Shift Happens (A Carus Novel Book 1) (19 page)

As if he could read my thoughts, he smiled wide and stepped in. His gaze could melt chocolate. If he kept looking at me like that, my will-power would crumble.

“How much longer are you planning to resist this, Andy?”

Maybe he could read minds. I looked away, desperate to break his power over my body and salvage my fast beating heart. The warmth radiating off Wick pressed against me moments before the hard contours of his body. His hands smoothed the goosebumps on my arms before caressing upward to cradle my face. He tilted my head, urging me to look at him again. What I saw in his eyes melted my last remnants of resolve. My wolf howled in my head and my body shook to respond before my mind had a chance to catch up, to process. I was lost in the golden gaze of Wick and his wolf.

He paused long enough for my brain to send one message to my vocal chords. “I can’t give you my wolf,” I said and leaned in for his kiss.

Wick pulled away, abrupt and unexpected. I stumbled forward, missing the contact. My lips sucked the air like a baby without a soother. I straightened up and frowned at Wick.
What the hell?

His eyes searched mine, narrowing. “Why not?”

“I can’t give you that, Wick.”

He shook his head and his fingers softened their grip on my arm. The smell of uncertainty and disbelief tainted the heady scent of his desire. “When I have you…” He tilted my face up with his finger. “And I will. I want all of you.” He walked away and left me gaping at him.

He’d have to wait a long time.

Mentally confused and sexually frustrated—an unfortunate mix that might get me dry humped by rabid dogs if I didn’t reduce my emission of pheromones—I knew beyond a doubt my day would get a lot worse before it got better. I sat in the SRD library in the downtown headquarters on an old computer, clicking through archaic records. The hope of finding a nugget of information to solve my case kept spurring me on despite the innate knowledge I wasted my dwindling time. I found nothing and my mind kept wandering to last night—to Wick.

In my heart I knew he hadn’t rejected me. He wanted me, but he also wanted something I couldn’t give. When I was in a forced union with Dylan, my feras saved me. I’d been able to keep part of my wolf from my previous alpha, despite his concerted efforts to force the mate bond. In the beginning, before I saw him for the evil man he was, he managed to get some sort of hold on me, but not enough of one. When things turned ugly, he kept trying to complete the mating process. But by then, I’d smartened up and held my wolf close. He didn’t know about the other feras. My mountain lion and falcon eventually weakened his power and I broke free. When I did bust out of the shackles, I became a monster from an adult horror flick and destroyed the entire pack. At least most of it. The other women survived. All this time, I’d feared I had consigned them to a fate worse than death, a life without their mates, but Mel not only survived, she thrived. From the sounds of things, the other women did, too. I would never have hurt them willingly. Maybe the death of a mate affected Weres differently when they were from a forced union.

Werewolves mated for life like Shifters. If my wolf mated with Wick’s, the bond might be unbreakable. Not being a ‘normal’ Shifter, I didn’t know what rules applied to my life and that freaked me out. If permanent, there’d be no running away if he turned out to be like Dylan. Or if it bound Wick for life and not me, would I resign Wick to a life of unhappiness?

The poignant smell of coyote swirled around and drew me out of my head. It’s hard to describe what coyotes smell like. Mischief. Trouble. Yet instead of disliking the smell, it brought a much needed smile to my face. A furry body brushed my leg.

“O’Donnell.” I smiled without turning around. His fera familiar huffed and flopped down at my feet. I reached to scratch behind his ears.

“Carus.” The old man’s voice sounded pleased. I looked over my shoulder to find the old man smiling, deepening the wrinkles that creviced his face.

“I hope you’re not here to give me a new assignment. I’m still in the process of botching the current one.” I tapped the computer screen. I’m not sure why. It didn’t prove my point, but somehow it made me less frustrated.

The old man lifted both shaggy brows and chuckled. He took the seat beside me and sat down. “No new assignments. I scented you in the lobby and wanted to check in on you.”

“Why do you call me that?”

“Call you what?”

“Carus.”

“It means ‘beloved’.”

“I know that. I have mad Google skills. But why call me that?”

O’Donnell tilted his head to the side and frowned. “Because you’re beloved to all Shifters.” He leaned forward and his expression opened, signalling he was on the verge of launching into dialogue.

