Shifter Wars Complete Series

by Sarah J. Stone

  "So, that's all I am to you?" Kendra asked, snatching her underwear from where they'd been tossed and pulling them on. "Just another girl to bang when you've got the time?"

  "Hey, you knew what this was when we started seeing each other."

  Kendra narrowed her eyes at Kyle as she snapped her flesh-colored bra together and fit it on around her full breasts, the flesh jiggling tantalizingly.

  "I thought we had something special going on," she said. "You told me I wasn't like any of the girls you'd ever dated."

  Geez, thought Kyle. For a fox shifter, she's not very shrewd; that's a line any girl should've spotted a mile away.

  "Well, you're not. You're a great girl, Kelly, but I just don't have the time to give you the commitment you'd deserve."

  Kendra's green eyes went wide and her mouth tightened. Wearing nothing but her bra and panties, she stomped over to the threshold of the balcony.

  "What did you call me?"

  Shit, thought Kyle. Shit, shit, shit–Kelly was two months ago.

  "Kendra! What'd you think I said?"

  "I don't know what to be more fucking pissed about–the fact that we've been screwing for weeks, and you don't even know my name, or the fact that your little slip means you've probably been banging that little, minx slut, Kelly?"

  "She's . . . um, she's nothing compared to you, baby." Nice save, Kyle thought to himself sarcastically.

  Her face in an expression of pure rage, Kendra stomped back into the apartment and found the rest of her clothes. She slipped into her skin-tight, black pencil skirt and buttoned up her white, nearly sheer blouse, her cleavage clearly visible through the fabric. Watching her dress, Kyle was almost starting to regret not taking her up on round two.

  Finally, she stepped into her black heels and tied her hair up into a quick ponytail. Kyle wondered if she might just explode in anger right then and there. But, instead, she walked quietly towards the door, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor.

  Is she really just going to leave like that, no scene or anything?

  But, just as the words dissipated in his mind, Kendra whipped around towards Kyle, her eyes now shifted into yellow animal slits.

  "Here's what I think of your precious, fucking apartment!"

  She held up her hand, now shifted into a fox's paw, the claws razor-sharp. With a growl and a swipe, Kendra cut into the wall near the front door, four long, dark gouges slicing into it.

  "Aw, seriously?" asked Kyle, his head lolling backward.

  "Right by the front door," said Kendra. "Just take a look at that any time you're thinking about going out and bringing some other girl back here. This is what you get for fucking with my heart!"

  With that, she pulled the door open, stepped out, and slammed it shut behind her, the thud sounding out through the apartment.

  Kyle gave it a moment, making sure that she wasn't going to throw the door open and launch some more choice, parting invectives his way. A minute passed, and he realized he was in the clear. He walked up to the claw mark in the wall, running his fingertips over the deep gouges.

  God, he thought, how the hell am I gonna explain this to the building manager?

  Figuring there was nothing to be done about it now, Kyle took his iPad off of the kitchen counter where it lay charging and turned on his stereo, the mellow strains of Al Green's Let's Stay Together filling his apartment.

  Lyrics are a little inappropriate for the situation, but a jam's a jam, he thought, half dancing his way into the bedroom and checking himself out in the mirror, noting with no small amount of pride how good he looked in his slim-fit, charcoal trousers, his crisp, white dress shirt, and glossy, double-monk dress shoes. He opened his drawer as the music continued on, scanning his vast collection of suit jackets. Settling on a jet-black jacket with a subtle, white outline, he slipped it over his shoulders, noting how the black of his jacket was nearly as dark as the black of his hair. Ducking into the bathroom, he pulled his hair into a tight, slicked back style.

  Almost look like ‘Count Real Estate Agent’ with this look, he thought to himself.

  Just as he took one last look at his whole ensemble in the mirror, the chiming of his cell phone sounded, the tinny ring cutting through the music. Kyle strode over to where it sat on the sleek, white surface of his kitchen island and looked at the screen, shaking his head with a grin on his face when he saw that it was an unknown caller, which could only mean one person. Turning down the music, he flicked the screen to answer the call, bringing it onto the apartment's stereo system.

