Rogue: An Imp World Novella (Northern Wolves Book 2)

by Debra Dunbar

  The only difference was that now the shifters were fighting back after they got shot. It wasn’t that surprising. Just like humans, we all had different reactions to situations. The flight instinct kicked in for some of us, where in others it was the fight instinct. Maybe this wasn’t a case of different bullets, but of different reactions from the shifter. And maybe a bullet that caused a grizzly shifter in human form to shift and run would have a lesser effect on an adrenaline-pumped, already shifted grizzly shifter who was pissed at five scientists for trespassing.

  Maybe that bear down in Ketchikan was already on the edge of crazy, a hair’s breadth from going rogue, and the bullet just pushed him over the edge. And maybe the werewolves in the videos were dominant, aggressive wolves. There were three videos on the internet. How many videos were there of wolves that shifted and took off, that had to be hunted down? That wouldn’t have made the sort of publicity these guys wanted.

  Or maybe there were two different types of tainted bullets and, as Dutch suggested, something got switched at the factory. The “hunter and self-defense bullets” somehow got mixed up with the “make the shifter attack” bullets. Whoever was running this wouldn’t want the world to know that their bullets hadn’t saved Joseph Floyd and his buddies. In fact, their bullets got him killed. Maybe this would help counter some of the hysteria. But in the meantime, I needed to gather as much information as I could about the “supplier.”

  “I’m not leaving until tonight. Do you think you can call the manufacturer? Get it all cleared up? Perhaps at the latest by this afternoon? I’m local. I can swing back by and get the bullets.”

  Dutch hesitated and I could see the conflict in his face. These bullets were expensive. He probably made as much selling one or two of them as he did a case full of lures. But he clearly didn’t want to be responsible for selling someone faulty goods—goods that might get them killed.

  “Let me make a quick phone call.”

  Dutch walked back into the kitchen area. I could hear him, and because I was a werewolf, I could make out a word here and there from the other side of the phone.

  “It’s Dutch. I need to double check with you and make sure the supply you gave me is the right stuff.”

  “Of course. What do you mean?”

  “I sold some to a guy, and he was just killed by a bear shifter down in Ketchikan, him and four others with him.”

  “Maybe he missed.”

  “They dug bullets out of the bear shifter body after they caught him and killed him. The guy shot him, and he didn’t go down. I want to make sure something didn’t get mixed up in the shipment.”

  “No…each one is custom crafted. There’s no way…”

  “You’re not ripping me off, are you? Charging me for special bullets and just marking up regular ones and sending them to me?” Dutch suddenly sounded like a guy that shouldn’t be messed with. “If I find out you’re screwing me over, then I’m done. And I’ll make sure everyone knows that you can’t be trusted.”

  There was an ominous silence, then some words I couldn’t make out.

  “No, I’m not threatening you. I just want to make sure what I’ve got is legit. There’s a woman here looking to buy some and I don’t want to sell her anything that’s fake. I don’t want to be responsible for anyone’s death.”

  “What woman?”

  I tensed at those two words, half expecting to be surrounded at any minute.

  “She e-mailed me, but she’s a local so it was easier for her to swing by.”

  “The bullets are fine. Call me back when she leaves.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that. Dutch walked back into the room, a smile plastered on his face. He was still sweating.

  “I confirmed they’re okay. I’ve only got two .44 ones. They’re five hundred each. Do you want both?”

  I caught my breath at the price. That was insane. Although if I really wanted to kill a shifter, I guess five hundred was the price I’d pay. “Uh, just one. I’ll have to hope one will do it, right?”

  He didn’t answer me, instead turning to go through a box and pull an envelope out. I couldn’t make out the address but the postmark was Anchorage, and the company name looked like it was Strike or something like that.

  “Here.” He hesitated handing the envelope to me. “If you grew up in Alaska, then you know that most people up here think these half-animal shifters are harmless. Heck, I’ve got a live-and-let-live attitude myself. There are bad humans around that kill others. I’m sure some of these shifter people are bad too. And there’s nothing wrong with protecting yourself. Just don’t cross the line into murder.”

