Second Nature

by Jae

  The writing was solid, with interesting characters, witty dialogue, and a well-written love scene. If you're interested in hetero sex, that is, Griffin thought.

  The book was decent entertainment, but it was teeming with all the common stereotypes and Hollywood myths about vampires. J.W. Price's characters were drinking blood and sleeping in coffins. Sunlight and a stake through the heart killed them, and holy water and crucifixes made them run for the hills. They even talked with an Eastern European accent that made Griffin laugh and was probably meant to do just that.

  Griffin found it hard to believe that the shape-shifter novel would be any different. I'll bet her shape-shifters are immortal creatures that turn into furry monsters once a month and can be killed only by silver bullets. She was almost sure that the writer would turn out to be harmless. Relief wrestled with a healthy portion of annoyance. Kylin, I'll hunt you down and kill you if this is just one of your attempts to get me to reconnect with the family.

  The "fasten seat belt" sign came on. Griffin swallowed the last crumb of her third sandwich and stuffed the snack boxes into her laptop case for later. She had a feeling she would need the energy to complete this annoying mission.

  * * *

  Flying. He hated flying.

  There's a reason why there are no bird-shifters, Cedric grumbled to himself. Being so high up in the air and moving at such speed played havoc with his sharp senses. But he had to admit that traveling human-style was efficient, and he was a soldier, so he focused on the task at hand.

  Not that there was much to do. He had read through the information on Allison DeLuca twice. It was a short read. Allison was in her midforties and worked as a program manager for a software company that developed word-processing software suited for Wrasa eyesight. She belonged to the Los Angeles pack and had never been on the Saru's radar before. Nothing interesting about her.

  Cedric knew how to handle her. If he treated her like the submissive she was, he would get the information he was after. Getting past Allison's alpha would be harder.

  "Can I get you anything, sir?" A flight attendant directed a phony smile at him.

  Cedric's lips didn't form an answering smile. He had never felt the need to mimic human behavior. When he showed someone his teeth, no one would mistake it for a friendly greeting. "Food," he said and looked back down at the report on his knees, dismissing the flight attendant.

  The scent of confusion drifted over.

  Humans. He suppressed a growl. They were confused so easily.

  "Um. Anything in particular?" the flight attendant asked.

  Unlike the cat-shifters under his command, he didn't care. Food was food. He didn't need that gourmet stuff Griffin was so fond of. As long as it stopped his stomach from growling like an entire Syak pack, it was fine.

  "We have a delicious roast beef with —"

  "Then bring me that," Cedric said before she could recite every item on the menu.

  When she hurried away to do his bidding, he put away the report and pulled a small, worn book from his pocket.

  The smell of graphite and musty paper scratched his nose as he opened the book. The decade since the book came to be in his possession had almost made the crooked handwriting fade, but Cedric knew nearly every page by heart and could still read the words. He carried the little book with him on every assignment as a silent reminder of how dangerous humans could be and as a memorial of his duty.

  He thumbed through the book, searching for the most interesting entries.

  All of them held meaning. They recorded the dreams and visions of a dream seer.

  Past generations of maharsi had never been allowed to write down their dreams. The dangers of having such a dream diary detected by humans were too great, as was the risk of the dreams being misinterpreted by Wrasa who weren't as skilled at dream interpretation as a maharsi.

  But then one line of dream seers after the other had become extinct until just one last maharsi had been left — Cullen Remick, Griffin's grandfather. When none of his grandchildren had inherited his gift, he had known that his death would leave his people without guidance. He had started to write down his dreams, hoping to at least give them something to help them understand and shape the future. Only half a dozen copies of his diaries existed. They had been handed out to council members and a few selected high-ranking officers of the Saru. The rest remained in possession of Cullen's family.

  Not this diary. This one belonged solely to Cedric. Except for the author who had penned these entries, no one but Cedric had ever held the book in his hands. He planned on keeping it that way.

