Lion's Betrayal (Shifter Suspense Book 2)
Page 23
“That’s up to her,” Lance said in an undertone. He straightened his shoulders and checked his notes again.
“Speaking of the Diazes…” Lance nodded to the couple. “Grant and Irina are funding a research and development team to find out more about the effects of Mr. Rouse’s scales. We don’t know how many are out there, with outfits like the group that radicalized Francine. They’ll also be looking into other shifter abilities, such as the ones displayed by Harper and by Chloe, here.”
That got Chloe’s attention. “I had a theory about that. Ever since I started shifting, I haven’t used my… um, other ability. And Harper seemed to lose it as soon as he shifted that time on the beach, too. There might be a connection—is that what you’re thinking?”
She stared down the table at Grant and Irina, who stared back. Irina grimaced. “Um, we’ll… let you know? We’re more on the ‘providing money’ end of things than the ‘figuring stuff out’ end…”
She blushed and Grant wound one arm around her shoulders, pulling her to him for a kiss. “Smooth, Lance.” He winked at Chloe. “I’ll put you in touch with our lead researcher. She’ll be thrilled to hear from you.”
“Sounds great,” Chloe said.
“One final thing…” He paused, and an expression of something close to panic flashed across his face. “Apart from an unkillable rumor about a new Hollywood franchise that just. Won’t. Die.”
Mathis laughed out loud, and Chloe sketched out a mock bow. “You’re welcome.”
“Which brings me to our final action point this afternoon—Ms. Kent, can I interest you in a job?”
Chloe blinked. “What? I mean, excuse me?” She turned to Mathis. “Did you know about this?”
Mathis shrugged, one hundred per cent genuine artificial innocence.
“What sort of a job?” Chloe asked, looking back at Lance.
Lance settled back in his chair. “If there’s one thing this matter with Harper has shown us, it’s that shifters across the country are vulnerable to exploitation not by humans, but by our own kind. The Manor is opening a new division dealing with issues of communication between shifters—ways for us to communicate known dangers, and for civilians to alert us to problems—using modern comms channels.”
Chloe couldn’t believe what she was hearing, and Lance’s serious frown wasn’t helping.
“You… you want me to be your social media manager?” she choked out.
“Given your work experience, and quick thinking under pressure—yes, something along those lines. We’ll work out the details once you’re on board.”
Chloe’s cheeks went red. “Thanks,” she blurted out. “I… really didn’t expect that. It’s very kind of you.”
Lance snorted. “Kind? We’re just snapping you up before anyone else does.” He paused and rubbed his forehead. “And that includes shifter organizations and human ones.”
“Everyone wants you on their team.” Mathis’ pride was clear in his voice as he slung one arm around her shoulders. “It’s up to you. If you want to push me into a career as a Hollywood superstar…”
“I want to help people.” A smile spread across Chloe’s face. “Shifters like me, who don’t have our own support networks. That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it?” She turned to Lance. “We’re going to stop anyone like Harper from being able to target vulnerable shifters again.”
“That’s the plan, yes.”
“Then I’m in.”
She barely heard what else was said as Lance closed the meeting. Her mind was flying over the possibilities of her new job. This was everything she’d ever wanted: her chance to make a real difference.
And with her mate at her side, she was ready to take on the world.
A note from Zoe Chant
Thank you for buying my book! I hope you enjoyed it. If you’d like to be emailed when I release my next book, please click here to be added to my mailing list. You can also visit my webpage, or follow me on Facebook or Twitter.
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Page down to read a special sneak preview of Panther’s Promise, Book 1 in the Shifter Suspense series.
The cover of Lion’s Betrayal was designed by Olivia Grey.
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PANTHER’S PROMISE
by Zoe Chant
Special Sneak Preview
GRANT
“Is this the place?”
Grant stared up at the brightly-lit fifth floor of the building they had just parked in front of. The contrast between the staid brickwork of the lower floors and the floor-to-ceiling, crystal clear fifth floor window was startling. It looked as though someone had sliced away the front wall to peer in at the inhabitants.
And as if that wasn’t bad enough, it was starting to snow.
Grant felt his panther’s discomfort with the weather. The emotion was separate from his own feelings, but still distinctly there, a constant, irritating itch. Grant was displeased that he could feel it at all. He’d spent most of the last six months as a panther, trying to get it out of his system, but its instincts were still so close to the surface. If he had been in his panther form, he would have flattened his ears at the cold stuff and maybe even snarled at what his human brain knew were harmless white flakes.
Since he was in human form, he was spared the embarrassment of growling at snow in front of his PA, Lance MacInnis.
