by Abby Niles
“I take it you don’t agree with that order, Councilman Seeder?” Val asked.
“The entire shifter community knows it is time for reform when it comes to mutant law. Elder Harwood is the only fool who can’t see it, but he holds all the power.”
True. Nothing could be changed without Harwood’s signature. Taking mutant children from their parents because they refused to acknowledge how dangerous their children really were was just one of many archaic laws the council refused to alter. Val personally thought it was time for a clean sweep of the entire council, but it didn’t work like that. High Council positions had been passed down from the founding fathers to their firstborn children, and down through the generations. When Harwood died, his daughter would become the newest member. However, the elder title would pass on to the next oldest shifter—Councilman Seeder. A few months ago, this wouldn’t have brought any change within their community, but the councilman’s sudden change in opinion surprised her.
“You were pretty adamant in your support of Harwood during the Mills case. That was only a few months ago—why the sudden turnaround?”
“Opinions evolve, Detective. I’ve seen the strain this case has had on our community. Seeing things like that makes a person open his eyes.” He shot a disgusted look over at Harwood.
“What would you have me do, David? Negotiate with them? What then? Word spreads that the council backed down. What’s to stop the next activist group from doing something similar? Or worse?”
“You should’ve done something about this issue before now.”
“Like what? Invite the parents to live at World Shifters and then have to deal with irate mothers on top of enraged beasts when we have to tranquilize the animal? They interfere. If the parents are involved on a daily basis we will never get these children ready to mainstream into society. You and the entire council agreed with me during the trial, so don’t go acting all superior.”
Seeder leaned forward in his chair. “It didn’t have to go this far. We’ve been after you for weeks.”
“And what solutions have you given me? None. You want me to let the children run free? Put everyone at risk? We’re talking about a mutation that is so rare it only happens in one out of every fifty thousand births. We don’t have the funding to start reforming laws when the program we already have established is costing us hand over fist. For Dea’s sake, David, I’ve invested my own money into protecting these children.”
“We messed up when we put Samantha Mills in prison. We need to accept that, Ronald, and rectify it.”
The elder slammed his fist on the table. “It’s too late now. We won’t negotiate with threats.”
Seeing a political spat brewing, Val sat forward. “So, I’m to go after the kid.”
Harwood looked back at her. “Alone, Calhoun. Got it? So far, we’ve been able to keep this completely under wraps. The compound has been put under a gag order and the explosions weren’t severe enough to draw outside attention. No one in the community is to learn that the council is being threatened. We must appear as solidified as ever.” A tight smile came to his lips as he looked at Seeder. “Current disagreements notwithstanding.”
“Did you bring me anything?” she asked. If they wanted her out in the field ASAP, they would have brought something of Charlie’s so she could familiarize herself with his unique scent.
Harwood reached down and the rustling of a bag sounded before he produced a white pillow. “This is Charlie’s.”
After taking the offered evidence, she pressed it to her nose. The clean smell of soap hit her senses first. She sniffed it again, working past the artificial smell to the organic one.
All shifters and half-shifters had a woodsy, animalistic scent from the shifter DNA in their bodies. After they were mated, an additional wood-burning smell tinged the fragrance. But she wasn’t after those scents. She was after the unique one that the boy owned. Like a fingerprint, each shifter, and human for that matter, had an aroma that was their very own.
Charlie’s had the slightest trace of grass. Fresh-cut, at that.
She slid the pillow back across the table. “Okay. I’ve got him.”
Now she had to sniff out a kid before the humans caught wind of them.
…
Britton splashed cold water on his face, then gripped the sides of the sink, inhaling and exhaling in measured breaths. Lifting his head, he stared at his reflection. Water dripped off the tip of his nose. His chin.
He focused on the drops.
The anger…the…ugly, dark, trembling hatred he’d tried to calm for the last twenty minutes by throwing himself into his files finally eased. Releasing one last, long breath, he straightened and raked his hands through his hair.
He hated having to go down to the homicide department. Though he hadn’t been part of SPAC for over four years, he was still a cop, which meant he worked with the detectives on the human cases almost on a daily basis. Today he’d unfortunately been around when a woman had come in with some leads to a murder investigation. She’d been so shaken up, he’d escorted her down to homicide himself. Then Raquel had made eye contact with him, and he couldn’t ignore the seductive look she sent his way.
That was, until she had looked up and ruined everything.
Detective Val Calhoun. Ugh.
He despised how he reacted to her every goddamn time he was in her vicinity. He knew most of the officers at the PD believed there was some kind of love/hate thing going on between Val and him. He allowed them to believe that. The only people who knew the truth about how he truly felt—the only people he wanted to know—were his best friends Liam and Aidan…and Val.
If people really understood the amount of almost uncontrollable revulsion that filled him whenever he was around her, the way he shook, almost exploded with it, they’d look at him differently. Step cautiously around him in fear.
He wasn’t that person. But she made him that person. And he fucking hated it.