  That was a very fine line to keep from crossing. I nodded. Then paid for the bullet, wincing at the fact that I needed to use my credit card since I wasn’t exactly carrying around hundreds in cash.

  Great. Between that and the e-mail, Dutch knew my name, and he knew I lived in Juneau with parents in Sitka. And the supplier wanted him to call back once I’d left.

  Which meant there were some calls I needed to make as well. If these people didn’t have a problem killing shifters or siccing rogue shifters on humans, then they wouldn’t think twice about coming after me…or my family. I was such an idiot. I should have made some shit up about my parents or where I lived, although any idiot with my name and an internet connection could find me. I wasn’t exactly off-the-grid. I’d never needed to be.

  I’d be okay, but my parents might want to take a vacation in Montana for a few weeks. Or longer.

  I got into the car, feeling edgy and aware the whole time. Then I drove a few miles to a more populated area, and pulled over in a parking lot with a restaurant that evidently catered to quite the huge lunch crowd. Later. Lunch later. First I needed to call Brent.

  He answered on the first ring. “What’s up?”

  “Hey, I got a response from Hit-The-Mark so I went on over there this morning and checked it out.”

  I heard Brent swear softly. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. For now. Dutch, the guy at Hit-The-Mark, is definitely selling the bullets. When I mentioned the scientists down in Ketchikan that got killed, he recognized one. He definitely sold Joseph Floyd the bullets, and was pretty freaked out when I told him they’d all been killed by a rampaging bear shifter, even after shooting the rogue.”

  “So what do you think?”

  I sniffed. My stomach growled, and I eyed the fish-fry place across the street. “I think the guy is on the level. He seems like he’s got a conscience and was worried that he’d gotten a bad shipment or that he was being screwed over. He called the distributor to check before selling me any of the tainted bullets.”

  I heard Brent typing something in the background. “Raphael’s friend of a friend of a friend mage guy in Hel said the magic bullet from the bear and the two taken from Leon and me are definitely different. Which means they either changed their formula and there’s a problem, or they have two different types of bullets, one for killing and another for staging these attacks with rogues, and the shipments got switched.”

  “I overheard the supplier say they were individually crafted, so any switch that occurred was intentional.”

  Brent was silent a moment. “Either someone inside their organization is harboring a grudge and wants to bring them down, or they want to drive the public panic into overdrive and are comfortable taking the risk that they may be discredited in the process.”

  As nice as it would be for there to be a saboteur within their organization, I cringed at the thought that shifters and humans would be collateral damage in their own personal vendetta. Not that the other theory was any more comforting.

  “I’ve got an idea. Do you think Tony could spread a rumor that the family of Joseph Floyd is suing the manufacturer for defective bullets? That he was assured these expensive things would protect him. That the family has proof he shot the bear with one of these special bullets, and it didn’t work. They’re suing the manufacturer for wrongful death or something?”
>
  Brent barked out a short laugh. “Brilliant. If they’re looking to profit on public panic, we’ll nip that in the bud.”

  “We also need to convince Sheriff Murray to go wide with this, to let the public know not to go shooting bears or shifters, because clearly these wonder bullets didn’t work, and in fact, actually made the situation worse by making the bear go rogue.”

  “We counter their fear campaign with one of our own.” I heard Brent typing in the background. “I’m on it.”

  “In the meantime, the bullets come from a place up in Anchorage. Strike something, or something Strike.”

  “I’ll lob that one over to Jake. Anchorage is in Swift River Pack territory and I don’t want to step on his toes.”

  Nobody wanted to step on Jakes toes. Tony, the king of social media, would handle the smear campaign. Raphael’s friend of a friend of a friend was hopefully working on an antidote. Once the news got out, Dutch would be afraid to sell any more of his bullet supply. And Jake would put his wolves on tracking down the manufacturer. My job was done here, except for a few additional items of note.