  "Hey, Winnie," said Kyle, leaning back against the kitchen island. "What's shakin'?"

  "I really wish you wouldn't call me that," said the sultry, woman’s voice now being piped into the apartment.

  "It's just because I love you," said Kyle.

  The voice on the other end sighed before speaking.

  Winston Emery was Kyle’s handler in the Sapien organization. In charge of gathering the intelligence for the various operations that Kyle executed, her job required the serious disposition that she had in spades. Not to mention the patience to handle his constant flirtations.

  "We've got a little bit of a situation."

  "Oh?" said Kyle. "You didn't get any . . . um, complaints from anyone in any of the fox clans in the last few minutes, did you?"

  "No," said Winston. "Though if you're suggesting that you're already making more work for me today because you can't keep your dick in your pants, I'm not going to be happy."

  "Aw, Winston–you know the real reason you’re not happy is because you haven’t given in to my charming advances.”

  "Oh, I’m sure,” said Winston, realizing she was getting sidetracked. "Anyway, stop screwing around; we have serious matters to discuss."

  "Fine, fine," said Kyle, a small smile crossing his face. "Lay it on me."

  "It's the Bianchi clan."

  "Oh?" asked Kyle. "The wolves? But, haven't they been off the radar for the last couple of years?"

  "Yes, they have been, which we should've been paying more attention to, in retrospect."

  "This doesn't sound good," said Kyle.

  "It's not. They've re-emerged on the scene in the last few days, and we've learned that they've been spending their time buying up properties around the city under various anonymous holding companies. And, now, they've consolidated their purchases."

  "Well, good for them, I guess."

  "A real-estate whiz like you should know what this implies: they're worth an unbelievable amount of money now."

  "Aw, you think I'm a whiz? Thanks, Win."

  "Stay focused."

  "Yeah, yeah," said Kyle. "So, they're worth a fortune. So what?"

  "You know that things have been tense between the bear and wolf clans in the last few years."

  "Right, but we've still got that peace treaty."

  "True, but a treaty is only worth anything if the parties concerned agree to honor it."

  "And, you think the Bianchis won't?"

  "We don't know. If they've amassed as much money as we think they might've over the last few years, they could be planning something."

  "Yeah," said Kyle, now understanding the seriousness of the situation. "The wolves and the bears being equal resource-wise is one of the only reasons we've been able to keep a peace going. We're so evenly-matched that any kind of fight would just get dragged out until no one was a winner."

  "Now you're getting it," said Winston. "And, there's more."

  "Great."

  "We've just gotten word that they're looking to make a huge purchase. You're familiar with four-thirty-five west fifty-seventh?"

  Kyle's eyes widened. "You bet your ass I am. Big-ass tower going up near Central Park. Worth a goddam fortune."

  "They're looking to become primary holders of the property."

  "You're kidding; the entire building? That thing's gotta be worth . . . ."

  "Three-point-three billion."

  "With that kind of money . . . they
'd do more than upset the balance of power; they'd topple the whole fucking thing over."

  "And, that's why the deal can't go through."

  "Well, what am I supposed to do about it? If they've got the money, then they've got the money."

  "Well, you're one of our top intelligence agents," said Winston. "It's your job to figure it out. And, with your skill in the real estate market, I figured you'd be a natural fit for the job."

  "Hey, I'm a real estate dilettante."

  "That hasn't prevented you from making a fortune."

  "Got me there."

  "I'm going to send you the information for the firm that's facilitating the negotiations. We have it on good authority that there's going to be a meeting tonight between the firm, the Bianchis, and the group that's currently holding the building. I recommend dropping into the firm tomorrow and finding out what you can. We've made an appointment for you with Mr. Roger Delany, one of the firm's partners."

  "Then it sounds like a plan."

  "And, I trust you'll approach this mission with your usual professionalism?" asked Winston, suspicion in her voice.