“This is it,” Lance confirmed without glancing up. “You think she’ll be here?”
Grant shrugged. “It’s art, it’s new, it’s on a street I didn’t know existed in a neighborhood that would make her mother scream—it’s pure Frankie.”
“And you’re sure this is a good idea?”
Grant glared at the other man. “You clearly think not. Is that your official opinion as my PA?”
Lance snorted, his dark-brown eyes fixed on the window above them. The young black man was clearly solidly built beneath his well-tailored and fashionably styled suit, but the glasses he pulled from one pocket to perch on his nose gave a hint of incongruity to his appearance.
“My opinion as your ‘PA’ is that for a man of your demographic, gallery openings are a high-boredom, low-return investment of your time. And as your friend…” He twisted around in the driver’s seat, peering at Grant over the top of his glasses. “There are easier ways for you to go about this, you know.”
“I don’t want to hear it.” Grant’s shoulders tensed.
“I’m just saying—if Mathis Delacourt isn’t picking up the phone or checking in on Facebook, well, those are human ways to connect.”
“This isn’t up for discussion, Lance.”
“Understood.” The other man’s face was professionally blank.
Are you in there, Frankie? And will you be able to give me some answers?
He was careful to keep the question to himself. The last thing he wanted was to reach out telepathically to another shifter. Even if it wasn’t considered rude to broadcast telepathic messages before you actually saw a person, he was back in the city, now.
And in the city, he played human. No. He was human.
Grant’s spine prickled, the same uneasy feeling that had been plaguing him for the last few weeks. He clenched his fist on the car door handle, trying to shake the sensation of wrongness.
His plan was so simple, it was hardly a plan. He would go in, find Frankie, and talk to her. And it was only natural that the talk would turn to her twin brother.
Yeah, and why I haven’t heard a peep out of him since I got back from the jungle.
A year ago, Mathis Delacourt had been Grant’s closest friend. They had grown up together, two shifters causing endless trouble for themselves, each other, and their families. It had been a competitive friendship, but a close one. Grant had never been completely comfortable with his shifter nature, but without Mathis and his family, he never would have known the first thing about what being a shifter meant. Grant’s mother was human and had been abandoned by his shifter father before Grant was even born.
Grant had always envied the family structure of the Delacourt pride. For lions, family was everything. For panthers—well, he only had his father’s example to go by, but family clearly wasn’t as much of a priority for panther shifters as it was for lions.
Something had changed in the months before Grant left to exercise his panther. Mathis had seemed distracted. Grant himself had found it difficult to concentrate, his panther so restless it felt as though it was always about to burst through his skin, and now he could maybe admit to himself that he hadn’t paid close enough attention to his friend. He’d stepped back and focused on his own needs, and Mathis had done the same.
By the time Grant came back into the country, Mathis had st
epped back so far he’d vanished. All of Grant’s calls and messages had gone unanswered.
Grant was a panther. They weren’t pack animals—not like Mathis and his lion’s pride. Not family-oriented. He didn’t need to be around others to feel secure with his place in the world.
But, dammit, he did need his oldest friend to at least pick up the phone once in a while.
Tonight’s mission might not unearth Mathis, but Grant was hoping that his friend’s twin sister, Francine—Frankie—would find the lure of the art event too tempting to resist. Frankie and he might not have always gotten along, but he was hoping she’d at least give him some answers about why Mathis had ghosted on him.
Time to find out, he told himself as he stepped out onto the street. Snowflakes settled on his shoulders as he hurried to the front door, his panther inwardly seething at the cold weather.
Lance fell into step beside him. He seemed completely at ease in the freezing weather—a side-effect of being a snow leopard shifter, Grant assumed, or maybe something to do with his military background. Whereas Grant’s panther longed for the sticky heat of the jungle, Lance’s feline form relished the ice and snow. Even in human form, Lance didn’t seem to feel the cold.
Grant felt better the moment he stepped through the front door and into the warm embrace of central heating. By the time the elevator spat them out on the fifth floor, he was almost purring.
He took a moment to make sure that he wasn’t. Satisfied, he glanced around the room.
The gallery was full of people. Grant took a slow breath as he looked around. He couldn’t help it; even in his human form, he instinctively tried to identify the guests by scent as much as by sight.
Most of them were strangers, but one familiar scent made him turn his head to the end of the room.
Francine Delacourt was a statuesque platinum blonde, with skin as white as snow and iceberg-blue eyes. She looked a little like Marilyn Monroe, if Marilyn had been six feet tall and possessed all the warmth and kindness of a glacier.