  “Umm, boss? A couple more things.”

  “Yeah?” Brent sounded distracted.

  “The bullet I bought at Hit-The-Mark was five hundred dollars.”

  He sucked in a breath. “Okaaaay. We’ll reimburse you out of pack funds for that.”

  Thank goodness. “And this Dutch knows who I am. I’m not sure if he’ll bend under pressure and tell the supplier or not, but just in case I’m going to tell my parents to go on an impromptu vacation, and I’m going to stay at Karl’s den for a few weeks.”

  Gah, it made me sound like I was such a coward, running and hiding behind a grizzly shifter just in case the big bad human came after me with a rifle.

  “It’s a good idea. I’ll contact you there if I need you, or if I hear anything more. And be careful.”

  “Thanks.”

  I disconnected and dialed Karl. And because I was starving, I got out, locked my car, and headed over to the restaurant.

  Karl picked up. And grunted.

  “Done. And still alive,” I teased.

  “Good. I’m glad to hear it.”

  “We’ve done pretty much all we can do on this, so I’m going to come home and get my marketing stuff done, wrap up some things and maybe sub some work out. Then I was hoping I could hide out at your den for a while like a fugitive from justice. You can protect me in case the bad-guys come looking for me, right? Maybe I’ll wear a frilly dress, and gasp and faint a lot and you can walk around shirtless and grunt. Oh wait, you do that all the time anyway.”

  Mmmm. This place had salmon. Or maybe I should get the fried halibut. And coleslaw. Yeah. I’d pick up extra in case Karl was still hanging around my house, although it would be cold by the time I got there.

  “What happened?” he asked. “Not that I ain’t thrilled to have you at my den for as long as you want. Can you be shirtless too? Hate those frilly dresses, although I plan to make you gasp and make all kinds of other noises.”

  Such a bear.

  “The Dutch guy at Hit-The-Mark knows my e-mail, what I look like, and my name from my credit card. He seems like a pretty good guy, but things are about to get hot, and if he tells the manufacturer about me…well, I’m not all that hard to find. A Google search and they’d be on my doorstep.”

  I heard Karl growl.

  “Down, wild man.”

  “Don’t like this, Brina. Don’t like it at all.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Fine. Meet me at my house if you’re that worried. You can hover over me and glower at the doorways while I finish my work.”

  “You coming straight home?”

  I’ll admit it was kinda nice having someone fuss like this over me. “As soon as I score one of these fish sandwiches here. Want one?”

  A familiar sound roared through my ears, and a millisecond later I felt the pain, felt heat scorch through my back. The phone fell from my hands to clatter along the porch decking. I crumpled, staring in amazement at the red pooling beneath me. I’d been shot. Right in front of a restaurant full of humans, I’d been shot.

  And the bullet burning in the muscles of my back wasn’t a normal bullet.

  14

  Pain ripped through me. My vision blurred to white. I felt myself writhe on the porch of the restaurant, bones twisting, muscles contorting. Shifting. I was shifting within seconds, and the agony of it was scrambling my thoughts. I felt another bullet rip into my flesh. Someone screamed and the sound was like a knife through my ears.

  Thirsty. Hot. Cold. Pain. So much pain. Who was hurting me? I needed to bite them. I needed to kill them so they’d stop hurting me. All I saw was white and the heat signatures of living beings as they ran through the parking lot from the restaurant. All I heard was a buzzing sound and gibberish. All I could smell was a sickening sweet, foul odor—hot melted plastic and rotten bananas.

  I stood on four feet and stumbled as I tried to run down the stairs. All I wanted was to bite, to rend flesh, to tear limbs and disembowel any living thing I encountered. Only then would the pain stop. Only then would this agony tearing through my body cease.

  I could see people running in the parking lot. They’d done this. If I killed them the pain would go away. This time I managed to stay on my feet and run, gaining on one of the humans, snarling as I coiled myself to launch at her.

