Revenge: A Shifter Paranormal Romance

by Keira Blackwood

  His hands were rough and sure as he lifted my shirt. It was the touch of a real man, not like the fumbling of a boy from the constable. He was hard, every inch of him unforgiving. He knew what I wanted more than I did, and he showed me exactly what that meant.

  Two fingers teased the waistband of my jeans, tickling just below my bellybutton. Sharp teeth grazed my neck, promising the mark that would claim me as his. There was nothing I had ever desired more.

  In a gentle massage, his hand trailed down, ever closer to where I needed him.

  My eyes shot open. My pulse was thrumming, my body hot. That was new. I’d never dreamed like that before. Not so intensely. It was exciting, and a little scary. What exactly did it say about me to want someone so much, someone I knew nothing about? I didn’t like losing focus, losing control of my emotions. One short encounter with this guy, and I was completely thrown off balance.

  Confused and uncomfortable, I decided it was best to try to forget. Not only did I not have the emotional resources to deal with anything extra, the guy was a wolf. I couldn’t get involved with a shifter who wasn’t a raven. I shouldn’t even consider it. Dating outside of the constable was forbidden, an even worse offense than breaking curfew. I slid my hand through my hair and sat up.

  The salty scent of fresh bacon filled the hot morning air. Thankful that it wasn’t his scent, that of fresh air, mountains, and pine, I let out a deep breath and looked around my empty bedroom. Everything was the way it was supposed to be. And Kaylee was gone.

  I threw on some clean clothes and headed downstairs. Halfway down the first flight, I heard a cacophony of giggles and footfalls, a stampede of short legs. For self-preservation, I scooted to the outer railing of the spiral staircase. Voices grew louder as the children grew nearer. There were seventeen in the constable between the ages of five and fourteen, all living under one roof. It was the way it had always been. Like a den for a wolf pack, our constable of ravens lived together in a hotel-sized manor.

  First in a trickle, kids ran by, boys skipping steps, racing to get first dibs on the feast below. The girls clumped together, walking in twos and threes as they chatted amongst themselves.

  “Good morning, Ms. Penelope,” Skylar said. The formality wasn’t necessary. Growing up in the same house, we were more family than neighbors. Still, she was sweet.

  “Good morning,” I replied, and smiled at the adorable, brown-haired girl as she passed.

  The older kids didn’t run in a group like the rest, and neither did my sixteen-year-old sister. Knowing Kaylee, she was already downstairs, sitting next to her boyfriend. And with any luck, she hadn’t talked to our father.

  The dining hall was huge, loud, and crowded. The ceiling was twice as tall as it needed to be, with windows reaching just as high. Immaculate fireplaces took up the bulk of the wall space on both ends of the long room. I never understood why, because it never really got that cold. It was probably to make my great great great great grandsomething feel like he’d really built himself a castle. Only the farmhouse style tables changed the tone. Long benches and natural wood gave the space a more lived-in feel, like a lodge. That was the best part.

  I grabbed a plate from the buffet line, scooting quickly past the table where the elders sat. I didn’t have to lie if my father never got the chance to ask.

  There were probably twenty trays filled with things I didn’t want, from crepes to shrimp and grits, ham steak to berries. I ignored those and went straight for the good stuff—bacon, eggs, and pancakes.

  Plate full, I headed toward my usual seat. Sure enough, Austin sat next to Kaylee. Both watched as I approached. And just like always, as soon as I sat down, Corey squeezed in next to me.

  His grin was too big this early in the morning. And he sat closer than I liked. I inched to the end of the bench, for more space, which he took over.

  “Good morning,” I said to my sister.

  “Hey,” Austin said, and flipped his shaggy, brown hair out of his eyes with the flick of his chin. He’d mastered the look of lazy disinterest, with slouched shoulders and a blank expression. It was his reaction to everything and everyone, except for my sister.

  “Hi,” Kaylee replied.

  “You look tired,” Austin said, then shoved a spoonful of grits into his mouth.

