“No. You’re asking to be of use to the SRD. Given your previous criminal activities, which should’ve been pursued instead of waved off…”
I started to object, but ATF spoke over me.
“And given that you no longer hold a connection with the Vampire court, I’m afraid you have no value to us here at the SRD. No use to the Vampires means no use to us.” He paused and slid his gaze to mine, daring me to contradict.
Or did he want me to beg? Neither would happen. I’d lowered myself to ask for a job from this man for nothing. My skin crawled. My fingers itched to claw his face. My blood heated.
“Well,” I said as I stood up quickly. “Thank you for your time.”
Agent Tucker’s eyes widened, and he hesitated before also standing.
“It’s been a pleasure to work with you.” I held my hand out and waited. My falcon sent me pictures of pecking out his eyes, and my mountain lion begged me to shift and rend him from head to toe. Neither would happen. At least, not right now. As much as I despised Tucker, killing him today would only add to my problems.
Tucker stared at my open palm as if it could transmit rabies. If only.
I waited.
And waited.
Finally, he clasped my hand in a weak, sweaty grip. I slipped my hand forward in his limp handshake, clenched hard and pulled him over the desk, close enough to whisper in his ear.
“You just threw away the one thing protecting your ass,” I hissed. “Thank you.”
I released his hand and smiled as he staggered back.
Oh Feradea, that felt good.
Chapter Four
“The most important thing in life is to be yourself. Unless you can be Wonder Woman. Always be Wonder Woman.”
~Unknown
Unfortunately, immediate gratification rarely paid the bills. In fact, I’d argue right now, it kind of screwed me over in the long run.
I was officially unemployed.
My fingernails dug into the steering wheel as I turned off Lougheed Highway and headed toward Port Moody. I shouldn’t have attempted retail therapy after meeting with ATF. Now my car chugged along with the rush hour traffic, and it always bottle-necked around the corner. Tristan said he planned to work from home today, so I’d hoped to surprise him at his place without any of his pride present.
Now, I had to worry about possible spectators along with my lack of employment.
My savings would cover me for another six months; years, if I moved out of the Lower Mainland.
Move away from Tristan? My heart flopped before convulsing in my chest.
Live with leopard man, my mountain lion purred. She and Tristan had been dropping not-so-subtle-hints about cohabitation. Like he didn’t spend most of his days and nights at my place already.
I might not be ready to officially live with Tristan, but I sure as heck wasn’t moving away, either.
Still, I didn’t want to sit in my home and twiddle my thumbs. I’d go crazy. Certifiable. And no one needed a nut-job Carus rampaging around. If knowledge of my skills spread, the SRD would find a new use for me. They’d send a retrieval unit out and throw my cat ass in a specimen cage.
My skin crawled. Nope. No desire to end up in the SRD lab as another specimen. ATF would probably come by and poke me through the bars.
I pulled up to a large house in the Port Moody neighbourhood. The last time I’d been here, I’d been scouting Angie. Watching her dance around in her undies and waiting for her to lead me to the rival Master Vampire, Ethan.
Unlike a Werewolf pack, where most individuals lived in their own homes and came to the Alpha’s place for meetings and get-togethers, the entire Wereleopard pride lived under one roof. They’d all moved back in. Good thing the house was huge.
The idea of multiple spectators to the budding romance between me and Tristan made my skin crawl. My past experience with a Were-group-gone-bad didn’t help, and Tristan always came to my place, or we went out. I’d yet to visit his home since choosing him over Wick, and I knew my inaction pained Tristan. Despite assuring him I wasn’t rejecting his pride or this part of his life, I’d seen the creases in the corner of his eyes, and smelled the sour air, bruised with his hurt.
I had only met two of the pride—Angie, who I had to refrain from punching in the throat from my general dislike on a regular basis, and a submissive male who’d seen me strapped naked to a gurney. I didn’t fault him for not helping. His choices had been taken from him. His timely appearance had spared me from more suffering, removed the sick torturer from the room, and ultimately led to my escape.