  "Win," said Kyle, a glint in his eye. "You know I wouldn't do it any other way."

  CHAPTER 3

  It was late in the day, and Josephine felt restless in anticipation of the meeting. She'd gone over as much as she could in preparation, jamming in her head as much information about the holding group and the tower being negotiated on as possible. She still had a hard time coming to grips with just how much money was on the table: the value of the tower was in the billions, and the purchase of entire buildings like this, especially brand-new luxury towers on some of the most expensive real estate in the country, if not the planet, was about as high-scale as these sorts of deals got. Frustrated with Mr. Delany for dropping this on her the day of, she did her best to calm herself down.

  He wouldn't have me sitting in on the meeting if he didn't think I could handle it, she told herself. Besides, he'll be doing all the negotiating; I'll just be handing him information and taking notes.

  Trying to find things to do to occupy her hands, she decided to head into the break room and make a cup of coffee.

  He probably just wants me to be present at the meeting so that I can have experience with high-stakes negotiations. Yeah, that's it. He's taking me under his wing, showing me the ropes.

  As the Keurig machine whirred to life and poured a cup of steaming black coffee into a blue ceramic mug, she began to feel a little better.

  But knowing me, I'll find some way to screw it up. Watch me hand over the wrong sheet of paper, blow the negotiations, and cost the firm millions of dollars.

  Her hands wrapped around the hot mug, Jo's mind began to race with all of the possible things that could go wrong.

  What would even happen if lost the firm millions? That's probably money that Mr. Delany's planning on putting in his retirement fund. If I fucked this up, then I'd be ruining the rest of his life. He'd have to work more years than he was planning to in order to make up for it, which means he'll spend less time with his family, which means his relationship with them will be strained, maybe his kids won't talk to him, his wife'll leave him, and he'll be old, miserable, and alone, all because I screwed up a meeting.

  Jo shook her head, snapping herself back to reality.

  Okay, this is getting insane. Just go to the meeting and do what Mr. Delany says. It'll be fine.

  She took a slow sip of her coffee, letting the hot liquid perk her up.

  It. Will. Be. Fine.

  She looked around the nearly empty office, noting how strange it was to not hear the usual bustle of work. For some reason, the group didn't want to meet during the workday, insisting on having the meeting not just after hours, but well into the evening. Looking at her watch, she saw that it was almost nine.

  Where are they? thought Jo.

  But, before she could wonder for too long, Mr. Delany stepped out of his office. He scanned the work floor for Jo, and when he spotted her near the break room, he beckoned her over with a quick gesture.

  "There you are," he said. "They're on their way up right now."

  Jo felt her stomach tighten. Mr. Delany's soft face was its usual shade of mild red, and a little sweat was glistening on his brow, though Jo couldn't tell if it was from anxiety or from his typical state of exhaustion.

  "Now, this meeting is a big deal, but we're just discussing terms. Nothing's going to be final. So, just take notes and pay attention. If all goes well, we'll be meeting with them again later this week."

  "Okay," said Jo, feeling a little less pressure.

  "But," said Mr. Delany, stammering a bit, "keep quiet. Speak only when spoken to. We can't fuck this up."

  And, just like that, the pressure returned. Mr. Delany began walking towards the front of the office, Jo keeping up with short, quick steps.

  "Now, these Bianchis are . . . weird. I did a quick video call with them, and they're . . . serious. And, they're young, which is also strange. Ah, there they are."

  Approaching the reception area of the office, Jo spotted a group of four people: two men, and two women. As she and Mr. Delany drew closer, she could see that the four were all clad in the same stylish, dark black, red-accented suits, each tailored to perfection. Moving closer still, the group struck Jo as resembling a group of secret service agents, all serious-faced and standing with stiff, attentive postures.

  Mr. Delany waved to the group as he and Jo approached, and as soon as the group turned towards the two of them, Jo froze in place for a brief moment as the group looked at them with narrowed eyes that almost seemed to glow.