  When the flight attendant returned with his roast beef, he turned the diary upside down on his knees until she was gone. Hunger raged through his stomach as the scent of the meat hit his nose. He wolfed down the first two bites without really chewing or tasting it, then slowed down and read the entry he had chosen.

  She's dangerous. A lethal danger, not just to me. To all of us. Her kind doesn't have the respect for life that we do. It's up to me to stop her and to warn my people of others like her. I'm the only one in a position to do it. Others don't seem to see this danger and probably never will until it's too late. It's up to me. This is what I was meant to do, why I was born with the skills I possess. This is my duty. My fate.

  Cedric bared his teeth. How ironic. The lines fit his current situation perfectly as if the dream seer had talked about J.W. Price and him. He couldn't be sure yet, but if the writer really was the threat he thought she might be, it was his duty and his fate to stop her too.

  When the pilot announced they would be reaching Los Angeles soon, he put the diary back into the inside pocket of his jacket, right over his heart.

  * * *

  Allison DeLuca whirled her desk chair around and jumped up.

  Dizziness threatened, and it had nothing to do with the speed of her movements. The walls of her small apartment seemed to close in on her. Her skin itched with the urge to shift, to leave the apartment and everything in it behind, and to lose herself in the simpler existence of being a wolf. Things were so much easier when she was running with the pack in her animal form. If she shifted, she wouldn't just strip off her human skin but also the guilt and betrayal that were now weighing her down. Wolves didn't evaluate their actions by human standards and morality. In animal form, things were clear and simple: her loyalty was to her pack, and she had done what was necessary to ensure the survival of their species. In human form, things were not so black-and-white.

  With a sigh, she sat back down at the desk. Wishful thinking. Running away wouldn't solve the problem. At some point, she would have to shift back, and the guilt would still be there, waiting.

  Ally stared at the screen. I'm sorry, J.W.

  J.W. Price was a very private person. Most writers were private about their writing, but it was more than that with J.W. It had taken three years, five stories, and a lot of patience on Ally's part before J.W. had slowly started opening up and commenting on things other than her writing in her e-mails.

  Now Ally had to violate that timid trust.

  She had always considered confidentiality one of the rules of beta reading. That rule had been shattered — as J.W.'s trust would be when she found out. The bitter taste of betrayal had kept Ally awake for three nights in a row. In the end, she knew she had no other choice than to tell the council about the work in progress and to hand it over.

  The blinking of the cursor mirrored the upset thrumming of her heart and directed her attention back to the e-mail she had written an hour ago but not yet sent.

  Hey, J.W.,

  If 'Song of Life' is still giving you a headache, don't despair. I learned today that an old friend of mine is on vacation in your neck of the woods. She's a zoologist, and she's just what you need because she specializes in big cats. She has helped one of my writers before, and I know she would be willing to do it again.

  Let me know if you want to meet with her, and I'll set it up. Or contact her directly. Yo
ur choice. Her name is Griffin Westmore, and her e-mail address is g.westmore@gmail.com.

  Take care.

  Ally

  Lies. More lies. The council had told her what to write even though it was far from the truth. She had never met Griffin Westmore, and the Saru certainly wouldn't help J.W. with her book.

  Come on; send the damn e-mail. J.W. will be okay, she tried to convince herself. The Saru are not killers. Not if they don't have to be. Still, she hesitated, her protective instincts toward the writer fighting with her loyalty to her pack and her kind.

  The chime of the doorbell made her flinch and almost hit the "send" button. With an angry growl, she marched to the door.

  The scent of peanut butter and pines wafted up through the gap beneath the door. Ally stumbled. Oh, no. What is he doing here? Her alpha was standing in front of the door — and he was not alone.

  She didn't recognize the scent of the second man, but the aroma of leather, earth, and a faint hint of gun oil painted the picture of another dominant wolf.

  "Ms. DeLuca," a deep voice called through the door, "this is Cedric Jennings. Open the door!" He didn't explain who he was and what he wanted. He didn't need to. Every Syak knew the Jennings clan. Ally had heard of Cedric only in passing, but she knew his father, once the highest-ranking Syak saru in North America.

