Slip the Skin

by Shanley, Tera

  SLIP THE SKIN

  CURSE

  (A LYCAN NOVELLA, BOOK 1)

  By TERA SHANLEY

  Other Books Included in this Bundle

  Slip the Skin - Fate (Episode 2)

  Slip the Skin - Legacy (Episode 3)

  Slip the Skin

  Copyright © 2014 by Tera Shanley

  All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the United States Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, redistributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in any database or retrieval system, without prior written permission from the author.

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Chapter One

  Linden Ashby was dying.

  She scanned the elegant hotel room with its flowing gold curtains and cream and shimmery yellow wall paper. A trio of miniature vodka bottles stood empty by a stainless steel sink and the giant bed under her didn’t give so much as a low-end grunt as she shifted positions. With her legs curled under her, she strapped on a pair of black, shimmery heels she’d emptied out her savings account to purchase. They weren’t her style by a long shot, but tonight was her last hurrah and she would do it right.

  Dying. Dying? The word was a constant and uninvited companion with every routine outing and errand, every meaningless and frivolous nod to vanity. Speaking of— She glared at her naked toenails, which she really should’ve taken the time to paint before heading out for a night on the town with the girls.

  The girls. How on God’s green and blue planet was she supposed to tell them?

  She shook herself and straightened her spine. That was an easy one. She wouldn’t. She’d go out to Meredith’s fancy holiday party and throw a few back, make the girls laugh like she always did and go home with some John, Pete or Barney. The man didn’t matter much, so long as he got her mind off the doctor’s chilling diagnosis.

  Oh God. She was so not a one-night-stand type of girl. Relationships had always been her thing but she no longer had time for that.

  She stood and walked crookedly to the gold framed full-length mirror that stretched up the wall like an ivy vine. Damned heels. They were a might less comfortable than her preferred flats or tennis shoes, but—she grinned at her reflected profile—they lifted her backside by glorious inches. The red sequined number she wore just about begged to be ripped off by some half-whiskeyed businessman looking for a short-term fling. The only thing lacking was makeup. Oh, she’d done it up, just not enough for a dress like this.

  She smeared another layer of shimmery dark shadow over her dove gray eyes and brushed on another layer of mascara then plumped her lips with lady-of-the-night red lip-gloss. She didn’t even look like herself anymore but that was the point, wasn’t it? To escape for one night?

  Tired of her reflection, she snatched her purse and headed downstairs to wait for the limo. Heels clunking against the polished wood floors, she glanced back once before shutting the door to room eight fifteen behind her. The hallway swayed outside, growing longer and curving until she leaned against the wall under a silver-plated electric sconce that probably cost more than her groceries for a year.

  “Waste,” she muttered as she stumbled for the elevator. It took three pokes to get the Down button. Hopefully, just the result of the after effects of that triple shot of vodka in the room. The ding! of the opening door was abnormally dizzying.

  Okay, or maybe not.

  Her heel got stuck in the crack between the open elevator and wall, and with a quiet oath she yanked it free. And stumbled into a man in a black suit.

  “You okay?” the older gentleman asked as a younger one forearmed her onto the other side of the small space.

  “I’m awesome. Hey, I know you. I see you on television when I’m channel surfing on Saturday afternoons and feel like a nap so I stop on politics to bore me into a good snooze.” Shit, she needed to stop talking.

  As the man stared at her from behind feeble looking spectacles, she rifled through her purse in search of that magical orange pill bottle Dr. Latham had prescribed last week. Had she forgotten it?

  “Ma’am,” the younger man warned. “Ma’am! Stop what you’re doing.”

  “Why are we going up?” she asked, squatting so she could dig through her purse easier.

  “Because the elevator is taking us to the tenth floor. Stop digging through your purse or I’m going to have to restrain you.”

  Okay, restraining sounded awesome, if the man hadn’t been standing ramrod straight like he had no sense of humor at all, and if he weren’t wearing sunglasses indoors. The room grew dim as if someone had brushed a dimmer switch. “Oh no, oh no,” she murmured, frantically searching for the meds.

