Master's Blood (The Shifter Chronicles 6)

by M. D. Grimm

  Poe shoved things into his bag with more force than necessary, and his annoyance continued to grow as the reality of his mission sunk in. The enormity of the realization that he would ultimately fail was gradually darkening his mood. He also had a gut feeling that Anu was sending him away. That or there was a definite ulterior motive to this mission.

  The apartment was silent and lifeless. It only made him hear his mind louder. The futility of this mission, the worry over Josh, the anger over the Knights―all of it was bouncing around in his head and there was nothing to distract him. Poe took a deep breath, and the air smelled stale―he never opened the windows.

  Scowling, Poe stood for a moment in front of his couch where his backpack sat, filled to near bursting. He was supposed to be doing this with his parents―he loved camping, hiking, fishing, and enjoyed the steadiness of nature’s rhythms. But that had been taken from him. He was still camping but the enjoyment had been sucked out of it. There would be no daylong hikes, no stories around the campfire about his father’s childhood in Iceland or his mother’s childhood in Ireland. There was no forgetting he was an agent and just being a son. Not this time.

  This time he was on Agency business.

  Poe had contacted Odin as soon as he’d reached his apartment and knew that his friend would keep an eye on things when he was gone, especially on the chief. Odin felt the same way as Poe about that slick son of a bitch. But Poe had yet to call his parents. He shouldn’t put it off to the last minute. It was cowardly and would only make the conversation worse.

  Sighing, zipping his bag shut, Poe took out his cell phone and called. It rang three times before it was answered by a gruff and familiar voice. Thorgold Bjarnarsonar, his father, answered in his usual manner.

  “If you be selling something I suggest you hang up now before I tan your hide.”

  Poe grinned. God, he’d missed that accent. “Is that any way to speak to your son?”

  “Lad! Good of you to call!” His father’s voice changed instantly, from gruff and ornery to warm and joyful. “Haven’t heard from you in a fortnight!”

  Poe rolled his eyes. His father’s vocabulary sometimes made him stick out almost as much as his appearance.

  “Yeah well. Been busy. You know.”

  “Aye, I know, lad. I know,” Thorgold said. “I’m still offering my help, son. Wish you’d take it.”

  “I know, Dad.” The irritation and worry that had weighed Poe down for months now eased a little at the unconcealed love and support in his father’s voice. He closed his eyes and sat on the arm of his couch, wishing for time to simply listen to his father’s voice, to be soothed by the heavy tone and accented melody.

  “I wish I could,” Poe said. “But it’s Agency business. You know how it is.”

  Thorgold grunted. “So, why are you calling, lad?”

  Poe braced himself. “Something, um, major has come up, and I have to push off my vacation.”

  There was a tense silence on the other line before Thorgold suddenly shouted. At Poe’s mother. He grimaced.

  “Bronach! Your son’s hedging out of seeing us again!”

  “Dammit, Dad!” Poe said aggrieved. “That’s not how it is! I want to visit you guys but―”

  “But what?” Bronach took the phone, and her deep, smooth Irish voice cut Poe off instantly. “But what, Byron? What possible reason is there for not seeing us? When we haven’t seen each other in years?”

  Poe winced when she used his birth name. He never did have much affection for the name his parents had saddled him with. But when his mother used it, it made it so much worse― especially in that tone. She sounded calm but disappointed.

  Poe inhaled deeply. “Mom, I’m sorry. I really am, but there’s something I have to do first before I can come down to you and Dad. I just have to postpone it. It has to do with the Knights and―and a master shifter.”

  “I don’t care, Byron,” his mother said. “Do you hear me? I. Don’t. Care. I want you home. I want my son home.”

  Poe rubbed his eyes when they burned and realized his hands were trembling. “I love you, Mom. But I can’t. I got the order from the chief.”

  Curse him to everlasting hell.

