by Elle Thorne
“Let’s pretend I’m not. Why don’t you illuminate me?”
Next to Krisztián, Ciara released out a slow, measured lungful.
Youngblood must have noticed the tone in Krisztián’s voice. He dropped the patronizing expression and cleared his throat. “Ancient breed of paranormals. It’s a recessive trait. It can attach to any other type of paranormal.” He shrugged, like it was no big deal. “I’m a bear shifter, but in my family, there has been a history of skilljacks.”
“And skilljacks steal what? Magic? Shapeshifting abilities? What, exactly?”
“We can’t steal shapeshifting. That is inherent in the shifter animal that’s merged souls with a human.” He spoke as though he were explaining the basics to a kindergarten student.
Not that Krisztián minded. He would rather hear it broken down in everyday jargon than in some sort of quantum physics language he didn’t understand.
“So what did you do to her? You stole her skills, and now she’s like this?”
“This happened because the dominant part of her is gone and it’s given rise to a recessive. Her shifter.”
“As you said, we shifters have two different souls. So, how is it…? How did you…? Why can’t she shift?”
Ciara shifted her weight from one foot to the other, moving restlessly. Krisztián could relate to her agitation. He was more than ready for answers himself.
Youngblood shrugged. “I have no idea. I’m just giving you my best guess.”
“So, why are you here?”
Youngblood looked at Ciara. “I can help you.”
Her nostrils flared, and her hands closed into fists.
Krisztián put his hand over hers and leaned close. “Relax.”
“I recognized you when they brought you into the Razorpeak compound the day before. I knew you were behind those glass windows. And I knew I could take your intuitive skills from you.”
Razorpeak compound? Krisztián wasn’t familiar.
“And how can you help her?” He pressed Youngblood for answers.
“By giving her skills back.”
“Oh, so your help is to just return to her what you took away to begin with? That’s some kind of generous, you know?” he scoffed.
A sheen of perspiration had formed on Youngblood’s brow. He worked his jaw, clearly trying to come up with his next revelations. Finally, he straightened his shoulders and locked gazes with Krisztián. “I had to do that. I needed her skills to help me escape Razorpeak. I also needed her help after I escaped. So I imprinted on her. It’s a little bit of self-preservation and a little bit of…trying to help someone out. Someone else out. I don’t mean her.” He glanced at Ciara. “Though I do feel bad that I’ve put her through this.”
“Then give her skills back to her and reverse whatever the hell is going on with her. Now.”
“I will. I ask one thing.”
Krisztián waved for him to keep talking. Ciara nodded her agreement.
“Put me in touch with Larsen del Cruz. Griz, as he’s known.”
Ciara’s eyes narrowed. Krisztián’s, too.
“What do you want with Griz?”
“He’s the only one that can help. And I have it on pretty good authority Ciara Dupont here can put me in touch with him.”
She penned on the pad then handed it to him.
Krisztián scanned it then turned to Youngblood. “Help with what?” He read directly from the notepad.
“I’d rather talk to him directly. To ask him specifically.”
She shook her head.
“Not a chance. Help with what,” he repeated.
“The ones who took me to Razorpeak want information from me. They’re seeking my brother. I need to help him. I need Griz’s help. That’s all I can say.”
Krisztián glanced at Ciara. “Your call.”
She gave him a firm nod.
He knew the first order of business. “Her skills. Now.” Which spawned a question in his mind. Would the fangs and talons recede? Would she be able to get out of this half-morphed state and talk?
“Untie me, first.”
Ciara shook her head vehemently.
“No. Her skills,” Krisztián insisted. “Now.”
“Fine. But I want you to know, I had nothing to do with those tattoos. Or why they appeared on my body.”
Chapter Eleven
Ciara gasped. Her eyes flew open and took in her surroundings. She was at home. On her couch. She raised her head and found a man staring at her. Krisztián. He’d said Griz sent him.