  The man kicked her purse out of her grasp. “Hayes, we have a situation up here,” he said into his coat sleeve just as the world turned to shadows.

  Chapter Two

  Graham Hayes rolled his shoulders, though it didn’t loosen the tightness that came along with wearing a suit. The only thing he didn’t like about being a bodyguard was the work attire. The rest—threats of violence, the need for his extra senses, tackling people, ongoing weapons training—worked just fine for him. In fact, he couldn’t think of a better job for a Lycan, and apparently half the pack thought so too because Primal Protective Services, the company he worked for, was made entirely of supernatural employees.

  His oversensitive hearing had picked up on the static that preceded conversation over the microphone tucked into his ear, and he’d moved toward the elevator. “Hayes, we have a situation up here,” Liam had said.

  Graham had broken into a jog and unlatched the weapon holstered at his hip.

  “Wait,” Liam said. “False alarm. Just a lady looking for her lipstick or something. We’re off the elevator and headed to the suite. Stand by.”

  The soles of his dress shoes had slid like ice skates across the polished marble floor, and he’d skidded to a stop. Gary, the concierge, had glanced up and nodded a greeting. He knew him from other jobs at this hotel. “Standing by,” he’d said quietly into his sleeve.

  A minute passed then Liam had said, “The panther’s in his den. I’ll be down when the replacements get here.”

  That small promise of violence had made Graham’s heart pound hard. With the disappointment that his wolf wouldn’t be pacified tonight, his heartbeat had slowed. Tomorrow was another day, though.

  Now he waited at the door for the others. The small ding! of the elevator behind him rang against his sensitive eardrums. A flash of shimmering red glitter showed in his peripheral vision. Must be the lady stressing Liam out. He snorted. What a wuss.

  At the front counter, he turned nonchalantly and scanned the cavernous entryway. Four men sat with glasses of what looked like scotch near a high-end bar in the back. A family of four dressed to the nines hustled double time from a hallway to the right. They must’ve been heading out to see a show. New York was filled with theaters.

  The woman in the red dress sat under a chandelier, and the crystals threw little rays of red sunset light all over the room.

  Damn, she was smokin’ hot. The kind of hot that made him do a quick glance around and subtly adjust himself.

  Her dark hair cascaded down her long neck, the ends tickling her hips, and her skin was fair and smooth, like the shell of an egg. Her lips were painted red like the short, sleeveless dress that clung to her curves, and her legs endlessly stretched in front of her as she—

  Wait. He squinted and blinked hard. As she painted her toenails in the front lobby?

  No one else seemed to be paying attention to her inappropriateness. She stared at her feet as she worked, unblinki
ng, as if each stroke hypnotized her. Something was wrong. Her phone trilled from her purse but she acted as if she didn’t hear it, and at the ceaseless sound, people started to take notice.

  “Hayes! Have you heard anything I’ve been telling you?” Tristan, his replacement, asked. Liam’s replacement was already striding for the elevator.

  “Uhh, sorry man.”

  Tristan squinted, looked from him to the girl in the red dress and nodded. “Ahh, I get it. She’s hot alright. Look, I don’t care what you do tonight, but you better be here to relieve me by eight in the morning.”

  Graham still hadn’t taken his eyes from the girl, but he clapped Tristan on the back. “Have I ever let you down?” He headed for the strange woman.

  “No,” Tristan called. “Now’s not the time to start either. Eight o’clock.”

  Graham loosened his tie as he approached and stood over her. Clearing his throat, he said “Are you okay, Ms...”

  Silence, except for the rhythmic miniature brush over her nails.

  “Ms...”

