Hector: Outback Shifters Book One

by Chant, Zoe

  Myrtle followed him over, carefully placing the egg down in the center of the nest. She glanced at him as he crouched in front of it.

  Hector did his best to ignore it when she leaned forward to look over his shoulder. It was as if he could feel the heat of her body against his skin, warmer even than the heat lamp in front of him. But at this distance at least, there was no spark of electricity, no almost-painful jolt. The only thing out of the ordinary was a warm tingling on his skin where their fingers had touched.

  Well, that, and the tightness in his pants, which Hector was sure was going to become noticeable at some time in the very near future.

  He cleared his throat.

  I have to focus.

  Reaching out carefully, he ran his fingers gently over the shell of the egg. He waited, hoping to feel any spark of life from within.

  C’mon. Are you real or not?

  For a moment, he thought he felt something – something gentle and soft, tentatively reaching out to him.

  But then, it was gone.

  Whatever it was had been entirely within his imagination.

  Hector sat back, disappointment knifing through his chest.

  Shit. It’s a fake after all.

  “So what kind of egg is it?” Myrtle’s voice broke into his thoughts. “I’ve never seen anything like it before. Is it –”

  “It’s a fake,” Hector said, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

  Myrtle blinked at him. “Fake?”

  “Yeah. Someone’s gone to a lot of trouble to do this, but it’s not genuine.”

  Myrtle frowned, looking down at it. “I don’t think so – I mean, I –” She cut herself off suddenly, biting her lip. “There still could be a living creature in there. And if that’s the case, we have to take care of it.”

  Hector doubted that, but he wasn’t sure he could explain things right now. And besides which, he had to make a report to his handler, Callan. About what a mess he’d made of this operation, and about how the egg wasn’t really a pegasus egg after all. As far as anyone knew, they were still extinct.

  And how we found our mate, his griffin said, tail twitching.

  Yeah, maybe I’ll leave that part out.

  “I – I have to make a report,” Hector muttered, standing. He hoped she couldn’t see the effect her proximity had had on him.

  Myrtle frowned, putting her hands on her hips. “And what about me?”

  “You?” Hector blinked, confused.

  “Am I just supposed to sit here on my ass waiting for you to let me go free?” She glanced at the egg. “And do you know how to take care of that?”

  It’s not alive, he wanted to tell her – but that would take way too long to explain just now.

  Our mate is troubled, his griffin piped up, twitching its feathered ears. We must comfort her. Now! Comfort her!

  Hector was so befuddled by his griffin’s directive that he’d taken a step toward Myrtle before realizing what he was doing.

  Comfort her how?! he demanded of it, before his griffin suddenly bombarded him with images of him taking Myrtle in his arms, sweeping her backward and kissing her deeply, her breasts pressed against his chest, her fingers clutching at his back, her breath warm against his skin –

  Hector shook his head, forcing himself to take a step back.

  Trust me, she won’t find that comforting, he told the griffin. At all.

  The griffin seemed confused. But in times of trouble, humans need to be shown attention and affection. We both know this.

  Attention and affection is one thing, Hector told it. Kissing her completely without warning is another!

  Myrtle was staring at him, her eyes narrowed, hands on her hips. “Well?”

  “Just – just stay here,” Hector said. “I’ll – be back in a moment.”

  He turned away, heading into the second shipping container, joined to the first through a steel door. He had to get away from Myrtle before he did something stupid – or before she noticed the bulge in his pants.

  He’d never been affected by a woman this way. Just being near her was enough to stir up his blood in a way he’d never felt before. He’d known some good-looking women in his time, but no one like Myrtle.

  “Fine, then, I guess I’ll just stay here,” he heard her mutter as he closed the steel door behind him.

  You are being an oaf, his griffin informed him. With no manners whatsoever.

  Sagging against the door, trying to ignore the painful rush of blood southward, Hector was forced to agree with it.

  I have to get my head on straight.

  This was the last thing he’d expected to happen. Finding his mate in the middle of a mission wasn’t exactly convenient. He realized in some distant part of his brain that was still functioning properly that he was breaking just about every protocol that existed by leaving her alone in his operations room, but he just couldn’t bring himself to care right now.

  Besides, she is our mate, his griffin rumbled. What’s ours is hers. It is only fitting that she see what we do, know everything about our lives. We have no secrets from our mate.

  That’s fine, Hector told it as he stumbled over to the desk by his messy, unmade bed. But I don’t think she knows she’s our mate. In fact, she doesn’t even seem to like us very much.

  Taking a deep breath, Hector tried to focus as he typed in the password for his laptop. This laptop had one use only: to make secure satellite calls to his handler, Callan, in Sydney.

  Hector bristled as he typed in the one-time code to make the call. He was a little annoyed at having to do it – he’d never liked the feeling that someone was looking over his shoulder – but it could be worse. At least he’d been assigned to Callan for this mission. He and Callan had known each other for years, and had come up through training together and had shared a dorm. They’d spent more than a few of their extremely rare free days and nights out on the tear together. Hector counted him not just as a colleague, but as a friend.

  Now, Callan picked up immediately as per usual, his face appearing on the laptop screen.