“Hold on.” I interrupted whatever speech he was about to give. “Are you actually a grumpy old wizard? Here to tell me I must join you, a lethal barbarian and a gallant nobleman on some mysterious quest?”

“No.”

“Does this involve some sort of sorcerer’s tower, a creepy tall building of any kind, or a magic sword?”

“No.”

Was his tone a bit exasperated? I groaned and leaned back into my chair. “Is this where you tell me I’m the long lost descendent of some fabled Shifter? Or that I, and only I, possess strange and formidable powers and am the only one who can save the Shifters from certain doom. Or ooo…” I sat up. “Only I can vanquish the dark demon lord king and create world peace?”

O’Donnell started to speak.

“Is there a prophesy?” I demanded.

The old man pinched his nose as if to stem an oncoming headache. He sat in that position with his head down for a while. Then his shoulders shook. He was laughing.

“To answer your last bout of questions... No. No. No and not that I know of. God, I hope not. You’re not exactly prophesy material.”

“Umm. Thanks?”

“Did your parents not explain this to you?” He wore a puzzled expression. It looked like his eyebrows were trying to figure out how to become two separate entities, instead of a bushy monobrow.

I flicked my fingers up to emphasize my points. “One. My parents are dead. Two. They adopted me.”

O’Donnell made a silent ‘ahhh’ face. “That explains a lot. Your file didn’t mention any adoption.”

“I chose not to disclose that information,” I said, after getting over my initial shock of the SRD’s ineptitude for background checks. “I assumed the SRD knew anyway.”

O’Donnell pursed his lips. “The information regarding your parentage must be in a classified file above my clearance—guaranteed they know. Adoption leaves a large, glaring paper trail.”

“So I do have mysterious parentage?”

He shook his head. “A Shifter like you comes around maybe once every five hundred years. You’re not one of a kind, but you are unique. You have exceptional skills. And you’re cherished amongst our kind because you’re the beloved chosen of Feradea.” He made some sort of gesture of reverence to the wild beast goddess—touching two fingers to his lips, then his forehead, then above his head in the air. It reminded me of the motion for ‘thank you very much’ in American Sign Language, except instead of the hand going out in front, it went up.

“So I should stop cursing her?”

The dark look O’Donnell gave provided the answer.

“How was I to know she was real?” I shrugged. “She’s never appeared to me.”

O’Donnell’s expression made it clear he thought I was a colossal idiot. “After all the supe groups exposed over the years, you still doubt Feradea exists?”

I squirmed in my seat. “Well, no.”

A long, raspy sigh escaped O’Donnell’s mouth. He looked like he aged five years. “Gods exist. They are around us. Every day. Our beliefs lend them sustenance. She probably didn’t appear because you’re a non-believer.” He cut off whatever he was about to say to look away, clearly agitated.

Stop upsetting the old man.
The voice in my head didn’t belong to me. Or my feras.

“Huh?” I looked around. Sharp teeth sank into my ankle. My knee slammed into the bottom of the desk as I jumped out of my seat. “Ow!” I rubbed my ankle and glared at the coyote at my feet. I swear the mangy beast grinned at me.

You have a lot to learn, little Carus.
The voice rasped in my head, foreign, but not unpleasant. The coyote nipped me on the ankle again. I managed a smaller jump, and avoided bashing my knee into the desk for a second time.

“Ummm.” I looked at O’Donnell. “Is your fera speaking to me?”

The old man smiled. “Why don’t you ask him?”

I looked down at the grinning little devil and tried to direct my thoughts at him.
Are you speaking to me?

Of course,
the fera said.
It is one of the gifts Feradea bestowed on you. All feras can speak to you this way and you to them.

Huh.
That was my intellectual response.

My name is Ma’ii. The old man calls me Ma.

Does that have some sort of special meaning?

It’s Navajo for coyote.
The fera yawned.

Isn’t that a bit redundant?

Ma bit my ankle again as a response. Not enough to draw blood, but it hurt.

Ouch!

Use these direct consequences as a learning opportunity.
He looked away and began to lick his hind leg.

I rubbed the tooth marks on my ankle and turned my attention back to O’Donnell. “I'm not sure I appreciate Ma’s form of guidance.”