That was when Ciara noticed—
She wasn’t in pain. She lifted her hands. No talons. Her hands flew to her teeth. Flat. No fangs. “I—”
She could talk! Couldn’t she? She tested this again. “It happened.” The words came out. Sure, they sounded like she’d swallowed a cup of sawdust and followed it with a cup of sand, but still. Probably from being unable to talk for a while. She could speak!
She studied her arms. The tattoos had faded, resembling a stonewashed impression on her flesh.
“It did.” Krisztián gave her a smile.
Sitting up, she glanced about wildly and saw him. Him. Slate Youngblood. The bastard who’d put her through this misery.
“You!” She flew off the couch and lunged for him, only to find herself contained within Krisztián’s muscular arms and held back by his strong grip.
“Easy,” he said, close to her ear.
She whirled on him, finding herself in a position that was more of an embrace, since his arms were still around her and he hadn’t let her go. Her body pressed against his. Her breasts pushing on his chest, which gave no quarter, so solid it was.
“You saw what he did to me.” Her voice wasn’t much more than a hiss, like the sound of air slipping from a balloon. Really, more akin to the angry hiss of a serpent. “And you have the nerve to tell me to take it easy?”
His eyes locked with hers. Dark with ember flames from his bear, it felt as though his gaze pierced her to the very soul. She’d never experienced a sensation like this before. It was something more than a paranormal being connecting to another on a supernatural level. This was a man-woman thing, and it scared the hell out of her. This could not happen.
“He’ll get his for what he did,” Krisztián assured her. “Bide your time.” He slowly released his grip on her arms.
She nodded deliberately. “I will get mine.”
His jaw clenched, his lips thinning, though it didn’t seem in disapproval. “I have no doubt you will. And I’ll help you with that cause. But for now…”
“Right. He wants to see Griz.”
“Exactly.”
She pondered his accent. No particular accent. Not American. Not European. Nothing she could peg. She’d have to ask him about that sometime. “Krisztián, I have questions for him. Even if I can’t exact my revenge, I need answers.”
“So, ask. Not to mention the drive back to Bear Canyon Valley’s a few hours long. So you’ll have time to grill him. But first, you. How do you feel?” He pulled away from her.
“I feel normal. As I felt before this happened.”
He traced the pattern of faded tattoos on her forearm. “About these…”
She suppressed a shiver. “What of them?”
“I took pictures of them after you passed out while Youngblood did his thing.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why?”
“Because I noticed they seemed to be fading. And I thought you’d want a record. Plus, if Youngblood had nothing to do with them…”
“Riiight.” She drew the word out, making it sound like it had several syllables. She held out her hand for his phone. “Let’s see them.”
He pulled his phone out of his pocket. He swiped it then pressed the screen and handed it over. “I want to ask Griz about them.”
She glared at him.
“With your permission, of course. Come on. Relax. I haven’t betrayed you thus far, have I?”
“Not thu
s far.”
“Ouch.” He winced, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes.
She studied the designs, able to concentrate on them since she wasn’t in the throes of an agony that made her delirious. “I haven’t decided if I want to tell Griz what happened to me.”
“Griz is trustworthy. He can be a good one to have on your side.”
“I’m well aware,” she told him. “How is it you know him?”
“Years ago, your cousin was my best friend.”
“Years ago? But not now? What are you saying?”
“A long time passed that we did not see one another. That has changed.”
Ciara had the feeling there was quite a story there, but she’d learn about it later. “Let me think on it before we determine to show those to Griz.” She gave a sideways glance toward Slate Youngblood. “So are we taking him to Griz?”
“Seems if we don’t, he’ll put you through hell again.”
She shuddered at the reminder.
They approached Youngblood, who was still tied to the chair.
He scowled at them. “I held up my end of the deal. Time to untie me.”
“First, we’re going to call Griz and doublecheck your story.” Ciara leaned toward Krisztián. “No word about my travails, yet, please.”
“You have my word. Not without your explicit permission.”
Krisztián called Griz. “Ciara’s fine.” Krisztián gave her a nod that said, I got your back.
