Beast Coast (A Carus Novel Book 2)

by J. C. McKenzie

  But one of my favorite smells, to this day, was almond. Scenting it thick in the air at a Vampire summit though, sent a wave of fear splicing through my body. Only one supernatural smelled that strongly of almond.

  Demon.

  I spun around and took another few gulps of spit to prevent the nearby waiter from offering me a bib. The heady scent surrounded me, drawing me closer, begging me to approach. A bright smile beamed through a haze of scented fog as I stumbled toward the source.

  No! my cat screeched. She clawed at my head, yowling. My teeth elongated, and I stopped walking, shook my head, and waited for my vision to clear.

  “You’re no fun,” a voice that could only be described as verbal sex slithered around my skin. Appraising me from a not-so-safe distance towered a Demon dressed in human clothing, a man close to seven feet tall with muscles straining against his tight V-neck shirt and dark form-fitting jeans. Dark eyes framed with dark brows, jet-black hair, and olive skin, watched as I assessed him. How’d I not notice him before? He stuck out like an elephant at a mouse convention.

  “Why aren’t your eyes red?” I blurted out.

  A slow, sensual smile revealed sparkling white even teeth. “I’m not possessed.”

  My eyes narrowed.

  He chuckled. The sound vibrating deep in his chest caused an unnatural heat to spread through my body. Why did I keep reacting to him like this? I needed to get laid, but geez! I hated Demons… Didn’t I?

  My wolf growled, vibrating my skull. Yes! Yes, I hate Demons. I despise them.

  “Silly Shifter,” the Demon interrupted my internal battle. “I wear a human form to hide my true nature.” His voice trailed off in a low purr.

  He waited for me to respond, but nothing came out. Nothing came to mind. Still paralyzed from his voice, I stood there doing my best statue impersonation. My falcon screeched inside, defying the Demon’s power and breaking his hold on my body.

  I glanced down, and my breathing hitched. My toes stood inches from the salt and blood line of the Demon summoning circle. If my feras hadn’t clawed, growled, and shrieked me back to reality, I would’ve walked straight through the line, breaking the control over this powerful entity from hell and serving myself on a platter. My skin prickled and I shivered.

  I fucking hate Demons.

  “I’m glad someone’s got you on a leash,” I said and took a step back, putting a safe distance between my toes and the salt line.

  The Demon’s head fell back, laughing. The sound stirred my loins again, but I didn’t want any stirring in that area from the presence of pure evil. My heart beat hard in my chest, so hard I heard nothing else. The Demon kept trying to lay some sort of sex mojo on me. Fuck that! I refused to be Clint’s bitch, and I sure as hell wouldn’t be this guy’s. Singing a song about independent women and bringing my feras close, I pushed against his power. Now that I knew what I fought against, I could turn my unnatural and unwanted arousal into anger. And I had barrels full of rage at my disposal.

  “What is your name, human?” the Demon asked.

  “Like I’m stupid enough to give you that.” Names held power with Demons, and it worked both ways.

  “Would you prefer I call you human?”

  “Call me whatever you like. I don’t plan to meet you again.”

  The corners of the Demon’s full mouth twitched. “I’ll call you Carus, then.”

  My head snapped up before I could rein in my reaction. How did he know?

  Something more disturbing crooned in the back of my mind. Like the evil angel sitting on my shoulder, the voice from the darkest part of my soul sounded like a deranged hobbit. What could he tell me?

  The urge to give in to the voice and ask turned palpable—a bitter taste on my tongue. There would be a cost for his information. Demons always charged for their services, and I wasn’t willing to pay any price he set.

  The Demon noticed everything. He’d cocked his head to listen, probably hearing my sharp intake of breath and fast-beating heart. His nose flared and his mouth opened in a large toothy grin. He inhaled a long drag of air, as if savouring the scent of my changing emotions—the surprise, confusion, the desperation for information, and the abhorrence when I realized I wanted something from him.

