Destiny's Shift

by Fall, Carly

  Destiny's Shift

  by

  Carly Fall

  Copyright 2012 by Westward Publishing

  Smashwords Edition

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to you, dear reader. Thank you for loving the Six Saviors as much as I do.

  With love,

  Carly

  Chapter 1

  Jovan looked around the room and two words came to mind: bored and stressed. The black walls made sure that the lighted stage was the sole focus in the room. How one could be bored and stressed all at once he didn’t know, but there he was, the two emotions teetering on each side of the scale fighting for the top spot.

  “Wow. She’s flexible.”

  Jovan turned and looked at the female on stage that had caught Cohen’s eye.

  “And strong,” said Talin. “That shit is hard to do.”

  Jovan watched as the female slid down the brass pole upside down, her legs spread wide, her only clothing—a gold G-string—glittering in the pulsing lights.

  As she glided down the shiny pole, her long, bleached-blonde hair fanned out below her. She stopped her descent inches before her head hit the ground and then back-flipped off the pole and began gyrating on another one.

  “And when was the last time you were up on a stripper’s pole, Talin?” Cohen asked, his eyes never leaving the blonde.

  “Never, you asshole,” Talin said, taking a sip of his thirteen-dollar beer. “But think of the laws of physics and gravity. Anyone with half a brain could calculate the pressure . . .”

  And that was when Jovan tuned out. Talin blew the IQ test off the charts and seemed to think that everyone else wanted to hear about gravity and physics and other shit no one really cared about.

  Saying the female sliding down the pole upside down was strong was definitely an accurate statement, but he didn’t need to know the how’s or why’s of it all.

  He deeply cared about his two friends and fellow Warriors, Cohen and Talin, but sometimes even the people you cared about bored you into tuning in on your own frequency, and blocking theirs out.

  They were crammed into a booth at a strip club in downtown Phoenix, Jovan being sure that he didn’t accidently bump a leg or arm of Talin or Cohen. Tonight was their last night in the city. It was November, and the weather was wonderful, but their fellow Warriors and their mates were craving a real winter with snow, wind, rain, and ball-shrinking temperatures, so they were heading for Fernley, Nevada, where all wishes would be granted.

  Jovan would have preferred to stay exactly where they were. He liked the mild temperatures Phoenix offered in the winter when he could ride his Harley, the wind whipping around him creating a blessed vacuum effect of where he couldn’t hear anything but his own thoughts. But he had to go where the boss, Noah, told him to, so the Fernley missile silo it was. After the Cold War, America wanted to show the Russians that they were willing to play nice and decommissioned a bunch of missile silos across the nation. Some were put up for sale, and Noah had picked up a few of them, without the missiles, of course, and had them fixed up with the best of everything. They were comfortable to live in, and provided the security the Six Saviors needed.

  He reminded himself that a good snowpack in Fernley would provide an excellent arsenal of snowballs.

  Scanning the bar, he thought about how much things had changed over the past year and a half for him and his fellow Warriors.

  They had arrived on Earth two hundred and twelve years ago, their mission to hunt and destroy the Colonists, the evil from their planet SR44. Things hadn’t gone exactly as planned, and they ended up staying a lot longer than they thought they would.

  For over two centuries, they had blended in and interacted with humans while fulfilling their mission of killing Colonists. They had fun, they messed around, and they enjoyed the pleasures of Earth, mainly the women and the booze, but it had always been the six of them. Then, somehow, females started infiltrating the Six Saviors, and three months ago, Hudson, another one of his fellow Warriors, and his mate, Beverly, added a baby to the mix. Man, from what Hudson had told him, that birth had been close to being a complete disaster, and they were lucky that Beverly and the baby were even around.

  As cute as three-month-old Killian was with his head full of black hair and light yellow eyes at night, it was fucking nuts. And listening to Hudson, an assassin and who could be one of the meanest, nastiest, mother fuckers Jovan had ever laid eyes on make cooing noises over the little guy made Jovan want to laugh and lose his lunch all at the same time.