And she had faith he did. There was something in his eyes. In the set of his jaw. In the way he held himself. This was a man she could trust. Though, she was one who believed firmly you could trust but needed to verify.
“Have a guy here who says he knows you.” There was a pause then Krisztián added, “His name is Slate Youngblood.”
She leaned closer so she could hear Griz’s response. “I know him. His brother has a bounty on his head.”
“He wants to talk to you,” Krisztián said, then shifted slightly away from her. He paused, then said, “We’ll bring him.” Then he turned to Youngblood. “Griz said don’t do any funny stuff.”
Youngblood flashed a smile. “Guess it’s too late for that.”
Ciara stalked closer to him. “Listen. You don’t tell anyone what you did to me. Or else.” Then she faced Krisztián. “I don’t feel comfortable talking in front of him. About anything.”
Krisztián pursed his lips. “Then we’ll save that for after we deliver him to Griz.”
“Untied, please. If you will.” That smile still played on Youngblood’s lips.
Doubtlessly, the man was good-looking, but Ciara was certain he was trouble.
One way or another.
Chapter Twelve
The drive to Bear Canyon Valley was riddled with silence, punctuated with occasional queries about pit stops, refueling Mae’s borrowed SUV, and a quick stop for food. Drive-thru, of course.
Promptly at nine in the morning, Krisztián nosed the SUV into the same spot he’d pulled out of not twenty-four hours ago. Damn, it felt like a lifetime. He’d been the one driving during the night. To say he was tired was an understatement.
Griz, Allegra, Mae, her mate Doc Evans, and Salvatore were waiting on the front porch. Mae and Doc were lazily back-and-forthing the swing suspended from chains. Allegra was in the rocker, with Griz behind her, his hand on her shoulder. Salvatore perched on the railing.
He shut the engine off and popped out, opening the rear door behind him for Ciara. Youngblood, who’d been riding shotgun, exited the vehicle next. He studied Griz to see what reaction he’d have toward Youngblood.
Griz sidestepped the rocker and made for the stairs, meeting Krisztián, Ciara, and Youngblood before they could set foot on the porch. He hugged Ciara, looked her up and down with discerning narrowed eyes, shook Krisztián’s hand then gave a quick glance at Youngblood and waved his hand outward.
Giving one backward glance to Mae, Allegra, Doc and Salvatore, he said, “We’ll be back in a few,” and diverted them away from the porch toward a picnic table under a large maple tree twenty yards away.
Once they were seated at the picnic table, Griz gave Youngblood a onceover. “Who got a hold of your face?”
Youngblood tossed one of the reckless grins Krisztián had become familiar with over the last several hours. “Wasn’t just my face they got a hold of.”
Griz nodded. “I’ll see to it you get some fresh clothes and a place to clean up. Looks like your shifter blood’s taken care of most of the healing.”
True, it had. Youngblood’s eye, that a few hours ago had swollen shut, had opened and faded to ghosts of yellow bruises.
“That’d be greatly appreciated.” Youngblood picked at the peeling paint on the tabletop.
Krisztián took this chance to study Ciara, whose gaze was fixed on the interchange between Griz and Youngblood. Her white-blond hair caught the shimmer of sunlight that made its way through the large tree’s foliage. Her profile was classic. An aquiline nose with a strong jaw and a chin that announced she was accustomed to getting her way. It bore the faintest hit of a cleft in the middle. She wore a light sweater over her long dress, but Krisztián knew it wasn’t because of a chill. The tats hadn’t faded. Not completely.
He didn’t want to tear his focus from her, but he realized he’d missed something Griz had said.
“What brings you to the valley?” Griz asked.
Youngblood looked up from the task. “My brother.”
“What the hell has Dunnigan gotten himself into?”
“Wish I knew.”
Griz cocked his head. “Meaning?”
“He’s vanished.”
“So why is that a shifter problem, other than the fact he’s a shifter and your brother? Why would anyone else care?”