  “Goodbye, Demon.” I turned and hurried the hell away from him, taking some of the fastest steps I’d walked in my life. Turning my back on someone, something, that could tell me what I’d spent the last fifteen years trying to discover…

  Demons all had their own special powers, and this one was a Seducer. No doubt in my mind. Better than some of the other types, maybe, but boasting a human form meant he was very powerful and dangerous—one of the highest calibre of Demons in existence. I knew my limits. He was well beyond anything I could take.

  Not prey, my cat hissed.

  I agreed.

  Chapter Seven

  “I did the whole gangly awkward thing when I was fifteen. No need to go back there.”

  ~Andy McNeilly

  When I escaped the thrall of the Demon, I found Clint standing nearby, mouth on the rim of his drink, laughing at me with his eyes. “I hoped he’d get you to dance naked,” he said.

  Nice backup. “What’s a Demon doing here?”

  Clint swirled his drink. “They brought him in for consultation.”

  “Seriously?”

  He nodded.

  “Do you require my services for anything else?” I spoke through gritted teeth, not exactly doing the obedient underling act justice, but not exactly caring.

  Clint’s face crinkled, but he chose not to make a lewd innuendo for once. “You may mingle.”

  With a slight bow, I stalked off to patrol the perimeter opposite Steve and observed the Demon from a safe distance. Who summoned him? Odd he didn’t mind being displayed like a rare animal at the zoo. I’d be screeching at someone, but he calmly paced his circled cage and watched the crowd with more vigilance than Clint. Everyone gave the summoning circle a wide birth and no one approached. Apparently, Clint was the only one willing to let his servant get close and personal enough to see what happened. Maybe he planned it all, betting on my strength to showcase the power of Lucien’s horde.

  Lots of Vampires rubbed up against one another, but I didn’t know Joe from Schmoe. Clint slowly perused the room. Every time he blinked, I envisioned him taking mental notes, or saving images for his spank bank. I didn’t ask him which. Not one interaction escaped his notice. His attention shifted around the room all night, appearing to take everything in—very perceptive.

  But he didn’t see the Vampire lurking in the shadows observing him.

  You have an admirer, I said to Clint.

  To give Clint credit, he didn’t whirl around like a fourteen-year-old girl after being told her crush just stepped in the room. He didn’t even turn in my direction; instead, he pulled out his cell phone.

  Seconds later, mine beeped and I had to dig it out of my cleavage. Super classy.

  Who? Clint texted.

  Using mind speech, I answered while getting myself another drink at the bar. Don’t know. Looks like a young Rob Lowe. Definitely a Vampire and definitely watching you. He keeps moving so he’s at your back.

  Clint’s lips twitched. My phone vibrated. Ian.

  Friend or foe?

  Both. Approach and ask him to join us.

  Relieved to finally do something other than walk a circuit of the room, I sashayed over to the Vampire. So intent on staring at the back of Clint’s head, he didn’t notice my approach until I stood a few yards away. He turned to me with an annoyed expression and opened his mouth to say something, probably a scathing dismissal, but I beat him to the punch.

  “Clint humbly requests your company,” I said, completing the final steps to put me within striking distance. Not sure what a fight in this dress would look like, but I had a knack for improvising.

  Ian’s face lost all expression. His eyes vamped out for a few seconds, and I wondered if I’d have to shift an
d claw his pretty face. Instead, he bent his head in a slight bow and reached forward to take my hand with Vampire speed. My muscles stiffened as I tried not to flinch. Wrapping my arm around his, he turned us toward Clint. “It would be my pleasure.”

  Nothing rubbed me the wrong way more than walking alongside a Vampire. My normally animalistic grace looked clunky and inelegant next to the gliding blood junkie. Not something I experienced often and definitely not something I liked. I did the whole gangly awkward thing when I was fifteen. No need to go back there.

  Ian pulled up a few feet from where Clint waited with an unreadable expression. “Clint.”

  “Ian.”

  When I moved to withdraw from Ian, he clamped his hand down on mine, freezing me in place. “This one’s a rare treat.”

  “Lucien’s.”

  Ian’s fangs flashed as he spoke. “I smelled him on her.”