  “Hector.” He squinted. “You look like shit.”

  “Ta for that,” Hector muttered. He rubbed his eyes. How am I supposed to look after a mostly failed mission and unexpectedly finding my mate?!

  “Things go that well, did they?” Callan asked, his voice measured. That was one of the most infuriating things about Callan, in Hector’s opinion – he never seemed ruffled, never seemed angry. He was the most easy-going person Hector had ever met, which, considering Hector had grown up on a farm, was saying something.

  “Yeah, everything’s perfect,” Hector said, shaking his head. “Just great. I didn’t find out who the buyer is.”

  Callan cocked his head. “You all right though?”

  “Oh, I’m fine.” Hector waved a hand. “No dramas.”

  “Some dramas, clearly.”

  Hector sighed. “I didn’t get the buyer, but I did get the egg. Bad news, though – it’s a fake.”

  Narrowing his eyes, Callan frowned. “You sure? The information we had –”

  “The information we had was the same as what the buyer had,” Hector cut him off. “And they thought it was real, unless the reason I didn’t see them around tonight was because they had second thoughts and bailed on the deal.”

  “It’s possible.”

  “It’s probable. I touched the egg. I couldn’t sense anything inside it. I dunno how the Reaper Angels bikies got onto this, but they got us good. What a waste of fucking time.”

  Hector ran his fingers through his hair. It wasn’t a waste of time, though. It meant I found my mate. And that’s worth any cost.

  “It wasn’t a waste of time.”

  Hector glanced up, convinced for a moment that Callan had read his mind, and that he’d have to add ‘telepathy’ to his already maddeningly long list of skills.

  “Fine, so it’s not a good result.” Callan shrugged. “But if, like you said, the buyer was never h
ere in the first place, then we were never going to get them. The regular cops still get the meth haul thanks to the work we put in. That’s something, right?”

  Hector nodded reluctantly, not ready to let go of his sulk just yet.

  “Anyway, that’s all I had to say. Report in, mission failed. No buyer, egg’s a fake. So that’s it. I’m turning in. Night.”

  He reached for the keyboard to end the call. He couldn’t sit here chit-chatting to Callan. He had to get back out to –

  “Wait just a moment,” Callan held up a hand. “You reckon you can fool me? I’ve known you for ten years, Hec. What’s going on?”

  Callan’s words weren’t so much a question as a flat directive. Hector swallowed.

  No getting out of this, unless I just flat-out lie.

  That… really wasn’t an option. And besides, after the mess he’d made so far with Myrtle, he could probably use the help.

  “No, that’s not all,” Hector admitted. “There is something else. But it’s not related to the mission.”

  “All right,” Callan said in a measured tone, though Hector could see the curiosity glimmering in his eyes.

  Hector took a deep breath. “It’s my mate. I found her. She got caught up in all this mess tonight – the bikies heard her accent and thought she was the buyer.”

  “Her accent?”

  “She’s American.”

  Callan looked puzzled. “What’s a Yank doing all the way out there?”

  “She’s a scientist. She’s out here for research.”

  “Ah.” Callan paused. “Are you sure about this? Your head’s not just being turned by a brainy beauty with a cute accent?”

  Hector was insulted. “Of course I’m sure! How stupid d’you think I am?”

  “Were you wearing your Uggs on the carpet again? You know those things can build up some wicked static electricity. Maybe if you –”

  “That’s not what happened,” Hector cut in, trying and failing to keep the growl out of his voice. “This was real – I felt it. Stop taking the piss.”

  “I wasn’t,” Callan said calmly. “I just wanted to make sure you were sure.”

  “I am.” Hector had never been more sure of anything before. Well, except for maybe one thing: that Myrtle absolutely despised him. “There’s a problem, though. She thinks I’m a complete arsehole.”

  “To be fair, you do have your moments, Hec.”

  “Right, cheers mate, just what I needed to hear,” Hector muttered.

  “I’m serious. Remember when you went on the rampage because someone ate your boiled eggs?”

  “Not even a slightly comparable situation,” Hector growled. “And it wasn’t ‘someone’, it was you. Are you gonna be helpful, or are you just gonna hang shit on me?”

  “I’m not hanging shit,” Callan said. “I’m trying to get you thinking clearly. You’re sure, though.”

  It wasn’t really a question.

  “Completely.” Hector nodded. His heart beat with total certainty. He’d never been so certain of anything before in his life, not even about joining up as an agent.

  Callan sighed, running a hand over his face. “Well, I guess you better go back out there and convince her you’re at least a little bit less of an arsehole than you first seem.”

  Hector felt his heart sink. How was he going to do that? He’d barely had any time to think about dating since he was a teenager – and then, there hadn’t exactly been a huge number of girls around to try to impress. He’d had a few relationships while he’d been at the training academy, but those had been short-term things, and both of them had known they couldn’t last once they graduated and went out into the field. As much as he’d liked the girls involved, they’d mainly been relationships of convenience.

  Myrtle was human, so it was safe to say she didn’t know anything about mated bonds or shifters. And it wasn’t exactly the kind of thing he could spring on a girl even at the best of times. It definitely wasn’t the kind of thing he could spring while they were in the middle of nowhere – and it was the middle of the desert scrub, and the worst kind of nowhere. If she took it badly, she didn’t exactly have anywhere else to go.