  He turned from the stage where the blonde was now handing over the reins to a brunette dressed in a nurse’s uniform, and the pulsing beat of Mötley Crüe’s “Dr. Feelgood” blasted through the speakers.

  Now this I fucking like, he heard Cohen think. Jovan sighed and shut his eyes. About a hundred and fifty years ago, he had developed the ability to get a glimpse of people’s feelings by simply touching them. What he hadn’t told anyone was that the gift was getting stronger, and he could now hear people’s thoughts as well.

  He had absolutely no control over any of it, and it was hit and miss, but when it hit, he hated it.

  Humans were naturally negative, and he had been able to avoid that by simply not being in contact with them, hence he wouldn’t get a glimpse of their emotions. In a nutshell, he pretty much kept to himself until this whole I-can-hear-what-you’re-thinking-bullshit surfaced, and now he was pretty certain he would have to buy an island and live by himself to keep his sanity.

  I am a rock. I am an island.

  Yeah, he was so rolling with that Simon and Garfunkel tune.

  Hell, he couldn’t even take a piss in the strip club in peace without hearing others’ thoughts. I wonder what my wife’s doing? I’m glad I told my girlfriend I was at Frank’s tonight. How much would the stripper dressed as a policewoman cost for a roll in the sheets?

  He was certain it was going to make him bat-shit crazy, and he really didn’t know how he was going to handle the rest of his life having others’ thoughts intrude on his own. Hence, the stress.

  Not to mention the other half of his so-called gift. Humans were the garbage dump of emotions. He tried so hard to avoid touching others, and being touched.

  Opening his eyes and running his hand through his shoulder-length blond hair, he looked at the stage again. Of course Cohen would like the nurse. He was the healer of their band of merry fucking Warriors, and a nurse would crank him into overdrive.

  Yeah, the brunette was pretty, and she had a nice set of double-D’s going on, but he turned to look at what had caught his eye since he walked into the joint.

  She was serving drinks dressed in a French maid costume, the black fabric a little too short, the white apron cinched tightly at her small waist. She appeared to be in her mid-twenties, and her brown hair hung to her chin in tight ringlets. When she had served his drink, her dark eyes landed on him for a split second, a glint of fear in them. She was pretty in a very subdued, shy way, which of course got his curiosity up. He wondered what was going on with her. Minding his own business was usually the motto, but something about her being in this place felt fundamentally wrong.

  She didn’t have the sass or swag of the other women working in the club, and there wasn’t any of the usual flirting that went on between the strippers, servers, and patrons. Her movements were jilted and laced with uncertainty, and she rarely made eye contact with anyone for more than a second or two.

  He watched her fake a smile at some guy, then shake her head and take a step back. The guy reached for her, and she took another step back. Jovan was just about to go and teach the guy some manners when a bouncer stepped in and whispered something to the male, making him shrink in his seat.

  Jo
van turned back to the nurse and tried to block out Talin’s thoughts as the girl slowly slid down into the splits and ripped open the front of her nurse’s outfit to expose a white lacy bra.

  I wonder if those are real or not?

  Shit. He didn’t need to be hearing this stuff. Correction: he didn’t want to hear this stuff. He wanted to be alone with his own thoughts and not have the thoughts of others setting up camp in his brain.

  Jovan slung back the rest of his beer, and the French maid appeared before him as he set the bottle down.

  “Please, may I get you something to drink, sir?”

  Wow. She really had this whole submissive maid service thing down pat with the verbiage and not meeting his eyes. “Yeah, I’ll take another one,” Jovan said.

  If they aren’t real, I wonder about the composite make-up of the implants that make them look so natural.

  Oh, hell. Just please, shut up, Talin!

  “Forget the one,” Jovan said. “Get me two beers and a shot of Jager.”

