Shifter Wars Complete Series

by Sarah J. Stone

  "I won't say no to an escort," he said. "After you."

  Jo nodded quickly and walked through the office door as Kyle opened it. As they passed through, Jo moved to Kyle's flank as he strode with long, confident strides through the office floor towards the reception area. Jo's eyes moved here and there, noting the looks of the dozens of girls working, all looking back and forth between her and Kyle, their eyes displaying awe and wonder as they looked at Kyle, then, as if a switch being flicked, turning to icy envy as they looked at Jo.

  I've already got the reputation as the office goody-goody, she thought, holding her laptop close to her chest, and now whatever girl didn't hate me already is going to now.

  "Um, so, are things okay with Mr. Delany?" asked Jo, unsure of what to say but feelings as though she should talk with Kyle as they walked.

  Kyle let out a cocky snort. "I think that question's a little above your pay-grade–no offense."

  Jo's face reddened once again.

  They soon reached the elevators. As they did, Kyle scanned the area around them, as if to make sure that no one was listening in on their conversation. When he confirmed that they were alone, he reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, pulled out a small, silver card case, withdrew a card, and scribbled something on the back.

  He moved close to Jo, so close that Jo's nostrils were filled with his scent–a rich, earthy smell laced with a strange, almost animal musk.

  "Animals, huh?" he said, spinning the card with his fingers.

  "I don't know what I'm talking about," said Jo. "The meeting was just very weird, and then I had the strangest dream last night, th–"

  She stopped talking, cutting herself off for fear of saying anything else foolish. But, Kyle didn't react as though she's said anything odd. Instead, he nodded slightly, as if something that he'd been suspecting had been confirmed.

  "Take this card," he said, slipping his card into her hands. "I know that you and that boss of yours aren't giving me the whole story. You decide you want to talk, or you see anything else strange going on with the Bianchis, anything at all, you call me right away. Got it?"

  Jo looked up at Kyle, seeing that his cocky smirk had turned into something a little sterner and more serious.

  "Okay."

  "Good," said Kyle. “And, I mean ‘anything’.”

  And, with that, he stepped into the elevator, the doors shutting behind him. And, Jo was left alone, feeling as though her life had taken a turn for the impossibly strange.

  CHAPTER 5

  The rest of the day passed at a brisk pace, with the occasional interruption from the rest of the girls in the office asking Jo all about Kyle. One of them–Selena, one of the most notorious office gossips–had spotted Kyle slipping his card into Jo's hand, so now the topic on every woman in the office's mind was whether or not he'd asked her out. And, despite her assurances that it was just a business thing, the wheels of gossip continued to turn.

  Eventually, the office thinned out, and come evening, Jo was overjoyed to have the place mostly to herself as she finished working through a pile of presentations that Mr. Delany had tasked her with. Soon, the sunset and the low lights of the office were the only illumination. Jo was happy to lose herself in her work; the events of everything since the meeting were just too strange for her to want to ponder for too long.

  "Still here?" asked Mr. Delany, poking his head out of his office door.

  "Yep, just finishing up your presentation for next Tuesday."

  "Well, I appreciate your hard work, but why don't you go ahead and take off? Go grab a drink or something with some friends; it's been an . . . odd day."

  "You sure?" asked Jo. "I don't mind."

  "Nah, get out of here. It's Friday; you have the rest of your life to spend your weekends at an office."

  Jo didn't like the idea of leaving her work unfinished, but a glass of wine did sound nice, though she knew she'd prefer to be alone.

  "Okay. Thanks, Mr. Delany," she said, closing her laptop and slipping it into her bag.

  "Yeah, yeah. Have a good weekend."

  With that he shut the door, leaving Jo alone once again.

  Jo stood and stretched, already thinking about the wine that lay ahead. She packed up her things quickly and started off. But, before she left, she spotted Kyle's card lying on her desk. The strange feeling that she shouldn't leave it behind came over her, and looking around furtively at first, as if someone might be watching, she pocketed the card and took off.