After he yanked a paper towel out of the holder, he dried his face, then tossed the crumpled brown paper in the trash. Squaring his shoulders, he forced a smile until it felt real. Only then did he open the door and venture out.
As he made his way down the hallway toward the exit, he noticed Olivia Johnson sitting at her desk, and welcomed the lighter, flirtatious feeling that other women brought forth within him.
Changing course, he veered toward the voluptuous brunette human who stared at her computer screen, most likely going through the fingerprints database. When he reached her desk, he leaned a hip against it and crossed his arms over his chest.
Waiting until she glanced over, he took satisfaction in the pink that brightened her cheeks, then put on his most seductive smile. “Hey, gorgeous.”
Green eyes sparkled with amusement as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Hey, Brit. Can I help you with something?”
“Why yes, you can. What are you doing Friday night?”
The amusement reached her lips as her mouth twisted into a knowing smile. “So it’s my turn, hmm?”
He placed a hand against his heart. “You wound me.”
Women knew the score with him, and he liked it that way. Wanted it that way. He never wanted to get tied down. There were just too many women out there for him to give special attention to.
“Your reputation precedes you.” She winked. “Doesn’t mean I’m not interested though.”
“So what do—”
The words died on his lips as a flash of white-blond hair grabbed his attention, sending his face into an immediate scowl and a rush of disgust slicing through him. Swallowing it back, he smoothed out his expression as he watched Val storm past the department. Her shoulders were thrown back in their usual high-and-mighty stiffness. Her nose tilted just a little in the air. Always giving off that superior vibe. Trying to make any man who approached her cower.
Miss Castration herself. “What was that, Brit?”
He tore his gaze from the source of his abhorr
ence to return to the lovely lady sending him an encouraging smile and oh-so-promising look in her eyes.
“Friday night. Me and you.” He walked around the desk and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “A midnight stroll. Candlelight. What do you say?”
He loved the way her breathing hitched, then released in a rougher, more anticipatory way. A breathy giggle escaped her parted lips. “I say that sounds wonderful.”
He enjoyed his superpower—the ability to make women weak-kneed. Unlike what Miss High and Mighty thought, it wasn’t because he got his jollies out of making women fall over themselves for him. Quite the opposite, actually. Women were supposed to be made to feel attractive. Appreciated. They were the carriers of life and should be treated as such.
There was only one woman— he twitched—no, he wouldn’t think about her.
“I’ll pick you up Friday at eight.”
Olivia gave another breathy giggle. “You just made the weeklong wait excruciating, Brit.”
“I promise to make that up to you.” He brushed his lips against her cheek. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“Me, too.” She cleared her throat. “Now I need to get back to work.”
“Far be it from me to keep a lady from her duties.” He straightened and sent her a wink before strolling out of the office toward the front exit, embracing the stimulating feelings that freed his body.
So different from the hostility that had constricted his throat not ten minutes ago.
Thanks to her.
What was it about Val Calhoun that made him react that way? Why did he keep questioning it? After dealing with the woman for almost four years, he should know there was no answer to that question.
From the moment he’d met her, he’d experienced immediate revulsion, hatred, and every negative emotion in between. He’d once told Liam he believed she must’ve killed him in a previous life. Of course, they didn’t have previous lives so that wasn’t possible, but his psyche was definitely warning him that she presented a danger.
As he stepped into the parking lot, he spotted Val getting into her car. A shiver of repulsion shuddered through him, instantly making him want to retreat, put distance between them. He didn’t fight it this time. He’d already given the finger to the compulsion earlier today and dealt with the consequences. It was too soon for round two.
…
A crisp April mountain breeze blew a strand of hair into Val’s face, and she flicked it back as she inspected the hole that had been blown out of the concrete wall of the compound. Just large enough to crawl out of. The blast probably hadn’t done any structural damage. Smart, really. The group wasn’t ready to draw public attention. It had just wanted the High Council’s.
What would happen to this place if the humans figured out what World Shifters was really used for? What would happen to the children inside?
The large, square, white-brick building at the center of two hundred acres of forested land had been built forty-odd years ago deep in the Blue Ridge Mountains, about thirty miles outside Carnal Ridge in western North Carolina. On paper, the large building was owned by Ronald Harwood and was supposedly used as an outbound camp for boys with behavioral concerns. In reality, the facility held about fifty boys ranging in age from a few days old to seventeen—all carrying the mutated shifter gene. Each boy lived inside the compound until the council was certain he had control over his beast—which typically took well into the teens for the kid to accomplish. Only then would he be returned to his parents and introduced into society.
With a shudder at the thought of spending eighteen years confined to two hundred acres—no matter how luxurious the accommodations—Val turned her attention to the miles of mountains surrounding the compound, testing the air with a light sniff. Fresh-cut grass assaulted her nose, though she wasn’t certain if the potency of the scent was coming from the hole in the wall that led to Charlie’s living space, or from the trail his abductors had left when they’d run with him.