The old man laughed. When he finally looked me in the eye, his smile was twice as wide. “I think we have all suffered enough teachings today. Is there anything in particular I can help you with?”

“Do you know much about Lucien’s court?”

He shook his head. “The basic hierarchy.”

“Do you know of any hordes in town?”

“There’s a few. Lucien’s court has an endless stream of envoys coming in and out. It’s a desirable area for Vampires. Long winters. A large port for easy access and travel.” He shrugged. “Is there any horde in particular you’re interested in?”

“I’m looking for one with ties to Wereleopards.”

O’Donnell frowned. “I don’t know of any offhand. I can look into it if you would like.”

“I would definitely like.” I shoved away from the computer and jabbed the off button with enough force that the contraption would have no excuse for misunderstanding my disappointment and anger with it.

The old man’s eyes crinkled as we both stood up. I glanced down at my bite-ridden ankle with dismay. Being fast to heal, it no longer throbbed with pain, but my previously smooth and unblemished skin was now riddled with tiny, itchy scabs.

“I want to know more.” I hoped my voice didn’t sound as desperate as I felt.

O’Donnell nodded. “In time. First, you must get out of your current predicament. When you are ready, you will need all your attention to focus within.”

“In the meantime, start praying and apologizing to the Feradea?”

The old man grunted. “You’re learning.”

****

My phone beeped on my drive back. Wick had given me the far-too-advanced-piece-of-technology in the morning. Apparently everyone under Lucien’s control possessed one—the Vampire treated his minions well and recently supplied the entire pack the latest contraption on the market with everyone’s phone numbers preprogrammed into it. Mine had been on back order, and now that I had it, I’d been ignoring suggestive texts from Clint all morning. There had to be a way to block someone, but I hadn’t figured it out yet. More elaborate than my old paperweight flip phone, it took a while to get used to it.

I waited until the next red light to glance at my phone. Wick! A law now existed against using your cell phone while driving and it made sense. A lot of people got into accidents because they took their eyes off the road. I risked the fine and read the text message.

Where are you?

I glanced up at the light and saw it was still red. I texted back:
Omw from SRD now. May take a bit.
I wasn’t the most text savvy person out there, but I had recently learned that “omw” stood for “on my way.” I tried to use it as often as possible to sound more hip—not sure if I fooled anyone.

My phone beeped again, but I ignored it. The horns honking behind me encouraged me to be a safe driver. At the next light, I looked over at my phone and read Wick’s text:
Why?

I need caffeine. Going to stop at the gas station.

For the cocaine?

What? I texted:
What?

Read your last message.

So I did. Instead of “caffeine” I’d texted “cocaine.” Damn autocorrect. I waited until the next stop light to text:
OMG! I meant caffeine, Wick!

Well I hope the SRD isn’t tapping your phone.

Laughing alone in my car I took the exit to the nearest gas station, and unfortunately for me, the one with the slowest cashier in the Lower Mainland. Carrying two bags of medium roast random blend coffee in one hand and a bag of strawberry-flavored licorice in the other, I made sure my posture indicated how put out I was for waiting. It went unnoticed.

“Would you like to donate one dollar to…” The cashier entered her sales pitch for a fundraiser oblivious to the growing line in front of her till in the tiny store.

“Would you like to buy another one? They’re on sale. Two for two ninety nine...” This was the third item of the man’s five-item purchase she tried to upsell. I ground my teeth and squashed my mountain lion’s desire to shift and claw her face off.
Down, kitty
. The Shifter three people up in the line looked to be having the same struggle and the Witch behind me cracked her knuckles. This area of the Lower Mainland, dense with the paranormal demographic, meant it could get messy if this lady, oblivious to the agitated supes in the line, didn’t hurry the fuck up.

“One second.” The cashier held up one finger and answered the phone. “Hi, Mom. Uh huh. Uh huh. No. Well, maybe.” She glanced up at her customers. “Hey, it’s getting a bit busy.” Pause. “Well, no.” It took another few minutes, a promise to come over for Sunday dinner and to call her mom back in an hour to get off the phone. In that time, the acrid scent of anger in the room doubled. The witch abandoned her purchases on the nearest shelf and stalked off.