  Twenty minutes later, Jo was sitting alone at the bar of a local tavern, a tall glass of pinot noir in front of her. The bar was low-lit with warm, orange lighting and only a handful of patrons were present. She was pleased with this; being in the midst of a loud, Friday-night crowd wasn't at all what she was in the mood for.

  "Nice night, huh?" said a male voice to her left.

  Startled, Jo turned and was face-to-face with a boyish-faced man in a gray suit, his blond hair shaggy and loose around his face.

  "Um, yeah. I suppose."

  "Here by yourself?" he asked, bracing his voice with affected confidence.

  Jo realized right away that this guy was trying to pick her up. Not wanting to seem anti-social, she decided to give him a few minutes rather than brushing him off right away.

  "Yep."

  Jo took a quick sip of her wine. Without asking, the man slid into the chair next to her, evidently taking the fact that she wasn't there with anyone else as an invitation to join her.

  "Crazy night in the city, huh?" he said, the statement striking Jo as flat and generic.

  "Sure."

  You don't know the half of it, buddy, thought Jo.

  The man now next to her, Jo gave him a quick once over. He was a slight man, his thin frame clad in a suit that looked fairly expensive, causing Jo to peg him as a guy that got right into finance after college– that, or a rich kid with Daddy's credit card in his pocket. He had a somewhat handsome face, though so young-looking that Jo wouldn't have been shocked to hear that he was still in high school. He sat with a cocktail in front of him and his arm draped over the bar, his chest puffed up. He struck Jo as someone who'd read one-too-many articles about "how to be confident" online and was trying way too hard to appear as a smooth, man of the world.

  The image of Kyle flashed into her mind, a man who seemed to Jo to be a total contrast to the boy beside her. She let Kyle's face linger in her mind as the man spoke about one subject or another that she wasn't interested in, focusing on his stunning eyes, his trim, muscular body, the way his mouth twisted into a playful smirk.

  God, what's wrong with me? she thought, coming to her senses. I just met the guy, and here I am fantasizing about him like a middle-schooler.

  ". . . then my boss told me, ‘Mark, if you want to make this big money, you're going to have to step up to the plate.’ So . . . ."

  The man continued on, talking about himself and his career on and on in a way that Jo had grown accustomed to from men in New York.

  Plus, he seemed like a cocky, little asshole, strolling into Mr. Delany's office like he owned the place. Who does this guy think he is, anyway?

  But, in spite of herself, she couldn't help but think about the card in her pocket; it seemed to have a heaviness to it.

  "So, what do you say to another round?"

  Jo couldn't think of anything she wanted less. Right now, getting home, getting into her pajamas, and having a long night's rest was the only thing on her mind.

  "I'll pass," said Jo. "But, nice to meet you."

  The man responded with a sneer, an eye-roll, and a muttering under his breath as he turned back to his drink. Jo wasn't entirely sure what he'd said, but she was reasonably sure she heard the words "stuck-up bitch" somewhere.

  Well, thanks for letting me know I dodged a bullet, she thought to herself as she slung her purse on and made a beeline for the door. Once outside and standing in the cool evening air, she had the urge to slip her hand into her purse to confirm t
hat everything she needed was there.

  Phone, wallet . . . .

  Her heart sank.

  Shit! she thought, shoving her hand into each cranny of her purse, realizing that her keys weren't there.

  I must've left them on my desk when I needed them to get into the supply closet.

  She stomped her foot against the sidewalk, her heel sounding a click.

  Goddamnit! she thought, realizing that she was going to have to go back to the office to get them, a trip that would add another hour to her trek back to Brooklyn.

  She looked around her at the passing traffic and the pedestrians who weaved around her, as though someone nearby might've been able to offer some assistance.

  Might as well get this over with, she thought, turning in the direction of her building and starting off.

  Jo walked briskly, arriving at the skyscraper where her office was located. She looked up at the towering building, the upper floors wreathed in swirling, milky clouds, the purple and blue lights of the adjacent towers sending strange, sickly colors through the fog. Stepping into the quiet lobby, she swiped her card and headed into the nearest elevator.

  Soon, she was back on her floor. As the elevator doors opened, Jo was gripped by the urge to stay still, to listen. At first, no sound could be heard but the steady hum of the building's vents. But then, as she listened more closely, she could hear the low murmur of conversation.