“Because the feds reached out to the paranormal community. I was taken to Razorpeak and interrogated. They’re hunting Dunn.”
Griz turned to Ciara and Krisztián. “So how does this involve you two?”
Krisztián looked at Ciara. She gave him a sharp glance. He cleared his throat and suddenly found the mountains in the distance to be worthy of his attention. He wasn’t about to give up her secrets. He’d given his word.
His shifter senses picked up her heartbeat’s acceleration. And in the same moment, he realized Griz probably picked it up, too. Had she thought about that? That Griz would be able to read her reactions?
She paused, then said. “I was at Razorpeak. On an assignment. I ran into Youn—Slate there.”
“I see.”
Krisztián knew Griz well enough to know his I see meant he wasn’t fully satisfied with her answer. He chanced a peek at Ciara to see if she had a read on Griz but couldn’t tell anything from her face.
“He needed your help,” Ciara continued. “And, no, I can’t discuss what I was doing at Razorpeak. I signed an NDA.”
Griz smiled, an expression on his face Krisztián was well familiar with. “If I wanted to know what you were doing there, you do realize no NDA would keep me from getting that knowledge. I’ve got plenty of connections at Razorpeak who are more than happy to give me information.”
Ciara shrugged. “Still. I wouldn’t do that.”
Griz put his hand on hers. “I know, Ciara. I know. I wouldn’t ask you to do that anyway. I know you don’t break confidences.” He turned to Youngblood. “So, you want me to find Dunn?”
“Before the government does, if possible.”
“He’s got a bounty on his head,” Griz said. “I got an email about him two, maybe three days ago.”
Youngblood flinched. “Does it say who wants him or why?”
Griz’s eyes took on a gleam. He sat up a little straighter. “Do you know why he’s wanted? Or who wants him?”
“I know why. And I’m pretty sure my brother would die to keep his secret. Our secret.”
Our? That got Krisztián’s attention.
“Our?” Seems it got Griz’s, too.
“H
is and mine,” Youngblood clarified.
“Do I want to know?” Griz asked.
“They know.” Youngblood waved to include Krisztián and Ciara.
Griz cut them a glance. “So, I guess you want to tell me?”
“I’d rather have gone my entire life without sharing,” Youngblood explained, his grin rueful and self-deprecating. “But that was taken out of my hands when they took me into custody and tried to get information out of me. I had to reveal what I am in order to break free.” He cast Ciara an apologetic glance. “And I dragged her into it, unwilling, and…” He shrugged. “Well, I didn’t think I had a choice. I had to get out of Razorpeak. And I need to find Dunn. You’re the only one I could think of to help us, Griz. And that’s assuming Dunn hasn’t been taken.”
“Taken where?” Ciara asked.
“Captive? Maybe Crossroads? Oh, hell, who knows? Plus, he may simply be on the run.”
Crossroads. Krisztián had heard of that. The place the Bear Canyon Valley citizens wanted Salvatore’s help with.
“So, what’s this great secret,” Griz cut to the chase.
“I’m a skilljack.”
Griz did a doubletake. “Skilljacks don’t exist. Not anymore.”
“Not so.” Youngblood clenched his jaw, indicated Ciara. “Ask her if we exist.”
“It’s true,” she whispered. “I’ve seen proof.”
“Are you sure?” Griz raised a brow.
She pushed up the sleeve on her sweater and held her arm up, revealing the faint remnants of the tattoos. “Very sure.”
Krisztián shot her a questioning glance. Wasn’t this supposed to be a secret?
She shrugged, the motion barely perceptible. Suffice it to say, he had questions. Not that he didn’t have any before, but now, he had more. Since when had she decided she could open up to Griz?
Griz studied the tattoos. “I’d want to get someone’s opinion on those.”
Ciara’s face screwed up into a grimace. “I don’t want these traced back to me.”
“Understood,” Griz acquiesced. “I can manage that.”
She turned a glare to Youngblood. “That includes you.” Jaw set, her expression indicated that she was not willing to be messed with.