  And it’s not like I can take her out on a date, either, Hector thought despondently. Do all the things that might impress her the way a human would. What am I going to do? Whip her up a fine dining experience of protein bar and UHT milk?

  “Well, I guess I can only try,” he muttered. It wasn’t like he had a lot of choice. A shifter who’d met his mate and had to be without them was subject to a slow, painful life sentence of never feeling whole ever again.

  “Well, don’t look so fucking happy,” Callan said sarcastically. “Gosh, finding your mate – must be awful.”

  “All right, all right,” Hector said. “Point taken. But I just –”

  Before he could get any further, there was a thunderous bang on the steel door.

  What the hell?!

  He turned in his seat.

  “Hey! Hey, Hector! Or Officer Richardson? Whichever one it is, you better get out here! Right now!”

  Myrtle?!

  His griffin scented the air, tail twitching, everything on high alert – but there was no danger in the air, no nothing.

  “Sounds like your lady love,” Callan said, grinning. “You better go see what she wants.”

  And with that, he ended the call. Hector stared at the blank screen.

  “Well, thanks for your help, mate,” he muttered.

  Go to our mate! She needs us! Go now!

  Hector found himself jerked up out of his seat and running across the room before he knew what he was doing. He yanked open the steel door.

  Of course, Myrtle was on the other side. And in her hands was – was –

  Oh. Shit.

  Chapter 4

  Myrtle didn’t know what to do with herself after Hector had left in such a rush. Left to their own devices, her thoughts kept doing things she really didn’t want them to, like dwelling on the way Hector’s thigh muscles bulged under the worn jeans he was wearing. Or thinking about how his profile had looked in the half-light of the car, his masculine jaw, perfectly straight nose and high forehead all more than qualifying him for someone who looked like they’d win Cosmo’s Hunk of the Day.

  Hunk of the Century, more like, Myrtle thought. And that accent… and the muscles… and the… the everything…

  Myrtle felt her knees go weak, and she resolutely forced her mind elsewhere. Nothing could be less appropriate right now! He was a cop who’d just rescued her from bikers… bikies… whatever… not someone she should be fantasizing about.

  Not to mention the fact that her research might be completely ruined now, because she’d just had to stick her nose in and get involved in something that was none of her business.

  She gulped guiltily at the thought, even as she felt sick at the idea all her time here might be wasted, and she wouldn’t get to do anything to help the valeleaf moth.

  Though at least something good had come out of this, she supposed.

  Myrtle looked at the egg beneath the heat lamp. She’d saved an innocent creature from being smuggled.

  She shuddered at the thought of what might have been in store for whatever was growing within the egg. Poor baby. But you’re safe now. I promise.

  In order to try and keep her mind off both Hector’s distracting hotness and the possibility of her research being ruined, Myrtle attempted to content herself by studying the egg. She hadn’t seen anything like it before. Hector had been quick to say it was a fake – but a fake what?

  She’d held it in her hands, and back in the car she’d been almost certain she could feel something stir within it. Whatever Hector had meant by fake, it was definitely alive, that much was certain.

  She turned her head this way and that, watching the light from the heat lamp reflecting off its iridescent surface. It was almost mesmerizing in its beauty – so much so that when it moved, Myrtle initially just wrote it off as a f
igment of her imagination.

  What she couldn’t write off, however, was the crack! sound as a long line suddenly appeared down the side of the egg.

  Oh my God, is it… is it really…

  She held her breath, waiting to see what would emerge. A bird chick? Some kind of weird Australian lizard? She certainly hoped Hector had the means to care for a tiny baby creature that – that –

  The next moment, her thoughts froze.

  No. What? That can’t be right.

  The egg shifted on its little feather bed, as the creature within struggled to get free, its nose poking out of the hole it had created.

  It let out a small whinnying sound – little more than a tiny squeak. A few more pushes, and its head broke free.

  That is definitely not a bird or a lizard.

  Myrtle stared.

  Nope. That’s definitely a tiny horse.

  “Meeee-eh?”

  The – the tiny horse blinked wide, silvery eyes at her, twitching its ears. It was pure white. It shook its head, and its mane shimmered under the glow of the heat lamp.

  “Oh my God,” Myrtle whispered. Her gut clenched. She’d heard about – and seen – some weird Australian animals. Numbats, quolls, thorny devils, bandicoots, cassowaries, echidnas, frill-necked lizards… she’d read up on them all, and the scientist in her was excited at the chance to see so many things in their natural environments. But she had never heard of an Australian native tiny horse.

  Oh, an Australian native tiny horse with wings, she thought dizzily, as the little creature hauled itself out of its shell to plop down amongst the feathers of the nest. Its wings were as pure white as the rest of it, but where its body was obviously covered in hair, the wings were beautiful, sweeping, delicate feathers.

  “Meee-eeh?”

  The horse made another tiny sound, before blinking at Myrtle again. She stared at it. It struggled to its feet, knees wobbling, just the way a foal would, before flopping back down into the nest.