  Eww. I smelled like dead meat and blood? I had no idea Lucien marked my scent along with the fang scars on my neck. Fuck that! My beast rumbled deep in my core and anger bubbled up from the source. I stiffened my leg muscles and took a deep breath.

  “Have you heard any news?” Clint changed the subject.

  Ian paused and glanced to his right. “Nothing new. Most are in favor.”

  “Those opposed?”

  “The Pharaoh,” Ian said with a soft voice, barely forming the words.

  Clint nodded and then raised his glass in a silent salute before taking another long sip.

  “Why don’t we drink together?” Ian’s fingers stroked my hand. I tensed.

  Clint reached out and placed his empty glass on a tray of a waiter walking by. “We don’t share the same taste in vintages.”

  Ian chuckled. “Why don’t you get another whiskey while I sample her?”

  Clint shook his head. “Lucien’s,” he said with a steely voice.

  “So you said.” Ian let my arm go and gave me a long appraising look before turning on his heel and slipping away.

  Chapter Eight

  “The problem with the gene pool is that there is no lifeguard.”

  Steven Wright

  Ignoring the red blinking light on my answering machine, I threw my bags on the bed and let a big sigh of relief escape. I’d never been happier to be home. Or at least, not in the last week. What did that say about my life?

  The rest of the Vampire summit dragged like a party for the dead and dreary, and after the tête-à-tête with Ian, Clint insisted we linger another half hour before allowing us to return to our rooms. He refused to answer any of my questions about his exchange with the Vampire.

  Now home and wanting nothing more than to crawl into bed and forget the Vampire drama and love-life complications, I made myself a late-morning coffee instead and turned on the television.

  A bobblehead newswoman with perfect Lego-block hair stared seriously into the camera. “And new information has surfaced regarding the train incident that happened three days ago across our southern international border where seventeen norms were slaughtered. Due to privacy agreements, we can’t divulge the name of the SRD agent involved, but the Werewolf has since been identified as Steven Daskalov, the underwear model.”

  What? Steve modeled underwear? No way. I’d have to bring this up later…and maybe look up some old photos on the Internet.

  The newswoman kept talking. “The name of the third person, and the only apparent norm in the killing trio, has yet to be ascertained. What we can tell you is laboratory tests on the blood have confirmed the seventeen norms were under some sort of compulsion. The type of compulsion or possession remains unclear, but it appears the ‘Killing Trio’ will be cleared of all—”

  I turned the television off, threw the remote on the couch, and sat on the ledge in front of the bay window. I stared out the glass at absolutely nothing until I couldn’t stand the flashing red light of my answering machine any longer—a bright beacon cutting into my paradise.

  With a groan, I dragged myself out of my cushion of pillows and pushed the button.

  “McNeilly, it’s Agent Booth. You need to come into the headquarters. Now.” Booth’s raspy voice sounded exactly how I remembered it—like she drank the dregs of a beer can the day after a party and didn’t realize there were cigarette butts in it.

  Crap. Did she plan to rip me a new one for the train incident? At least Booth contacted me. If Tucker had phoned, I’d probably go postal. After playing Clint’s minion for two days, I’d used up all my douchebag tolerance.

  I glanced at the clock. Five minutes to ten. Thanks to taking a red-eye flight back late Sunday night, plenty of time remained in the workday. Not wanting to talk to the agent until I had to, I pulled my laptop out to whip off a quick e-mail.

  Dear Agent Booth,

  I received your voice message. I will be in shortly.

  Sincerely,

  Agent McNeilly

  I quickly read over my message and my heart stopped. What the fuck just happened? Instead of what I wrote, the following words stared back at me:

  Suck it Agent Booth,

  My ass received your voice message. My ass will screw you over shortly.

  Sincerely,

  Agent McNeilly

  I deleted and retyped the message, only to have the same thing happen again. I typed each letter slowly, watching the screen. My computer autocorrected “Dear” to “Suck it,” “I” to “My ass,” “be” to “screw you,” and “in” to “over.” Experimentally typing, I discovered more errors. “The” changed to “stupid,” “a” to “lame,” and “is” to “dumbass.”