  Who the hell could be here? she thought. Sure, Mr. Delany's probably still in his office, but who would he be talking to?

  Walking further into the office, the conversation became louder with each step. She couldn't make out the words–it all sounded like indecipherable, muddy chatter–but she could now tell that it wasn't Mr. Delany on the phone–he was with someone else.

  Jo's gaze flicked around to the rest of the dimly-lit office, the buildings beyond the windows illuminated with their own after-hours lighting, the honking and clatter of the traffic dozens of floors down at street-level a quiet, grating ambiance. No one else was in the office other than her, Mr. Delany, and whoever was in there with him.

  Jo made her way across the office at a slow pace, checking her watch on the way there and noting that it was nearly ten. This struck her as late, even for a workaholic like Mr. Delany. Arriving at her desk, she spotted the chrome lump of keys that she'd come for, the keychain a cheap, plastic souvenir of a cartoon beach scene with the words "St. Augustine" that'd she'd picked up on vacation there with her family a few years back.

  She stepped closer to the door, the conversation louder, but still indecipherable. Picking up a mug from her desk, she placed the top on the door and pressed her ear to the bottom. As soon as her skin touched the cool ceramic of the mug, the words of the conversation became clearer.

  ". . . offer was more than generous, Mr. Delany," said the voice, a slithery, languid tone.

  Jo tried to pinpoint where she'd heard that voice before, that strange, melodious voice.

  "The answer's still no," said Mr. Delany, his own tone edged with anger and frustration. "And, I don't appreciate you coming by here at this hour to try to get me to change my mind."

  "You seem like a reasonable man, Mr. Delany; I simply assumed we could continue our negotiations."

  Then it struck Jo, and she shook her head, not believing that it took her this long to recognize it–it was Mr. Jane, from the Bianchi group.

  "There's nothing to discuss," said Mr. Delany. "No way in hell that you're going to buy that tower for that price."

  "Surely, there must be something we can do to tip the scales in our favor."

  A moment passed.

  "Hey, back off, Jane," said Mr. Delany, his voice sounding somewhat panicked.

  What? thought Jo.

  "I strongly urge you to reconsider."

  "What is this, you trying to intimidate me or something?"

  "No, Mr. Delany; if I wanted to intimidate you, you'd know it."

  Jo's heart began to race. Carefully, she placed her hand on the office door and opened it slightly, peering in. It was Mr. Delany and Mr. Jane, just as she'd suspected. Mr. Jane was standing close to Mr. Delany, looming over him, both of the men standing near the open door to the office's balcony, the air outside laced with swirling fog.

  "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" demanded Mr. Delany. "Are you threatening me?"

  "I'm simply asking that you get in touch with your clients and let them know about my offer. And, let them know in the most enthusiastic terms possible."

  "No way," said Mr. Delany. "Not a chance."

  "I don't think you understand, my friend–I'll have that tower one way or the other. The only question is whether or not you'll be around to see it happen."

  Jo's eyes widened as she realized that Mr. Jane wasn't simply pressuring Mr. Delany–he was threatening his life. She knew she needed to run, but for some reason, her limbs wouldn't cooperate; she was frozen in place.

  "You need to get the hell out of here right now," said Mr. Delany.

  "Or what?" asked Mr. Jane. "I'm not leaving until you do what I say."

  A low wind howled through the office from the open balcony door.

  Mr. Jane closed the distance to Mr. Delany and loomed tall over him.

  "Do what I say. Now."

  Mr. Delany didn't need to hear another word. He turned his heavy body, attempting to make a break for the door. But, Mr. Jane's hand shot out, landing on Mr. Delany's hand and holding him in place with effortless ease.

  "What the hell?" Mr. Delany said in shock.

  Jo's eyes went to the hand on Mr. Delany's shoulder, a feeling of dread and terror overtaking her when she realized that it wasn't a normal hand, not even a human hand–it was a long, animal claw.

  Mr. Delany's own hands moved to it, but when he realized that whatever this claw was, it wasn't human, he let out a low scream.