  Did she tell him I was out? It only took one person telling my father that I’d broken curfew for me to get my windows nailed shut. I lowered my brows, wordlessly asking my sister if she’d squealed.

  She shrugged and shook her head no.

  Good.

  I could feel Corey’s beady, green eyes on me. I didn’t turn, and instead focused on the food in front of me.

  “Do you have off today, Pen?” Corey asked.

  “No.”

  “Too bad,” he said. “I was thinking we could hang out, you know, get some quality time.”

  “I’m working,” I repeated, without looking at him.

  Kaylee and Austin whispered back and forth, his arm over her shoulder the entire time. She giggled, and smiled, and seemed completely different than she had the night before. I was glad.

  “Might be that I have something you’ll like,” Corey said.

  “I doubt that.” It was cold, I knew. But anything less and he’d assume I was interested. I wasn’t. And I was tired of nice.

  “What if I know exactly what you’re interested in?” he asked, leaning his pointy chin on my shoulder.

  I ducked away.

  “What if I know what you’ve been doing every—”

  “Whoa,” Kaylee said, scowling at Corey. “So how’s the pancakes? Extra fluffy today, huh?”

  “Yeah,” I replied. “I’ve got to get going.”

  “See you there,” Kaylee said.

  Austin lifted a hand in a lazy wave.

  Corey stood when I did. I dropped my plate in the bin, and turned to find him exactly where I knew he’d be, too close.

  “If you have something for me—” I stopped myself before he had a chance to say anything. “If you have something to tell me,” I corrected, “and it’ll help, then come by later. Just to talk.” It wasn’t the time or the place here where everyone could hear. But I wasn’t willing to give up the opportunity to catch a lead. Even if it came from Corey.

  “It’s a date.” Corey winked, grinning in that way that somehow made me feel dirty. How could a smile feel so much like being groped?

  “No,” I said. “And it never will be.”

  Chapter Three

  Axel

  Raven—a name that fit, even if it wasn’t true. Her hair was jet black, her feathers just as dark. I had to call her something, if only in my head.

  She was there. She’d been there all night. My paws pounded against damp pine needles, as I dove between branches. I knew every dip in the rocky earth, every sapling, every moss-covered log.

  Soaring high above, Raven weaved through treetops as if she knew the landscape as well as I did. I’d spent my entire life in these woods, and still it was difficult to keep up. The challenge was exhilarating.

  Cool air bit, tight in my chest. Between trunks, around spiny branches. Where would she lead me?

  Gllllrrrrr. It was a nonsense sound, and it didn’t fit my dream, didn’t fit Raven’s voice. I abandoned the dream in favor of something else.

  Sharp and cool against my bare skin, the tip of the dagger trailed down my chest, cutting through soft, thin fabric. Her eyes sparkled in the moonlight, as sharp as the blade in her fist. Her hips slid over mine, stirring my cock as she straddled me.

  A predator, she knew exactly what she wanted. And she took it.

  Her ass was round, and a perfect fit in my palms, her scent intoxicating. She leaned down over me, lips brushing mine.

  Gllllrrrrrrg.

  Dreams of brilliant copper eyes and shimmering black feathers were invaded by gargled gibberish. I hadn’t thought anything could dull Raven’s beauty, though hearing Garfield’s voice from her lips had done the trick. He’d also s
poken to me as a hotdog I’d intended to eat. So all and all, a strange night of broken sleep.

  Glllggrrrack. Chains rattled against the metal radiator as Garfield once again grew restless. This time, at least, it was morning.

  Sunlight poured through the thin motel curtains, beams broken by the darkest areas of the dated, floral pattern. The air was hot and muggy, filled with the noxious stink of rotting flesh. The warmth of the air, and the small size of the room, seemed to amplify Garfield’s odor. I looked at him, wondering for the hundredth time if what that woman, Raven, had said was true. Certainly smelled like it.

  Garfield’s arm stretched up toward me, catching broken sunlight on his pale skin. As if the daylight burned, he recoiled. Allergies? Could a person really be allergic to sunlight? An intolerance maybe. Or maybe I was overthinking something trivial.