  The French maid smiled slightly and bowed her head. “As you wish,” she said, and she bee-lined it for the bar.

  As Jovan watched her go, he was again struck with the thought that there was something fundamentally wrong with her being in this place, and her fancy linguistics weren’t a big put-on.

  Looking at his watch, he realized the sun would be going down in half an hour and he needed to scoot. For his kind, when the sun went down, his eyes glowed his true being of an SR44 male, a bright, emerald green. He looked down at his big hands, hoping he would one day see his home and get back to his true smoky form, but lately uncertainty had began to seep into his mind.

  He pushed his doubts aside and turned his attention back to the stage. The nurse was done, and out came a cowgirl in a white bra and brown leather chaps.

  Jovan sighed again, and despite the onslaught of thoughts from others, bored was winning over stress. “I didn’t put my contacts in, so I’m going to have to blow here in a bit,” he said to Talin and Cohen. The contacts were developed by Talin a few years back to dull the glow of their eyes after dark.

  “How come?” Cohen asked, pushing a flop of hair out of his eyes, his gaze never leaving the cowgirl on stage.

  “Just didn’t.” Actually, he didn’t put them in because he loved the adrenaline rush of possibly being seen with his eyes glowing. He ran his fingers through his hair again, moving it out of his face.

  “Rapunzel called. She wants her hair back,” Talin said, looking at him.

  Jovan glared at Talin. Yeah, he needed a haircut, but he didn’t want a stranger’s hands on him. Who knew what shit he would feel, and right now, he was pretty unstable in the whole touchy-feely gift department. He had no control over it, and people’s thoughts came at him at random. With his so-called gift getting stronger, sometimes if he touched someone he would get a glimpse of their emotions; other times it would be a tidal wave, and they would settle into him as if they were his own.

  The French maid came back to their table and deposited Jovan’s drinks down in front of him.

  “Thanks,” he said above the country music, which grated on his already battered nervous system. He hated country music.

  “But of course,” she said, never quite meeting his eyes. “It is my duty to serve, nonetheless, I must ask a favor of you, sir.”

  “Sure. What do you need?”

  “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, if you would please tender your bill, I would be very grateful. My shift is at its completion, and I must take leave.”

  Gotcha. She needed her tips.

  “No problem,” Jovan said, pulling out some bills. “This should cover it, and you can keep the change.”

  She picked up the money, and her eyes grew wide. “But, sir, this is far too much!”

  “Don’t worry about it. Have a good night.”

  “But, sir, I simply cannot accept this level of generosity! It’s not—”

  “Seriously, don’t worry about it, honey.”

  Finally meeting his eyes, she stared at him for a beat, obviously surprised by his fifty-dollar tip. Then she put her hand on her chest and bowed her head. “Thank you, sir. Your generous gift is very much appreciated.”

  He watched as she turned and walked away, thinking about her gesture. It was the same gesture as one would make on SR44 when giving a vow, making a promise, or giving thanks.

  He shook his head, thinking how ridiculous it was that a human’s small movement made him think of SR44. He obviously had been around humans too long.

  As the French maid passed the table that had hassled her before, the guys said something, and she glanced at them briefly. She shook her head, and they laughed.

  She went through a door painted black so it blended in with the wall, then emerged a few minutes later with a dark, long coat and headed for the side door leading out to the back alley.

  Jovan watched her slip out the door and was about to turn back to the stage, but then he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. The guys at the table who had hassled her headed for the back door, then stepped out into the back alley.

  “Aw, shit,” he said, and slammed back his Jagermeister. He usually stuck to the hard and fast rule of minding his own business and keeping his distance from most people. He never donned the cape and tights and jumped into the savior role, especially with humans. He had one responsibility as far as he was concerned, and that was killing Colonists to keep the humans safe. Otherwise, humans weren’t good for much.

  Especially the males.

  However, he could see this situation with the French maid and the asshole humans had the potential of going directly into the shitter.

