“I said are you going in or out?” Dark brows lowered in annoyance, and those deep brown eyes shone brightly in the hallway, revealing his animal nature. Power wrapped around him, barely leashed, rubbing against her. It didn’t hurt, though it wasn’t quite pleasant either. More of a brusque probe to find out if she was a threat. The taste of his magic revealed he had no interest in her.
She stepped aside to let him pass, refusing to shrink in front of him, taking care to ensure they didn’t touch. He didn’t seem to notice, not even sparing her a glance. He just grunted, gliding by on silent feet. The noise of the club rose as he entered the room beyond.
Raven pried open her clenched fingers, finding them reluctant to obey. Though she should be pleased, his dismissive attitude annoyed her. Despite having a very small portion of the shifter genetic make-up, her mind blared a warning that all males inside would have the same reaction. Like was attracted to like, and she most definitely was not one of them. Not really, despite all the tests conducted on her as a child. Tests the labs performed to find out how much control she had over the animal counterparts locked away at her core. A core that gave a low rumble at his easy dismissal.
“Don’t mind him. He can be an ass.”
Raven jerked at the masculine voice, surprised to find herself not alone. She’d shut herself down so hard she’d inadvertently blocked some of her senses. A costly mistake. Especially since her animals liked to come out to play when she shut out the very electricity she used to keep them at bay.
“My fault.” She pushed the words past her constricted throat. From now on, she would stick to business and shove the personal nonsense the girls always spouted into the garbage where it belonged. She could deal with her gift by herself like she had all her life. Plans were in place if the worst came to pass. “I should go.”
When she went to retreat, the boy, who had to be no more than eighteen, stepped in front of the exit, barring her way. “Don’t. Please.”
The tremble in his voice drew her attention. Instincts sharpened. Then she noticed the slave collar clamped around his throat.
The delicate threads of metal, a combination of silver and gold, marked him as a slave to the shifter community. Welts beaded on his skin where the silver encircled his neck, and she couldn’t prevent her lips from curling in disgust.
She understood the aching need to belong, but she couldn’t condone the process. How could a person permit another to use them just to earn a place in the pack?
“Why do you do it?” The question slipped out without thinking of the consequences.
No retaliation came. More surprising, he didn’t appear angered at her question. Pack always held their business close to their chest. Unless you were a fur-and-claw-carrying member of the club, you didn’t need to know.
A sad look passed over the boy’s face. “The collar protects me more than if I remained rogue. Without it, I’d be bottom to everyone. If I’m accepted into a pack, they’ll protect me.”
“Unless they kill you first.” Rogues don’t last long past their prime out in the open.
The lean man who stood so proudly before her didn’t look to be the threatening monster everyone claimed about rogues, the reason for their unspoken, kill-first law for unregistered rogues.
He shrugged. “Those are the rules. Unless you’re born into the pack or challenge and kill for your place, you have to earn your spot.” An uncertain smile tipped the corner of his lips, an expression that didn’t settle easily on his face. An almost indistinguishable sheen of sweat clung to him.
The people inside were like animals in the way that if they sensed fear or weakness, they singled you out. After years of practice, she made an art out of blending into the background. The boy had no such protection.
“Maybe you’ll find me inside.” Without waiting for her response, he disappeared into the club, leaving the scent of defeat. Anxiety. And more damning, hope.
Raven debated the wisdom of leaving against all that she could gain. If the boy could face the crowd, then so could she. Five minutes, then she would yank her friends’ asses out. Squaring her shoulders, she opened the door, her fingers steady only from years of practice.
Blue and red lasers flashed through the club. Black material clung to the walls, giving the impression of space. Drapes hung around the booths, adding a false sense of intimacy. She avoided peering too closely into the shadows and gazed over the crowd.
At twenty-eight, she was older than most. The elders of the pack usually didn’t stray from the meeting rooms upstairs. It wasn’t too long ago that packs had decimated other packs for territory. Not to mention the tenuous three hundred year peace between wolves and vampires was shaky at best. Only in the last ten years, when the paranormal world became exposed, did they start doing business with one another to present a united front to the humans.
Most of the shifters she saw in the club were male. Although female shifters weren’t rare, very few pure bloods remained. Those selected few were treasured and rarely permitted to leave the protection of the den. And never alone.
The women trolling here were mostly donors for the vampires, while others were available for a more amorous relationship with the pack members, men who could control their shift and not accidentally change during heightened emotions.
Gazes slid over her, judging, testing. She pretended not to notice the cloud of vampires in the back or the gaggle of witches at the bar, not
wanting them to misunderstand and take it as an invitation for more. The shifters’ gazes swept over her like she wasn’t there. She scanned the room for her friends, noting about a third of the crowd were scantily clad slaves with a cloud of desperation hovering over more than a few of them.
The press of people ate away at her shields. She needed a few minutes to settle the energy swamping her before she dug further into the crowd. She seated herself at a far table tucked in the corner. Not wanting company, she manipulated the energy that saturated the air, pulled the darkness around herself, merging into the shadows like an old lover. A trick she learned from a vampire. Most wouldn’t see her unless they were purposely searching for her.
Once on the vinyl stool, she realized her mistake. Realized why there were so many slaves present. An auction. She’d thought they’d been abolished when paranormals gained their citizenship. Since her friends held the same attitude as she did, they wouldn’t have stayed to watch this debacle.
Any thought of lovers disappeared, replaced by concern for her friends. She needed to contact them and find out what the hell had happened. They wouldn’t have abandoned her unless there was trouble. She groped for her phone when she spotted him.
The boy she’d met outside had since lost his shirt, revealing more muscle than she would’ve expected for one so slim, though it shouldn’t have been surprising since most shifters were built sturdy. He carried a serving tray. Then he turned. Even at this distance, clearly defined marks crisscrossed his back, wounds days old.
The table under her hand groaned, plastic crunched, her fingers leaving behind impressions in the fake wood veneer. A slither of current escaped her control. The phone in the other hand gave a puff of smoke as the circuits fried. “Damn it.”
Flashes of images from the labs slammed against her mind, the wails of pain and terror, the fanatical need to escape the torture. She wouldn’t allow that to happen here.
Electric Storm (A Raven Investigations Novel) Page 1