  This was not a man you kept waiting in front of your apartment. Ally swung the door open.

  Two tall men filled her doorway, each trying to enter the apartment first. Frosty blue eyes stared down Ian Stewart. Never before had Ally seen her alpha avert his gaze, but this time, he did.

  Unease swept through Ally as Jennings strode into her apartment. She didn't like the confident gaze that seemed to touch everything in her apartment and mark it as his, but there was nothing she could do about it. Her helpless gaze darted over to Ian, who shrugged and closed the door behind him.

  "Tas Jennings." She lowered her head in greeting. Her tongue darted out and licked dry lips. As a simple program manager for a software developer, she had very little contact with the Saru. Never had a well-known tas invaded her home. "Can I get you something to drink?"

  "Yes," Ian answered immediately. He was trying to get his drink first, establishing his territorial rights and his dominance.

  Good. Having her alpha be in charge soothed Ally's nervousness.

  "That won't be necessary," Jennings said before Ally could disappear into the kitchen. "I'm not here for a drink, and you," he glared at Ian, "are probably needed elsewhere. Thank you for accompanying me through your territory."

  Ian's lips tightened. Ally could tell that he wanted to expose his teeth in a snarl, but as a commander of the Saru, Jennings outranked him. "I'll wait outside," Ian finally said.

  "No, you won't." Blue eyes were firm and cold like an iceberg, with hidden undercurrents of danger swirling around it. "The Saru don't like people listening in on their business."

  If he didn't want to be accused of spying on a saru, Ian had no choice but to retreat. He grumbled and puffed, but finally, the door closed behind him.

  Ally was alone with Cedric Jennings.

  Jennings strolled over and took up position on Ally's desk chair.

  It was a conscious choice. His nose had to tell him that Ally had been sitting here only minutes ago, and now he was forcing her to move to another seat as a sign of his dominance.

  He studied her with his cool gaze, slowly swishing back and forth in the desk chair.

  Silence had never sounded so loud.

  Wolf-shifters were good at psychological warfare and intimidation — and it was working. Jennings's silence made her nervous, but she knew she couldn't ask what he wanted. He had the more dominant rank in Syak hierarchy, even stood outside normal pack hierarchy as a saru, so she had to wait for him to speak.

  I'm a Syak, one of the most dangerous predators on earth, so why do I suddenly feel like a rabbit about to be hunted down? Ally balanced uneasily on the edge of the couch.

  "So you're a beta reader?" Jennings asked. It sounded friendly enough.

  "Yes."

  "What are you getting out of it?" His voice was calm and interested, not giving anything away.

  Ally tilted her head. "Getting?" she asked.

  "You're not a professional editor. You don't get paid for working on other people's stories." Like most other Syak, Jennings clearly believed that hard work should always be paid for in some way.

  And it was. Just in a less tangible way. "No, I'm not getting paid, but beta reading is fulfilling anyway." A lot of her friends were puzzled by it, and Jennings didn't look as if he understood the concept either. "It's my way of contributing to fiction and helping to make it better. I work with some great writers, and I love to establish a relationship with my writers and watch their writing mature over time."

  "Relationship?"

  Ally sighed. Of course he would catch only this one word of her heartfelt explanation.

  "So tell me more about your relationship with J.W. Price," Jennings said.

  "We don't have a relationship," she hastily said. "We don't even know each other personally." Building close friendships with humans was not tolerated, because it could easily lead to their existence being discovered. Beta reading for J.W. had made it easy not to cross the line. J.W. had never seemed interested in sharing anything but her writing with Ally.

  The ice-blue gaze trailed up and down Ally's body and drilled into her eyes. "Why are you getting so defensive? You don't have anything to hide, do you? Like, for example, the fact that you told J.W. Price about our existence?"