  Scratching my head, I searched the computer settings. Under autocorrect, someone had manually entered the alternate words. Either a perverted old man lived inside my computer, or I was the victim of a hacker. Besides annoying the crap out of me, the autocorrect did no damage. It didn’t retrieve any important information. My heart stopped. Did it?

  I narrowed my eyes and stared at the screen. Only one group I knew preferred pranks to real fighting. Those bloody Witches! I understood my letter may have offended them, but no more than their singing. They crossed a line with this little parlour trick and the invasion of my home, and needed to be put in their place. My muscles tightened as I prepared to launch out of my seat.

  Gah! I didn’t have time to deal with them now. Nor could I afford another supe on supe crime scene if it escalated. Tucker would wet his panties at the possibility to write me up. No, I had to find out what Booth wanted first. Wasting ten minutes of my precious time, I fiddled with the settings until they were back to normal. Then, I retyped my e-mail to Booth and clicked the send button.

  ****

  When I walked into the lobby of SRD headquarters, I got a sense of déjà vu, spotting the same two security guards who greeted me last time. Guard One sat at the sign-in counter behind a computer, while Guard Two stood sentry with his legs shoulder-width apart and his arms crossed in front of his chest. They carried themselves with importance, but their bland looks and blander personalities meant my nicknames worked. I could do better, but I didn’t care.

  Guard One, with sandy hair and green eyes, looked up abruptly and stopped typing. “Can I help you?” he asked as I approached the desk.

  My nose flared as I took in more of his scent, recognizing it, owning it. A growl rumbled in my chest. “You’re my new neighbour.”

  Guard Two’s head swiveled in my direction. A quick sniff confirmed he was also one of my Witch neighbours. His eyes narrowed, and he started to silently mouth an incantation. The energy in the air intensified, humming with power.

  I held my hand out to stop him—like it would do much if he threw a spell at me. “I’m not here for you two.”

  Guard Two pushed back his plain blond hair, and his lips formed a thin straight line. I remember thinking these two were the most boring Witches I’d ever come across. Now that I knew of their nightlife activities, I might have to revise that statement to something else.

  I preferred them bo
ring.

  “Why are you here?” Guard One hissed.

  My mountain lion paced in my head. She didn’t like being on the receiving end of a hiss. She preferred dishing them out.

  “You don’t remember me?” I waited, but the blankness in their eyes told me they had short-term memory issues. “I’m Agent McNeilly.”

  As soon as I spoke my name, Guard One’s face transformed—he looked like he wanted to shoot himself. Guard Two looked like he wanted to shoot me.

  I propped one hand on a cocked hip. “Agent Booth is expecting me.”

  Guard One hesitated, as if he needed a moment to collect his thoughts before re-entering diligent SRD employee mode. He tapped away at his computer and after reading something on his screen, turned his attention back to me. “Sign here. I’ll buzz you through.”

  I picked up the pen and signed, aware that both Witches watched me, as if I represented an undiscovered specimen. Did they want to dissect me?

  “Nice trick with the autocorrect on my computer.” I kept my voice low so they had to bend forward. If they pissed me off anymore, I’d smash their heads together. Let them try throwing a spell at me then.

  Neither of them acknowledged my accusation, but Guard One leaked nervous fumes, and the second Witch’s scent contained nothing but hostility. I’d have to work to instill a sense of fear in that one.

  “Thank you.” I placed the pen down and sauntered toward the sealed entrance. After Guard One buzzed me in, I turned in the doorway. “Don’t think I’m letting your petty retribution go.”

  Guard Two crossed his arms and gave me the best pissy diva face I’d seen since last week’s rerun of a model reality show.

  I ignored it and headed to the elevators.

  The only downfall of coming into the SRD headquarters to see Agent Booth, besides an uncertain fate, was the inevitable reunion with her receptionist, Angelica. I liked calling her Angie because it made her eye twitch.

  Ethan, a rival Master Vampire, had enslaved Angie and her fellow Wereleopards. I sliced off his head to pay my debt to Lucien, but I had help. If it weren’t for Allan and Clint, I’d be another notch in Ethan’s belt. And not the good kind.