  Jo shook her head, composing herself as she and Mr. Delany arrived in the reception area. As striking as the group appeared to Jo from afar, it was nothing compared to what it was like being up close to them.

  "Welcome," said Mr. Delany, wiping his palm on his slacks before extending it towards the man closest to them. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you all."

  "The pleasure is all ours, I assure you," said the man in a low, melodious voice.

  Jo looked over the group, her eyes leaping from face to face, noting that each of the four wasn't simply attractive, but stunningly good-looking. The men had faces that seemed chiseled from marble, with strong jaws, jutting, square chins, and piercing, brown eyes, all set under thick heads of rich, oak-colored hair. The women were equally gorgeous, with tall cheekbones, full lips sheened with lipstick of a sensual red, and the same oak eyes, bright and almond-shaped. Their hair was tied back in tight ponytails and their figures were trim. All members of the group had the same scheming, scanning eyes, and confident, poised posture, their ties all the same matching color of deep, blood red.

  If Jo didn't know better, she would've assumed that they were models on their way to a Tom Ford photo shoot.

  "My name is Mr. Jane," said the man who'd already spoken.

  He turned his gaze to Jo, and something about the way his narrow eyes looked at her made her feel small and vulnerable, like she was a prey animal who'd just gained the attention of a top predator.

  Mr. Delany introduced himself before turning to Jo.

  "This is my executive assistant, Josephine Walsh."

  "Um, call me ‘Jo'," she said, her voice coming out small and meek.

  "She'll be taking close notes," said Mr. Delany.

  ‘Close notes'? thought Jo, the pressure in within her feeling like a screw being tightened further and further.

  "Wonderful," said Mr. Jane, extending his hand towards the offices. "We're ready to begin if you are."

  "Of course, of course," said Mr. Delany, leading them back.

  The group began walking towards the meeting room. As they walked, Jo felt the urge to keep close to Mr. Delany. She felt something from the group, an ominous sense of menace. And, she wasn't sure, but she sensed that she could feel the three other members of the group looking at her out of the corner of their eyes, their glances flicking from her to each other, as though
they were sizing Jo up.

  It's like they're looking at me like I'm dinner or something, she thought to herself, feeling uncomfortable under their glances.

  Soon, they arrived at a large set of double doors. Mr. Delany pushed them open, revealing a large meeting area furnished with a long table of dark wood and lined with elegant chairs of black leather. Floor to ceiling windows looked out onto the glittering span of Manhattan, the sky an inky black above, the full moon hanging like a freshly-minted silver dollar floating in oil.

  "Never stops being incredible, does it not?" asked Mr. Jane, walking towards the windows with long, easy strides and clasping his hands behind his back as he looked out onto the city.

  "Yeah," said Mr. Delany, plopping into a seat. "Quite a thing."

  "I consider myself uniquely privileged to be able to claim ownership to a small part of this great city."

  As he looked out of the window, his three companions–who had yet to say a single word between them–slid into three adjacent seats with silent grace.

  "Ah, and there it is," said Mr. Jane, gesturing to an illuminated spire off in the distance, a single building among many sky scrapers. "The property in question. Fitting that it should be looming over us like a silent witness."

  Mr. Delany and Jo exchanged a brief glance, both seemingly of the same mind regarding this strange group.

  "Jo, go ahead and sit down," said Mr. Delany, gesturing to a chair near him.

  "Of course," said Jo, taking her seat.

  But, Mr. Jane remained standing, his tall figure behind his three seated companions, his arms spanned over the backs of the chairs.

  "Let's get to it, shall we?" asked Mr. Jane, his voice slithery and oil-slicked.

  "Of course," said Mr. Delany, organizing his notes in front of him. "Jo?"

  Jo took this as her cue, removing the freshly-printed reports from her bag and handing them over to the members of the group. And, as she did so, each of the three kept their eyes locked on hers, their mouths all twisted into the same sly smile, baring just a hint of teeth that Jo could almost swear were sharpened to points.

  What's with these people? she asked herself, the feeling of vulnerability more prominent than ever.