Maybe he’d be home as well and I could thank him.
Or maybe I could just turn around and do this meet and greet another time.
My mountain lion yowled, her irritation running down the inside of my skull like claws.
Coward! My falcon squawked.
They were right. What was up with me today?
I mentally pulled on my big-girl-panties and clambered out of the car. The heat radiated off the stone walkway and caressed my legs before I climbed up the three steps to the entrance. The large red double doors stared back at me, daring me to knock or run away. I stood frozen with self-doubt. Tristan said he’d work from home today. He also said I could stop by any time. Why did I feel like I intruded before I even stepped over the threshold?
With a long inhale, I rapped my knuckles against the painted wood. Citrus and sunshine spiraled through the door seals and encircled me. Fresh and warm, despite the cold nip in the air. Not Tristan’s scent, the one laced with honeysuckles, but one belonging to a pride member. My mountain lion purred from deep within, wanting to shift and roll around in the smell.
The person behind the door hesitated before opening it. The hinges creaked a little before revealing a large male Wereleopard with deeply tanned skin and a body that rippled with muscle. Despite his strong appearance, he held himself in a slightly diminutive posture. A sub. And not any sub, the same one I’d met in the torture room of a sadistic Werehyena.
“You.” His large brown eyes widened.
“You,” I said.
We stood in silence. I enjoyed the smells emitting from the house; pumpkin spice, vanilla and cinnamon mixed in with Wereleopard. Someone had baked. My mouth watered.
“Uh, can I help you?” the sub asked. He ran his hand through thick brown hair.
“Oh, sorry. I’m Andy.” I put my hand forward. The Wereleopard stared at it and then frowned. Had he not heard of me? Surely, Tristan would’ve mentioned my name. Even if he hadn’t, his pride would sense his…well, his feelings for me.
Unless a pride’s bond with their Alpha didn’t work like a pack’s. I operated under that assumption, and now, staring at an uncomfortable, if not bewildered sub, I kicked myself for my ignorance.
“I’m dating Tristan…” My voice trailed off, and I took a deep breath. What the heck? I distinctly remember pulling on my big-girl-panties. Where did they go? I straightened my shoulders and met the sub’s eyes. “Is he here?”
“Oh!” he exclaimed. “That Andy! I’m so sorry. I didn’t make the connection. I just…well. You remind me of a time and place I hoped to forget.” He bowed his head and started mumbling at his feet. His fear and turmoil swirled around me. Of course he’d recognize my scent, but he had more tact to comment directly on the incident.
My shoulders dropped a little, and I instinctively reached out. “I’m sorry you had to see me on Mark’s operating table, but I can’t thank you enough for your interruption.”
The sub’s head snapped up.
“I escaped because of you and Angie. Thank you.”
His eyebrows turned up in the middle, and his lips trembled.
“Nelson!” A familiar voice yelled out. “Who is it?”
At the sound of Angie’s voice, ice flowed through my veins to wipe out the warmth from my moment with the sub. The mountain lion inside clawed to get out, wanting to attack Angie and claim her territory. Dang it. She beat me here.
I flashed him a quick smile and stepped inside the house with heavenly smells and two Wereleopards, one sweet, one bitchy.
When I rounded the corner of the foyer, the house opened up into a large living room. Angie lay on one of the couches with her feet up. She wore spandex pants that showcased her toned, albeit short, legs and curvy waist. The fuchsia work-out top squeezed her magically enhanced boobs to the point they looked like they’d pop out if she completed a burpee.
“Angie.” I nodded and squashed the urge to take the final steps necessary to punch her.
My mountain lion hissed in my head, and my fingernails stung to elongate.
“Andrea.” She flicked two fingers up in some sort of salute, but all I got from the gesture was attitude and derision.
I took a deep breath. Angie tried to bait me. Why else would she remain sprawled on Tristan’s couch as if I posed no danger, as if she owned this home, not Tristan?