  A scream filtered through the static of my mind, then something large plowed into me, pinning me to the ground. I spun around, teeth snapping, claws digging deep into flesh. Something heavy was on top of me, holding me still, something that bled on me, that grunted as my teeth sank into his arm.

  Pain. Pain. The monster on top of me flipped me over, slamming my face into the gravel of the parking lot and pinning me down. I felt him dig claws into my skin, but as much as I snarled and thrashed, I couldn’t escape the iron grasp of whoever was holding me. Something slimy slipped out of my body. And another. My stomach twisted and I tasted bile on my tongue. Pain. Pain.

  Then I threw up, gagging and choking as my vision started to clear. God, it hurt. It hurt so bad, worse than anything I’d ever felt before. I was shaking in agony, but the urge to kill anything and everything was gone. All I wanted now was to curl up in a ball and die.

  I couldn’t. Strong arms held me to the ground. I couldn’t move. I could do nothing but dry heave and strain against the strong force pinning me in place. Then the brutally strong arms that held me gently rolled me over onto my back.

  Holy shit. Turning over nearly made me pass out. My thoughts swirled, then surfaced and in the white of my vision a face appeared—a gorgeous guy with scruffy whiskers and wavy, dark blond hair. Hazel eyes stared into mine, gold flecks like lights sparking through his irises.

  I bit him. I couldn’t help it.

  He grunted, then a strange grin creased his face, as if my assault only made him love me more. Then he bent his head to my side and I felt him licking one of the wounds where I’d been shot. What was with the licking? Every time I got injured he seemed to lick me. I growled, and heard him laugh, but that darkness still lurked behind the gold in his eyes.

  “Come back to me Brina,” I heard him say.

  Something was hurting me. Someone was hurting me. I needed to kill them. I needed to kill everyone to take the pain away. But even as I thought that, I realized the pain was receding.

  “Brina, my red-headed wolf-girl. I’ll never let anything happen to you. I’ll never let anyone hurt you. I want to lock you in my den and make love to you and feed you for the rest of our lives, but I know you’ve got a different idea of what you want for your life. And I’ll work with that. I’ll do anything for you. Anything.”

  There was a burning sensation working its way through my muscles and nerve endings. I blinked and stared into my grizzly shifter’s gorgeous eyes.

  “Can you shift back?”

  I closed my eyes and tried, knowing that it would help me heal, and that the huma
ns who’d been running and screaming in the parking lot would be a whole lot more sympathetic to a naked woman with gunshot wounds than a wolf with huge teeth and gunshot wounds.

  It hurt, but with every twist of bone and muscle, I felt the horrible burning pain recede just a little. In what seemed like hours I was human once more, gasping and wincing as I looked up into my bear’s eyes.

  “There.” He smiled at me. “That’s better, darlin’. Now I get to wait on you hand and foot while you lay in my bed and recover.”

  Like hell I would. It had taken Brent a few weeks to be back to himself, and he still had the scars, but he’d been up and fighting pretty much as soon as Kennedy had dug the bullet out of him. If my Alpha could grin and bear it, then so could I. Gritting my teeth, I struggled to sit up, then thought better of it. Guess I wasn’t quite the level of an Alpha yet. Maybe if I gave myself another half an hour.

  But in the meantime, at least I could ask questions. “Karl. How…how did you get here? How did you find me?”

  He bent down and pressed his forehead against mine. “Remember I said I could teleport between my dens?”

  Man, this hurt. Hurt, hurt, hurt. “Yes. Waypoints. Is your den near here?”

  He shook his head, and the smile on his face warmed me.

  “Brina, it’s not just your house. You are my den too. You’re home to me. In fact, you’re more home to me than any of my homes, my dens. Anywhere you are, I can be there. And I feel when you need me. I know when some asshole has shot you and you’re in pain.”

  “Well, it didn’t take psychic powers, dude. I was on the phone with you when I got shot.” This time I managed to sit up, although I was holding onto Karl. Oooo, and I’d ripped him up good. And bit him. “Sorry about hurting you.”