  “Not much for the sun?” I asked.

  Garfield said nothing, though a line of drool seeped out from between his dry, cracked lips. The saliva wasn’t clear, but the putrid shade of watery mud. On his neck were two puncture wounds, deep and black. They didn’t bleed, or scab. Strange, but no more so than anything else about him.

  His lemon eyes were hidden beneath heavy lids. Was he tired? Had he slept at all? Or was he a stinking corpse returning to his natural state?

  “Not much for conversation, either,” I said.

  I snatched the bag of cheese curls from the nightstand and ripped it open. Snack machines weren’t great nutrition, but they were cheap and easy. I popped a fluorescent orange curl into my mouth and chewed it. Stale, with the consistency of Styrofoam packing peanuts, but edible.

  “Hungry?” I asked, taking slow, deliberate steps toward my captive. Was there anyone out there missing this guy? Wondering where he was? Calling the police because he never came home last night?

  Irises like dandelions popped wide open as Garfield dove forward. Chains squeezed tight on his arms, holding him still, keeping him from making a meal of my face. I stopped in place and pulled back the offered snack. His teeth chomped at the air between us, sharpened gray fangs searching for more than cheesy Styrofoam. Or at least it seemed. I took a few more out for myself and slid the open bag toward his feet, careful not to spill its contents. Unsurprisingly, Garfield didn’t seem to care.

  He snarled, seething between long, sharp fangs. Okay, I was ready to admit it. Zombie seemed apt. And if someone was looking for this guy, it had been longer than one night. He’d been ripening for a while based on the stink. He reeked. And no way was he walking home to a family like this. Unless his intent was to eat them.

  “Well,” I said. “I guess I’ll be heading out for a bit. Promise not to eat anyone while I’m gone.”

  “Glllrrrrrkkksss.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” I pulled on a pair of mostly clean jeans and headed for the door, passing Garfield with a wide berth. And just for good measure, I put up the Do Not Disturb sign on the knob as I left. Better not to come back to a half-eaten cleaning lady. Or anyone getting a good look at the guy I had chained to the radiator. All I needed was questions from the cops. There was no good explanation for any of this. Plus, if he was a zombie, he could spread the infection. If it worked that way.

  With more questions than answers, I walked down the cheap metal stairs, and considered my options. The first of which was the obvious—do what Raven had said. But I wasn’t ready to kill the guy. Her story seemed true enough, but I didn’t have it in me. Not after what had happened back home. No, murder was off the table.

  That left finding out more. Raven was exactly who I needed. She’d clearly dealt with Garfield’s kind before. She had to know more than I did. But I had no way to find her.

  I needed another lead. There was of course the cops, but there was no way I was strolling into the police station to ask how many maulings had occurred in recent weeks.

  There was only one person to ask. I knew exactly where I needed to start. I scanned the empty parking lot, finding only two beat-up junk cars. No bike. Fuck. I’d left my Harley at the bar the night before. It had been that, or ride with Garfield pressed up against me on the seat. That was not an option.

  I’d have to go back for my bike at some point. I hated to leave her unattended, and me without a ride. But the general store across the street would be swarming with cops and questions, so for now I was stuck on foot.

  The daylight heat was stifling, though the huge oaks, Spanish moss, and flourishing grass didn’t seem to mind. Everything was so green, so alive. It was the opposite of the man I was keeping chained to my radiator. It was the opposite of the place I sought—the morgue.

  Chapter Four

  Axel

  Bold, black lettering declared the building the Corbeau Clinic. The one-story, lunchbox size of the place suggested one doctor at most. But because there’d been no sign of any other medical facility in this tiny town, I twisted the wobbly handle and opened the door.

  The air inside was as hot as it was outside, but instead of the gentle scents of grass and flowers, there was only disinfectant and stale, artificial lemon. Metal and faded fabric chairs lined the windowless walls of the small waiting room, empty but for one middle-aged, bald man who appeared to have melted from the heat. I walked past, to the front desk.