  “And you wanted to be an agent,” Bronach said bitterly. Poe felt very small at that moment― an ameba. His parents had been nothing but loving and supportive through his entire life, and he ended up choosing a job that required him to have minimal contact with them. In fact, during the first couple of years as an aide, he was cut off entirely from his family, and all his days were taken up with Agency duties. The Agency became his life. He knew what he’d signed up for but―he was never able to explain that sufficiently to his mother.

  “I have to go, Mom,” Poe said softly. “I love you both. I’ll see you as soon as I can.”

  “You had better.” He heard the tears in his mother’s voice. “I love you, Byron.”

  Poe hung up and dragged his feet as he finished his packing. He slung his heavy bag on his back and grabbed Nordik’s folder. He stopped at the door and chose one of his handguns and some ammo, as well as the axe his father had given him on his sixteenth birthday. He slipped the axe through a loop strap on his pack and tucked the gun into the holster at his waist. He wasn’t going to hunt when he was in Sanctuary―but he wasn’t going to go in there naked, either.

  Poe left his motorcycle in his apartment’s underground garage and took one of the Agency’s vehicles. It was an old beat-up truck but it would get him to Montana and back well enough. Once he reached Haven, the shifter town that sat alongside Sanctuary, he would park and continue on foot into the national park.

  Blaring his music, he drove down the highway, knowing it would take several days to reach the little town of Haven. It would be too conspicuous to get a helicopter ride, and he’d learned on his first day at the Agency that everything an agent did needed to be discreet and under the radar. Even if Haven was populated with shifters and shifter-friendly humans, he shouldn’t draw attention to himself. He would also need the time to come up with a game plan.

  Besides, he hated flying. Loathed it. With a passion. He avoided airports like the plague whenever possible and the death tubes with wings that came with them. Helicopters gave him the same nerves as airplanes. No one knew. He made sure no one did.

  He’d rather drive.

  Hours passed, and Poe was in the middle of Wyoming and stopped at a rest area. The weather was mild, and he could only hope it stayed that way. He’d brought along various articles of clothing for different weather conditions and hoped at least that much would be made easy for him, or at least endurable. Montana wasn’t exactly hospitable climate-wise.

  After he walked around the rest area to stretch his legs and used the facilities, he took out Nordik’s file and flipped through it. There was laughably little to be gained from its contents. Poe wasn’t surprised. Master shifters were notorious for being unknown. The only reason the Agency even knew that master shifters existed was from its interactions with regular shifters over the years. Few agents over the centuries had actually met a master shifter—and lived to tell about it.

  Even to the regular shifters, master shifters were an unknown. There were some that considered them folklore or mythological creatures, but the folks in Haven knew better. Not only was Haven founded by the master wolf shifter, Imelda, the citizens of there were all too well aware of Nordik’s presence. Because of that, Nordik was the master shifter most seen in recent years. The others were supposedly in Europe and Asia, keeping a low profile. But Nordik didn’t appear to shy away from the spotlight. Poe studied a couple of old photos supposedly of Nordik―standing next to an older Abraham Lincoln.

  Holy shit.

  Nordik certainly knew where to position himself when he was in human form. The eyewitness accounts claimed that he was slightly shorter than six feet, lean, with the oddest coloring: white hair with dark skin. Even from the black and white photographs, Poe could make out that Nordik was of Native Ameri
can descent, or perhaps First Nations in Canada. His high cheekbones, strong chin and nose, and all-around masculine yet beautiful face marked him as one. Poe felt a sudden urge to meet the shifter. Aside from the inconvenience of finding the damn shifter, this was an amazing opportunity!

  If Poe succeeded, he would be meeting a historical figure, a shifter who’d been there during the Civil War, who’d lived through events most today couldn’t fathom. He would be getting a firsthand account of what it was like to live through World War I and World War II, the building of the railroads, actual honest-to-goodness cowboys. The forming of national parks….

  Poe leaned against the truck and looked away from the photos. Nordik must know a lot about a lot of things. Suddenly, this mission didn’t seem so awful. It was still horribly inconvenient considering Josh’s whereabouts were still unknown. But what could he do?

  Conflicted, Poe got back into his truck and continued on his way.