  Slowly she shifted her gaze to him. Soft and gray, made even brighter by all the dark makeup, her eyes were glazed and she seemed to look right through him. Into his soul, if he’d had one. A poignant pain pierced him. He smelled it then. Sickness. She’d die soon. Why did that realization hurt so badly? Like a twisting of his innards that left his body in the knot of a dead man’s noose. He was helpless to leave, but it hurt to stay there, trapped in her empty stare. She was too damn beautiful and young to be this sick.

  “Waste,” she whispered.

  He squatted beside her until he was on eye level with her. “Can I get you anything? Water?”

  “They don’t even know this is my last night with them,” she said in an emotionless monotone.

  “Who?”

  Like the filling of an empty well, life returned to her eyes. Her dark, perfectly arched eyebrows furrowed. “My friends. They’ll be here any minute.” She looked around as if she didn’t know where she was. “They should’ve called by now.”

  “I think they did. Your phone was ringing.”

  Wide-eyed, she held up the tiny brush tipped in glossy red, and a look of sheer mortification came over her. “Oh my gosh,” she breathed.

  Yep, others had definitely taken notice. Gary held up a phone with a questioning glance. Graham shook his head. No need for security on this one.

  She dumped her purse onto the table with shaking hands and a small mountain of feminine bejeweled gadgets fell out. “Where is it, where is it?” she murmured, sifting through the sparkling rubble.

  As her elegant hand landed on an orange pill bottle, she sighed, a trembling breath. He stood and jogged to Gary, begged a sparkling water and was back before she’d even managed to open the lid. “Here, let me,” he said, handing her the drink. “How many?”

  “Two.”

  He dropped the white pills that looked like harmless aspirin and smelled much more potent into her outstretched hand. For reasons he couldn’t fathom, he’d been careful not to touch her skin. Her sickness wasn’t catching, but the thought of brushing his skin against hers seemed dangerous somehow.

  As she shoveled the paraphernalia back into her purse, her phone rang again and she answered it. “Sorry, I’ll be right there.”

  Her full red lips turned up in a tremulous smile but she didn’t meet his eyes. The loss of seeing their gray beauty was an unexplainable lash against the flesh of his heart. Desperately, he asked, “Are you sure you’re okay to be going out in your condition?”

  With a steely glance, she snorted. “My condition is none of your business.”

  Well, she had a point. He didn’t know a thing about her, so why was he still standing there, taking up space next to her? “Fair enough.” He pulled out his wallet and dropped a business card into her purse. “Call me if you get into too much trouble.”

  “Is this how you pick up women?” She pulled his card out and scanned it. “You drop your card and walk away so we can see the fancy job you work and run after you?”

  She wobbled on her way up so he gripped her elbow. Sensation zinged through him, and he jerked away. Frowning at his fingertips, he said, “Oh yeah. Telling women I’m a mediocre paid bodyguard has them flocking to my bed. Was just trying to help, is all.”

  “Oh. Sorry. I just thought— I don’t know what I thought.”

  “Great, well I have work early. Are your friends here? If so, I’ll walk you out.”

  “Linden.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “My name’s Linden Ashby.”

  The way her name rolled off of her lips was probably the sexiest thing he’d ever encountered. With effort, he drew his gaze from the glossy red and smiled politely so she wouldn’t see the devil in him. “Graham Hayes.”

  She perched her fingers into the crook of his proffered arm, and he rolled his eyes heavenward in silent thanks that there were two layers of cloth beneath her touch. The last thing he needed was his wolf thinking he needed to get laid tonight. This one seemed too risky by a lot. If his pack mates saw him so wobbly in the knees over a human, they’d never let him live it down. “Where’re you going tonight?”

  She gave a wicked smile that made his heart thump against his ribcage. “Why, you going to stalk me?”

  Surprised, he huffed a chuckle. “Just making conversation, is all.”

  He held open the door and followed her down the burgundy cloth-covered steps to the black limousine waiting for her. The doorman held open the door, and three smiling women were framed in the doorway. “Linden!” they called.

  A red-headed woman made a claw with bright pink fingernails and winked. “Who’s your date?” she asked.