How angry would Tristan be if I beat her up? I could do it, too, but she hadn’t crossed the line…yet. I could always hope.
“Why are you trying to piss me off?” I cocked a hip.
Nelson swayed from foot to foot behind me, and a gust of his nervous energy hit my back. If things came to blows, he’d be stuck between a dominant pride-mate and his alpha’s mate. I didn’t envy his choices. Technically, he should choose my side, if I’d formally been welcomed, finalized the mate bond, and joined the pride, but he’d just officially met me. My stomach lurched. His lack of attachment was entirely my fault.
Angie smirked and wiggled into the couch. “We could always sort our differences out.”
“I think you spend way too much on your magical enhancements to risk a confrontation with me.”
“I don’t plan on losing.” She yawned.
“That’s your first mistake.”
Her attention snagged on my face and a finely plucked brow arched. My mountain lion hissed to swipe the smug expression off her face. “You might have an advantage with your gangly limbs in human form,” she said. “But a mountain lion is no match for a Wereleopard.”
She stood and stretched, making a point to look away as she bared the soft tissue of her stomach. She didn’t act in a submissive way, but in a you’re-beneath-my-concern way.
I snorted. “Who said I’d pit my feline against yours?”
Angie laughed; a trill sound that raked my nerves like fingernails on chalkboard. “Your wolf?” She scoffed. “Like it would have a better chance. I gave your intelligence too much credit, it seems.”
“You gave your own too much.” Maybe I should shut up and let her continue to underestimate me. Maybe I should stick to my best behaviour? My fists clenched. My knuckles popped, and my canines elongated to puncture my bottom lip.
No. First time in Tristan’s house, confronted with another dominant female, challenged, even if a bit passive aggressively? No. I had to throw down or be thrown down. No other option. I’d turn this into a bitch fight if needed to assert my dominance and my position above Angie in her own pride. She’d peck at me like carrion until she reached bone, otherwise.
Angie blinked.
“Do you honestly think I’m limited to only three forms?” I took another step forward so only a foot separated us.
Angie’s eyes widened. “You have more? If the SRD found—”
“The SRD will never find out. Not from you. You’ve already sworn to your alpha not to reveal my nature, either directly or indirectly.” And thank Feradea for that. Angie chewed her lip in a thoughtful way, entirely too calculating. It made my skin itch.
Angie lifted her chin. “What would you use then?”
My smile widened.
“Well?”
Her nervousness wound around me, and I inhaled the sweet smell deeply. I leaned in. “I want it to be a surprise.”
She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t hide the relaxing of her shoulders or slowly released breath.
Go in, my cougar hissed. Go in for the kill.
Shush, you!
“Tristan’s not here,” Angie said. “He got called to work.” She folded her arms across her chest, and looked out the large window with the view of Burrard Inlet.
“So I see. I’ll text him.” I plastered on a fake smile. Maybe I’ll insist he kick Angie out to live in her old place. “Thanks for your hospitality.” I didn’t mean it.
“Anytime,” she said, not meaning it, either.
Chapter Five
“I put the ‘pro’ in ‘professional’.”
~Andrea “Andy” McNeilly
Dear Ms. Andrea McNeilly, code name: Serendipity,
We regret to inform you that your employment with the Supernatural Regulatory Division has been terminated effective immediately.
Termination was based on a combination of two factors: 1) The untimely true death of Lucien Delgatto, the Master Vampire with whom you shared a blood bond; and 2) The refusal of the current Master Vampire, Allan Akihiko, to renew the horde’s ties with the SRD.
Considering these two factors, your position as liaison between the Vampires of the Lower Mainland and the SRD has been made redundant.
As no contract was signed for the ambassador position, we must fall back on your previous agreement with the SRD, which stipulates no severance package or notice of termination is required by the employer (Section 10.1 d).
A record of employment has been issued, and you may apply for Employment Insurance through the government at your earliest convenience.
Thank you for your service. We wish you much success in your future endeavours.