  “What’s up?” Talin asked.

  Jovan thought about telling Talin and Cohen the possible problem situation, but decided to keep it to himself. Maybe a little confrontation would spark that adrenaline rush he liked so much, and with that adrenaline rush he could cross off bored from his list of emotions. And, if he got a little physical, maybe it would relieve some of the stress. It would be a win-win for him. Except that he would have to touch them. But connecting his fist to someone’s jaw was a little different that getting a haircut. The blow would be quick, and the emotions would be nothing but a flash.

  He could deal with that.

  “I’m heading out. I’ll see you later.”

  “Catch you on the flipside, man.” Cohen loved throwing around clichés.

  Jovan made his way to the alley door and pushed it open. He looked up at the sky and judged the sun would be setting in about twenty minutes. Glancing around the alley, he just wanted to make sure those guys were leaving and not on their way to giving the French maid any trouble.

  So put him in some tights and call him fucking Superman.

  He heard scuffling down at the end of the alley, a little whimper, and then some laughter.

  Oh, hell.

  Jogging toward the noise, he promised he would not kill anyone, even though he was jacked-up enough to do so. No, he would simply break up this little party and that would be the end of it.

  He came to a doorway, and sure enough, there was the French maid cornered by the two assholes from the strip joint. Tears ran down her pretty cheeks as one of the men reached for her coat.

  “C’mon, baby, we know you’re a bad girl playing hard to get.”

  “I beg of you, please cease this behavior,” she said in a shaky voice.

  “Oh, you’re good,” said the other man, “but you can drop the act now.”

  Jovan had heard and seen enough, and he was thinking it might be fun to kill one of these fuckers. He’d never killed a human before, but there was a first time for everything.

  He pulled one guy out of the doorway and threw him into the dumpster, then grabbed the other guy and slammed him against the building. Dumpster Boy came rushing at him, and Jovan spun the wallflower around so that they crashed into each other. He put himself between the French maid and the two men, then crossed his arm
s over his chest as if he had just swatted a couple of flies, not two human men. Both got up off the ground and came at him.

  “You don’t want to do that, boys,” Jovan drawled.

  “You need to mind your own fucking business,” Dumpster Boy said.

  Jovan shrugged. “My mama always told me I sucked at boundaries.”

  “Fuck your mama,” Dumpster Boy hissed. I’m going to take out my knife and cut this guy.

  “And trust me, sweetheart,” Jovan said, “you don’t want to take out that knife, because a guy coming at me with a knife makes me really cranky. And I can’t begin to tell you how cranky I’m feeling right now.”

  Dumpster Boy stopped dead in his tracks and his face went pale. The wallflower, on the other hand, didn’t catch what just went down and lunged at Jovan.

  Jovan heard a squeal behind him, but ignored it. He set his body into a fluid motion of kicks and punches, and five seconds later the wallflower was out cold on the ground.

  Looking at Dumpster Boy, he could hear the French maid’s thoughts. I must leave this area . . . she repeated over and over, and Jovan could feel the anxiety rolling off her even though he was three feet away.

  “I suggest you see just how fast you can run, you cocksucker,” he whispered to Dumpster Boy, who took his advice.

  Turning to the French maid, he felt the anger evaporate. She crouched in the doorway shaking, looking so innocent and pure. He was more certain than ever that she didn’t belong in a strip club slinging drinks, and he felt bad that she had to witness the violence he’d doled out.

  She slowly turned his head and met his gaze, her dark eyes glimmering with tears of terror.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said gruffly, as he offered his hand to help her up. After a moment, she gently laid her hand into his, and he pulled her up, feeling a jolt of her fear and anxiety.

  She took a moment to rearrange her coat, then said in a quiet voice, “Truly, I thank you for saving me the humiliation of another male laying his hands on me, however, I must take my leave now.”

  Briefly she met his eyes again.