  "This is your final warning, Delany," said Mr. Jane, his voice now inhumanly low, an almost demonic growl. "You're involved with forces that you can't hope to understand."

  Jo's limbs went cold, her eyes were pulled wide, and a fear that she'd never felt before took hold of her body. She'd never been as terrified in her life as she felt in this moment.

  But, before she could react, Mr. Delany pushed the claw off of his shoulder and made a break for the door. His out-of-shape body barely made it a few feet before Mr. Jane rushed over to him with incredible speed, grabbing him by the shoulders and lifting Mr. Delany over his head. Jo watched in terror as Mr. Jane walked over to the balcony, carrying Mr. Delany with ease.

  "Don't do it!" shouted Mr. Delany, realizing what was about to happen.

  But, Mr. Jane had already made his decision. Stepping out onto the balcony, he looked down at the city streets below. Then, with a heave, he tossed Mr. Delany down, his yell long and loud as he fell, the sound fading and fading before cutting off entirely.

  Jo couldn't move. She couldn't believe that she'd just watch her boss, someone at whose side she'd worked for years, be murdered by this man, this man who didn't even seem to be human. She'd never feared for her life before, but the terror she now felt was overwhelming.

  She watched as Mr. Jane looked down over the balcony, as though making sure that the drop of many hundreds of feet was as deadly as he was hoping. And, just as he turned, the chipper, bright chime of Jo's cell phone went off in her purse.

  Mr. Jane's face snapped towards Jo where she stood beyond the door crack, his eyes now a deep red.

  She shot her hand into her purse and silenced her phone, but it was too late–she'd been noticed. Not knowing what else to do, she broke into a full sprint, running across the office floor to the elevator as fast as her heeled feet would take her. She didn't look back over her shoulder to see if she was being pursued, she ran and ran, tears forming in her eyes as the elevator drew closer and closer.

  Finally, she reached it and slammed the button. Turning back towards the office, she saw that Mr. Jane was now standing where she had bee
n only moments before, his red eyes fixed on her as he stood still as stone.

  Then, he broke out into a run, covering the distance of the office at a speed that Jo couldn't believe.

  Come on, come on, she thought, praying that the elevator would arrive soon.

  The doors then slid open with a bright chime, and Jo jumped inside, pounding the "close door" button with her fist over and over. A heavy, animal panting sounded, and Jo could hear the patter of heavy paws drawing closer and closer. And, just as the red of Mr. Jane's eyes appeared, the doors slid shut, a loud banging sounding against them once they were closed.

  The elevator began to descend, and as soon as Jo felt the downward movement, she collapsed into a heap, her body wracking with sobs, her limbs cold and heavy. She couldn't believe what she'd just seen; it felt more strange and unreal than her bizarre dream last night.

  The elevator came to a stop on the bottom floor, and as the doors slid open, Jo was gripped with fear at the idea of Mr. Jane waiting for her at the bottom. She took a deep breath and stuck her head into the hallway and saw that it was, thankfully, empty. Drawing in another breath, she ran out through the lobby, past the doors, and onto the city street. She glanced back one last time at the elevators to make sure that she wasn't being followed before walking with quick steps away from the building. Spotting a bar nearby that looked to be filled with enough people to make her feel safe, she dashed in and took a seat, contemplating her next move.

  The police; I should call the police, she thought, her head buried in her hands, her hair draping onto the small table in front of her. And, tell them what? That I just saw my boss get murdered by a man with red eyes and claws for hands? They'd lock me up!

  She remembered her conversation earlier in the day, that meeting with Kyle Thorne. She'd been so focused on how attracted she was to him that she'd forgotten the reason he was there: to investigate Mr. Jane. She fumbled through her purse, searching desperately for his card, eventually dumping the entire contents out onto the table, the clatter attracting the attention of the patrons nearby.

  Sifting frantically through the junk in her purse, she eventually came across the small, off-white card, the name "Kyle Thorne" written in simple, black lettering. She looked down at the number, recalling his instructions to call him anytime if something were to happen. Jo didn't want to do it; part of her simply wanted to pretend that the events of the last hour hadn't happened, that she could somehow awaken from this horrible dream.