  It was evening when Poe arrived at Haven only a day later. The sun hung low over the horizon, and the air was clear and a little chilly. There was no snow in sight, though he wouldn’t be surprised if it started falling any minute. A few people were still out on the streets, but most were indoors, either in restaurants or their homes. Poe kept driving, noticing the quaint businesses, the houses. It was obvious that this town had been here for generations. Just look at those old-timey buildings and their materials and structures! It was a peaceful, almost quaint town, and he wondered what it would be like to live in such a place. The Agency could be considered a small town all its own, and everyone knew everyone, but it certainly wasn’t peaceful. There was always a battle to be fought. He suspected that he would be bored out of his mind if he lived in a place like Haven.

  Poe drove slowly past the sheriff’s station and noted the lights were off. He continued down a side street and squinted as he read the addresses of the houses on his left and right. When he reached his destination, he gently bumped the curb and parked in front of a modest one-story house. It was painted a cheerful yellow with a porch and a swing. It sat in a neat row with other similar houses, and the lawns were all neat and tidy, while the mailboxes sat serenely next to the curb. Yep, he would definitely be bored in this cookie-cutter neighborhood.

  Poe observed his surroundings for a moment before climbing out of the truck, pulling his jacket closer to his body, and walking up the drive. The porch creaked slightly as he stepped up to the door, but it wasn’t a creepy creak. It was more of a well-used-welcome-home creak.

  The door was painted a bland white with a black doorknob. He knocked. A moment later he was staring at a very large, very tall, blond man wearing simple black shades. He wore a modest sweater and jeans with thick socks. He was quite handsome, and Poe wondered, not for the first time, if every shifter was beautiful or handsome. Perhaps it was the innate attraction they exuded: pure primal instinct and freedom.

  “Good afternoon,” Poe said politely. “I’m Agent Poe, I called earlier today. Are you Travis?”

  “I am.” Travis’s voice was deep and tingled over Poe’s nerves nicely. He also lightly sniffed the air and Poe smirked. Shifters. “Come in.”

  Poe stepped over the cougar shifter’s threshold. Genii had told him about Travis and Sheriff Jack Ulger. After reading Genii’s reports, he was inclined to like these two shifters.

  The sheriff himself was sitting on the couch, completely at ease. He ran his piercing silver eyes over Poe, and Poe didn’t allow himself to feel uncomfortable. Instead, he let his own eyes analyze the wolf shifter. Jack was rangy and subtly sexy. He wore close-fitting jeans and a simple gray shirt that left his muscled arms exposed. His brown hair was cropped close to his scalp, and he had a small, trim beard bordering his mouth.

  Poe felt the alpha vibes coming off both shifters and stood straighter, learning long ago to never let shifters intimidate him. It was a lesson hard learned considering all shifters gave off a certain wildness, an instinctual need to dominate that tied Poe’s stomach into knots. No wonder Agent Pan maintained several shifter lovers across the States.

  Focus.

  The house smelled like a home―warm and lived in. A couple of beer bottles sat on the table in front of the couch, and the light scent of cooked meat lingered in the air―they just had dinner. Smelled like pork.

  “I’m a friend of Genii,” Poe said as Travis walked over (gracefully of course) to sit next to Jack. Despite being blind, Travis moved with ease and confidence.

  “So you said on the phone.” Jack’s voice was slightly gravelly, and Poe wished it wasn’t. He had a weakness for such voices.

  “Yes, well.” Poe sat on the arm of a chair across from the two shifters. “I called you because I need your help. I need any information you can give me on the master shifter Nordik.”

  Travis’s entire body jerked, and Jack put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. His reaction was interesting.

  “You were the one he rescued, correct?” Poe asked. “From the assassins of the Knights?”

  “Yes, that’s me,” Travis said with a slight laugh that sounded forced.

  “Why?” Jack demanded, his eyes narrowing. “Why are you asking us this? What is your business with Nordik?”

  Poe considered Travis and gentled his voice. “What’s wrong, Travis? He saved you, right? Why do you fear him?”