  "No!" A lump of fear, rage, and disbelief closed off Ally's throat and made her squeak like a pup. "You think I was the one who gave J.W. the information about shifters?" Ally couldn't believe it. It dawned on her that J.W. wasn't the only one in danger. Since prison sentences were unknown in Wrasa law, there was just one punishment for treason — death.

  "Were you?" Jennings asked.

  "No, of course not. I was the one who made the council aware of J.W.'s novel. Without me, there would be no chance of stopping its publication," she said, trying to use calm logic and not raise her voice to Jennings. He was backing her into a corner, though, and she felt her scalp begin to itch.

  The chair crashed into the desk when Jennings leaped up. Two quick steps had him hovering over Ally. "Even human children know that sometimes criminals like to inject themselves into investigations to appear unsuspicious and to find out what the investigators know."

  "I'm not a criminal," Ally stammered. "I didn't do anything wrong." Her stomach twisted. The biting scent of gun oil and aggression got stronger. Her muscles cramped in the effort not to shift.

  Almost nose to nose with her, Jennings nostrils flared as he took in her scent.

  Ally quivered. She hoped that his Saru training enabled him to see beyond the nervousness and recognize that she was telling the truth.

  The heat that rushed through Ally's body finally lessened when Jennings leaned back, out of her personal space.

  "If you didn't break the First Law, you've got nothing to fear," Jennings said, now sounding kinder, like a father soothing his child.

  Ally's mangled lungs sucked in a deep breath.

  As if nothing had happened, Jennings returned to the desk chair. "Now tell me everything I need to know about this writer and her story."

  Finally back on familiar ground, Ally began to talk.

  "Stop!" Jennings interrupted after just a few minutes. "Say that again."

  What had she said last? "J.W. only just started on the new story. She's still working on the first chapter," Ally repeated.

  "Not that." Jennings growled. "Did you just say that this story will be lesbian fiction?"

  Is that good or bad for us? Ally wondered. "Yes," she said. "J.W. asked me a few months ago if I would feel comfortable beta reading a lesbian romance for her. She said she wants to try out something completely different from everything she has written before, and since I was in
terested in how a great writer like J.W. would portray shape-shifters, I said yes."

  Big mistake. I wish I had never gotten involved in this mess.

  Jennings scratched at a few light beard stubbles. Discontent wafted around him. Suddenly, he stood. "Make sure you run any communication you have with Ms. Price by me, and forward me everything you receive from her. And should Saru Westmore contact you..."

  Oh, great. They're sending the big guns not only after J.W. but after me too. Every Wrasa in North America had heard of Griffin Westmore. She was known for completing her missions quickly and effectively. She probably thinks she has to prove something because she's antapi. Ally was part of a newer, more liberal generation. She couldn't care less about Griffin being a hybrid, but she knew that most Wrasa still frowned upon the mating of Griffin's Kasari father and her Puwar mother. They had strict opinions when it came to mixed marriages or even casual affairs between members of different races.

  "If she contacts you, tell her you already gave me all the details and to read the report I'll send her," Jennings said.

  What? Ally couldn't imagine saying that to a saru. Lack of cooperation would make her look even more suspicious. "But —"

  "Interviewing you was my job. Westmore has her own, so there's no need for her to interview you again. If she starts asking questions, refer her to me. Understood?" Jennings's sharp voice left no room for discussion.

  Ally ducked her head and licked her lips. "I understand," she said. It seemed hierarchy in Jennings's Saru unit was even stricter than in a normal Syak pack, and if he wanted to keep Griffin Westmore out of his territory, out of the job he had already done, that was fine with her. At least it would spare her another interrogation.

  "Good." Jennings pushed past her. "And send off that e-mail to Ms. Price." Over his shoulder, he pointed at the computer screen.

  Then he was gone.

  Ally collapsed back against the couch. She stared across the living room to the e-mail on the screen. If she refused to send it and get J.W. in contact with Griffin Westmore, Jennings would be back. He didn't understand that in a strange way, J.W. had become part of her pack too. Only loyalty to the Wrasa counted for him. Everything else would get her killed.