  A heavy-set, thirty-something brunette sat behind sliding glass, watching me through red and white polka-dot glasses. Dark circles shown through her thick makeup, and red lipstick lined her tight lips.

  I stopped in front of the tall desk and waited for the receptionist to open the glass. Moments passed before she slid open her window.

  “How can I help you?” Her voice was soft, with a heavy southern accent.

  “Hi,” I said, offering a smile. “I was wondering if the town’s medical examiner works in this building.”

  “The coroner is downstairs,” she said. “May I inquire as to what this is regarding?”

  Good question. I couldn’t tell her the truth. “I was hoping to speak with him or her about the town’s statistics.” Not a complete lie.

  Polkadots raised an eyebrow. “Reporter, huh?” She lifted the phone to her ear and shut the glass before I had a chance to respond. The window did nothing to dull the sound of her voice, though there was no way she could know that. To human ears it likely worked.

  “I apologize for the interruption, Mr. Trench. There’s a reporter here to ask you some questions.” I’d assumed he was a doctor; though in a small town, a coroner didn’t have to be.

  “Did he say what about?” The voice on the other end was deep, definitely male.

  “No, but he’s got a weird accent, and is definitely not from the Herald,” Polkadots said. Her head was tilted away, but her eyes remained on me. What about me said ‘reporter,’ I had no idea. But if that got me into the basement, then that was fine by me.

  “Hmm,” the man said. “I guess this could be interesting. Slow day and all. Send him down.”

  “On it,” Polkadots replied. She hung up the receiver and slid open the glass. “The coroner can spare a few moments for you. Go ahead right on down the steps,” she said, and pointed to her left.

  “Thanks,” I said, and headed that way. Just past the desk was a small hall, with one door that led to Polkadots, and two more that were unmarked. The first was a tiny bathroom. The second led to a flight of cellar stairs. A bit like a horror movie, the old concrete steps crunched beneath my feet. As I stepped down, I half-expected to find a room full of bodies and some kind of crazy scientist cackling maniacally. Neither was true.

  Just like the floor above, the basement had no windows, thought the fluorescent lights running the ceiling made the space much brighter. The stink of chemicals and disinfectant burned my nostrils. Everything was painted white, including the brick walls and concrete floor. It was as if a coat of paint was meant to make the place look more sterile, and less like death. My eyes lingered on the drain beneath the table in the center of the room. The drain, which was beneath the body covered wit
h a white sheet. I didn’t want to guess what ended up down there. So I turned, and met the only living person in the room.

  The coroner was tall, though the hunched shoulders made him seem less so. His eyes were sunken in, his skin albino-white. But his black hair was dark as night.

  “Mr.?” I stuck out my hand in greeting. “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” I lied. They didn’t need to know I’d heard the receptionist on the phone.

  “Trench. The name’s Vincent Trench,” he said, keeping his distance. The cock of his brow and his exaggerated stance told me he knew the way that sounded. And the way it sounded was both practiced and Bond-esque. “And you are?”

  Hand still hanging, I returned it to my side. “Axel Barnes.”

  “Axel?” he asked. “And what publication did you say you work for?” His accent was unfamiliar to me, and I was left wondering where he was from.

  “I didn’t,” I said. “I only mentioned to your receptionist that I was hoping to ask you a few questions.”

  “Oh, that Ruby,” he said. “Sure, yes.” He leaned back on the metal table in the center of the room, between the body’s tagged toes. A shiver carried through me. Death was not a comfort zone. At least not for me. “She’s not usually at reception, but we needed a fill-in. Overqualified, but sweet. Anyway, ask. Ask.”

  “Okay,” I said, unsure exactly what to think of this guy. “What’s the mortality rate like in this town?”

  “Forensics Weekly. I’ve got you pegged, don’t I?” he asked. A twisted grin crossed his face, and again I found myself uneasy. “Anyway,” he continued, “it’s low. Just like in any small town, my job is quiet. There’s the occasional crkkk.” He slid his finger across his throat and stuck out his tongue. “Death. It’s pretty much always old age. Nothing exciting. You’d think every once in a while…”