  Travis lowered his head.

  “If he doesn’t want to talk―” Jack began heatedly, his eyes slightly glowing. Poe knew that if a shifter’s eyes glowed and their skin rippled, then they were close to shifting. He needed to watch carefully for the rippling skin. Poe winced inwardly―the last thing he needed was to piss off the wolf shifter sheriff in a town full of shifters.

  “No, Jack,” Travis said gently, putting a hand on his mate’s knee. “It’s okay. It just… caught me by surprise.”

  Jack subsided, though his muscles were still tense. The easy atmosphere in the house was long gone, the air thick with tension. Poe braced himself to do his job.

  Travis angled his head toward Poe. “I’m not scared of Nordik, not really, but he had such a presence.” Travis paused. “It was ferocious. He saved my life, and I will always be in his debt. But the sheer size of him and how he shredded those assassins, like they were paper instead of flesh and bone―”

  The cougar shifter shuddered, and Jack put an arm around his shoulders. Poe felt the knots in his stomach tighten and ignored them. Training pushed him onward.

  “Well, it would be expected that a master shifter would be powerful,” he said. “Have you had contact with him since?”

  Travis shook his head. “No.”

  “He keeps to himself, Agent.” Jack’s voice was hard. “If he wanted to be known he would live here in Haven instead of Sanctuary as a bear.”

  Poe tended to agree with him, but he had a mission to accomplish. And he had to admit―he was quite intrigued now. Despite Genii’s report, he didn’t think that a master shifter would scare other shifters. He assumed they all regarded each other as family, albeit a much extended one. Poe was wrong.

  “Have you heard anything about where he might sleep? A cave or a… I don’t know. Meadow? Is there anyone else who might have had contact―?”

  “No,” Jack said. “I’m telling you, no one knows anything about him. Like I said to Agent Genii, you’d be wise to leave him alone.”

  “I’m not going to aggravate him,” Poe said, hoping he wasn’t lying. “But some Agency business has come up, and we hope he can help us.”

  “Agency business?” Jack said with sarcasm. “Would that be the Knights and how you all managed to let the leader slip through your fingers?”

  Poe’s fingers curled into fists, but he kept his voice calm. “The Agency is dedicated to the capture and detainment of Arcas. There is not a day or night that goes by when his location is not being sought.”

  “Maybe if you had planned the op better―” Jack started.

  “You weren’t there!” Poe snapped and stood. He too
k a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. “The Agency is working on it, Sheriff,” Poe said softly. “But it’s a big wide world out there, and Arcas is an expert at staying off the grid.”

  “It’s also a world populated with shifters,” Jack said, his eyes flashing. “Why not set up a network? Why not have shifters look for him as well? We aren’t incompetent, you know. The Agency shouldn’t treat us like infants.”

  Poe’s anger drained away, like water down a sink. He recognized where Jack’s anger was coming from. He felt impotent. Considering Travis had been captured and tortured by the Knights as a teen, experimented on like a lab rat, of course Jack, as Travis’s mate, would want to take action.

  “I don’t think you’re an infant,” Poe said gently. “None of the agents do. But it’s Agency business, and I follow orders.”

  That was the truth of it. Poe was a soldier, and he had his orders. While he might agree with Jack and hated that resources were going to waste, Poe was impotent as well. Jack looked away, and Poe wondered if he could understand that. Travis was angled toward Jack, wearing a sympathetic expression. A faint purr filled the room.

  They didn’t know that Poe himself had led the charge against the Knights, the invasion into their headquarters. And he wasn’t about to tell them. Most agents called it a success, but Poe wasn’t so sure. Arcas had literally slipped through his fingers and vanished like a ghost. He’d even left a taunting message personally for Poe.

  “Haven knows about the Knights,” Jack said suddenly, after a moment of uncomfortable silence. “When agents were posted in Haven after those assassins came for Shannon and Travis, Agent Genii told us why. She made it very clear that we would be protected.” Jack glanced at Travis and rubbed his broad shoulder. “Then you left.”