After putting about thirty feet between herself and the building, she latched back onto Charlie’s scent. Lighter here. Too light. She took five steps forward, and the hint decreased even more. She backtracked twenty yards, and the scent increased. Ten more steps and the potency hit her full force. He’d stepped right here. Releasing her concentration, she explored the area for more scents. Propane immediately assaulted her nose.
Shit.
The chemical was used to mask a shifter’s scent, making it much more difficult to track him down. Even for her. Though she could still detect the presence of a shifter beneath, she could not get around the chemical to the unique organic scent. It also messed with her ability to pinpoint location as accurately, because the propane dispersed the scent over a larger area.
There was a heady shifter musk under the propane, though. So there was more than one perp involved. How many more, she couldn’t tell.
At least Charlie’s scent was still detectable, which meant they hadn’t spritzed him down with the propane. Whether his scent had been left on the air intentionally or by oversight was yet to be seen, but she prayed for the latter.
As she stepped into the dense trees, she kept locked on both the boy’s grass scent and propane, blocking out any other contaminating smells. After a twenty-minute hike through—thankfully—a relatively flat piece of the mountainside, the propane dropped a fraction, giving her pause. Another twenty feet forward, it dropped again, but the grass scent suddenly spiked. Why was the grass so freaking strong? The smell was so strong it was like Charlie was somewhere close by. But why would the propane smell be lessened?
A wave of unease tightened her stomach. Was she being led into a trap?
She cursed Harwood’s gag order. She needed backup, but was unable to call for it. Not that this was the first time she’d gone into something alone. Nor would it be the last.
Dangers of the job.
Pulling her gun from the holster, she moved through the densely packed trees, silently making her way forward, watching each step, cringing every time a twig or leaf crunched under her booted foot. She crept forward until the woods thinned and the side of an abandoned shack came into view through the limbs.
Crouch-running, she crossed the short distance from the woods to the building and peered into a broken window. Everything was still, abandoned, but Charlie’s smell was overwhelming, while the propane was now undetectable. But there wasn’t any trace of shifters on the air, either. Was it possible they believed the High Council would cave immediately, and had left the child here?
Ducking down, she shuffled against the wall until she came to the corner. After she climbed over the rail onto the porch, she peered in another window.
Still no sign that anyone was here.
She went to the front door, listened for any movement. When she heard nothing, she tried the knob. It twisted easily. The door squeaked open and she grimaced.
When she poked her head around the corner, she saw a white piece of paper lying on top of a table with a broken leg standing in the middle of the living room. The smell of fresh printer ink teased her nose. Reaching into her pocket with her free hand, she cautiously approached the dust-covered table and pulled on a pair of latex gloves. Gun in hand, she picked up the computer-printed letter.
Detective Calhoun,
We knew the High Council would go to their favorite K-9 pup to locate Charlie before ever considering our demands. Let’s see how good that nose of yours really is.
Val reread the missive, then checked the back for any signature or emblem. Nothing. Not one single clue as to who had the boy, and she was pretty damn sure they hadn’t left a single print either.
Sighing, she scanned the room. Why was Charlie’s scent as potent as if he were in the room with her? She bent to look under a dust-covered leather couch. There she found it. A small blue blanket. From the scent emanating from it, he’d recently used it.
Damn it. Obviously, they knew her limitations.
Harwood was going to
be furious.
…
“I thought you were competent, Detective Calhoun.”
The words were thrown at Val by Councilman Harwood as soon as she walked into the conference room and shut the door. She’d called him with her findings back at the shack. And she’d been right. He was furious.
“I am competent. I’ve proven that countless times over. However, I do have my limitations.”
“Of course.” Harwood rubbed his face with his palms as he paced the room again, but more stiffly than last time. “My apologies. I’m a little…tense at the moment.”
“I’ll find him.”
“I mean no disrespect when I say this, Detective. The council is aware of and grateful for the magnitude of your ability, but you were fooled by a blanket. Your limitations could cost us dearly under the circumstances, and we can’t risk that. We need this situation under control immediately. And there is only one man we know who can do the job.”
Her heart stopped. He hadn’t even said, but she knew whom Harwood was referring to without his name ever being uttered.
No.
Hell, no.
“I can do this. There is no reason to go to these lengths.”
“Britton Townsend would never have been duped by a piece of fabric. He would’ve known instantly that the scent was not coming off an actual body. The council has discussed it, and the decision was unanimous. These are dire times, and we can’t afford mistakes. Townsend will be given temporary clemency to be assigned to the case.” He stopped pacing and looked at her. “He will also take point, and you will assist him.”
As angry frustration surged through her, her mouth went dry. She would have to answer to Britton? How in the hell had this happened?
“Do you understand, Detective?”
She lifted her chin while gritting her teeth. “Yes, sir.”
“Now get him and bring him to the council.”
She turned stiffly and left. She’d fucking been demoted. And the man she despised more than anyone on earth had his job back. Her job.
Damn it to hell.
She’d never be able to live with him now.