Sincerely,
Randall Tucker,
Executive Director,
Supernatural Regulatory Division
I crumpled up the letter signed by Agent Tucker’s father. Tucker probably wet his pink panties drafting this piece of crap letter. He didn’t have the gonads to sign it, though. Got daddy-dearest to scribe his fancy-dancy signature on the termination notice instead. What a lovely reminder of his family’s importance and power.
Like that would stop me from gutting him.
I shot the wad of paper at my office’s recycling bin, my form perfect, like a professional basketball player. I put the “pro” in “professional.”
The crumpled paper bounced off the rim, and the wall, finally settling on the floor beside the waste bin.
ATF!
Somehow this was his fault as well.
****
When I slowly applied the brakes, my early model canary-yellow Poo-lude lurched to a stop in front of the Vancouver Police Department downtown headquarters. I’d spent a pretty penny from my savings getting this hunk-of-junk repainted to cover the bright red cock and balls some wannabe thug had emblazoned on the side with spray paint. Ben had laughed and asked why I went with the same colour. For some reason, I’d grown attached to the effervescent shade of radioactive urine.
I pulled the handbrake, grabbed my keys and hopped out of the car. Officer Stan Stevens had left a cryptic message for me to stop by during his shift. He wanted to discuss something. Or at least I assumed he did when he said, “Get your scrawny ass down here.” With curiosity worthy of my feline nature, and having a wide open schedule due to my current unemployment, I found myself walking into the precinct with a bounce in my step.
The desk clerk admitted me to the secured area after I signed in. I wove through the cookie-cutter cubicles and work stations while lingering emotional scents washed over me. Grief, heartache, anger, guilt, and a slew of other unpleasant smells assaulted my nose, but more pleasant scents made it bearable—relief, happiness, determination and gratitude. Cops often got a bad rap. People forgot too easily all the good they did within the community.
When I approached Stan’s desk, he looked up and beamed at me. Middle-aged and sarcastic, he held nothing back when it came to his opinion. His uneven teeth pointed in various directions as if they were sun
flowers trying to find the light at a disco party. In the last month, we’d met a few times for beer to bitch about…well, whatever we wanted to bitch about. I called them my “B&B” sessions and found them almost as therapeutic as belting 80s songs karaoke-style with my Witch neighbours.
Stan leaned back and clasped his hands in front of his firm belly. “Andy, I’m glad you made it.”
“Well, your vague message left me in a state of wonder.” I pulled a chair back and sat across his desk from him. “What’s up?”
“Well, there’s been some drug activity.”
“Isn’t there always? It’s Vancouver, not the Vatican.”
Stan snorted. “No, this is different. There’s a new drug on the scene, and it’s deadly.”
“I think I heard of it on the news. What are they calling it? Special K?”
“That’s Ketamine. The new stuff is called King’s Krank, or KK. And, yeah, we’ve been trying to keep a tight lid on it, but somehow those damn reporters got a hold of the story.”
“So how does this involve me?” I had a feeling—an itch at the nape of my neck threatened to race down my spine. My finger beds ached as my nails pushed against the tender flesh to shift to claws.
“We need your help.”
“Could you elaborate?” I plucked a small five by seven inch frame off his desk and flipped it around. A wedding picture of Stan with thicker hair beside a pretty brunette with dark eyes. His wife, Loretta.
“I’ve discussed you at length with my serg—”
I glanced up from the photo. “Tony Lafleur?”
Stan nodded. “We’d like to bring you on to the force, as a direct transfer from the SRD or as a consultant. The way we figure it, we can do faster police work if we have a supe to collect evidence for supe-norm and norm-norm crimes. With this new drug, we could really use your nose to investigate.”
“I think that’s the longest I’ve ever heard you speak.”
“Fuck you.” He snatched the frame from my hands and gently repositioned it on his desk. He smiled. At the photo, not me. “What do you think?”
“I think you want to use me as a drug dog.”
Shift Work (Carus #4) Page 3