  Linden pursed her lips and giggled. “I’m sorry about them. These are my friends. Meredith is the one waggling her eyebrows. That’s Lauren and Diana. Ladies, this is Graham. He saved me from some embarrassment tonight.”

  “Well, come on!” Meredith called to him.

  “Mere,” Linden answered through what sounded like gritted teeth. “He’s not my date.”

  Right, that was his cue. “You ladies enjoy your night. Make good decisions,” he called, pulling away from Linden. He bowed his head. “It was nice to meet you.”

  “Ha! Yeah, that was an awesome impression I made on you.”

  “First impressions aren’t everything.”

  Her expression fell and the corner of her mouth twitched. “First impressions are all I have, Mr. Hayes. Thanks for the water.” She slid into the limo, and it drove through the dark slushy snow and away from him.

  He clacked his mouth closed and pulled his phone out. Linden Ashby, he typed into the search engine and was rewarded right away. The first link advertised posts from a site called The Adventures of a Real Life Zombie and outlined Linden’s three-year battle for her health, complete with a cartoon, buck-toothed blob named Toomey that danced across the header.

  He muttered an oath. Jerking his head in the direction the limo had gone, he started to jog. He was about to do something so stupid it could get him killed—and the biggest part of him was convinced it would be worth it.

  Chapter Three

  “That man was delicious,” Meredith said into Linden’s ear over the blaring music in the limo. “Why the hell didn’t you bring him along?”

  Why hadn’t she? Because he knew she was sick and pitied her, that’s why. When she’d come back to reality, there he’d been, a real life, sexy suited knight in shining Armani, and he’d witnessed her painting her danged toes in public like a lunatic. Nope. Sympathetic looks all night weren’t what she had in mind. She needed a lover who was oblivious to how broken she was. Meredith didn’t have to know that, though.

  “He wasn’t my type.”

  Meredith’s green eyes were the size of flying saucers. “Your type isn’t gorgeous?”

  So she had a point. Graham Hayes had destroyed the human mold and slid right into demigod territory. His dark brown hair was cropped short a
nd his chiseled jaw housed two perfect dimples under radiant sky blue eyes. Even the slight lines etched into his perfectly masculine face said he smiled a lot, and the way his muscles worked against his suit revealed he was every bit as fit as his V-shaped jacket suggested. And he was tall. Not lanky, but built like an unwavering redwood. Though he’d been self-deprecating about his occupation, she’d watched The Bodyguard so many times, she’d finally given in and bought the danged movie a few years back. He was exactly her type.

  If she weren’t dying.

  “Shots!” she yelled, successfully putting a happy smile back on Meredith’s face. Her best friend was many things, easily distracted among them.

  One stiff drink of whiskey later, and the limo stopped in front of a ritzy nightclub called The Boom Boom Room. “Heh,” she chuckled as they piled out of the stretch. Aptly named for her intentions.

  “So,” Meredith said with a squeal, tugging her hand and trailing Lauren and Diana, “my boss rented this place out for the holiday party and everyone who’s anyone will be there.”

  “How much do drinks cost at a place like this?” Linden asked, sliding on a slick patch of late autumn frost. The frigid night air turned to matching chugs of steam in front of their faces, and she rubbed her gooseflesh-covered arms.

  “Who cares? You won’t be buying a single drink in that dress, honey. We’ll be fending the boys off you all night.”

  Dark with red lit-up accents, The Boom Boom Room had a circular bar. Meredith made a beeline for a group of co-workers gathered around it, and Linden followed her and the other girls with a polite wave for the small horde of expectantly smiling, half-schnockered friendlies. Introductions dragged on for eternity until Linden felt the first dust bunny swirls of dizziness and excused herself to the bathroom to medicate in the peace of an empty stall. When she emerged feeling a little more present, the girls were nowhere to be found. The crowd had grown substantially, and she tugged at the hem of her skirt, self-conscious. How did one secure a one-night-stand?