Underbrush rustled. There!
A flash of orange.
Pop! A sharp sting, much like a rubber band on bare skin, radiated across my right butt cheek. I yipped and jumped three feet in the air.
Whirling around, I found Wick with an ear-to-ear grin and his paintball gun resting over one of his shoulders. If he had a leg propped up on a recently deceased moose, he’d look like a hunter from a photo.
“Tagged you,” his whiskey voice crooned. “Knew you’d go downwind.”
Reaching back, I rubbed my bum—and instantly regretted it. Pulling my hand away, it was covered with goopy, yellow paint. Lifting my fingers to my nose, I discovered the paint smelled faintly of fish.
“How’s your butt?” Wick asked.
Looking over my shoulder at it and the giant yellow paint smear across the back of my coveralls, I shrugged. “It stings.”
“I think we need a time out.”
My eyebrows rose.
“And you can explain to me where you were,” Wick continued. “Because your head definitely wasn’t in the game.”
Wick sounded like my dad after a high school basketball game gone wrong. I’d been dumped by my first boyfriend right before warm up and my drive for playing the sport instantly evaporated. My dad waited until we got home before he accused me of sandbagging. I’d run out of the room crying. Later, when he discovered from my mom the reason for my meltdown, he’d knocked softly at my door, came in and gave me a giant Dad hug. The kind I used to get when I was a kid and hurt myself on the playground. He didn’t bother with a “there’s plenty of fish in the sea” speech, for which I will be forever grateful. He’d said, “That young man’s an idiot. I didn’t like him anyway.”
It was the last time I hugged him. And one of my most cherished memories. He died in a car accident two days later.
Shaking my head, I shifted my focus back to the present and the smug-looking Werewolf in front of me.
“Obviously,” I said. “You’d never get a shot on me if I was paying attention.”
“Let’s head to the safe zone.” He turned and started marching through the forest ahead of me.
“Sure. Just one thing.” I said, sighting Wick through my scope.
“What’s that?” Wick half turned toward me.
“This,” I said, right before I shot him.
Chapter Sixteen
“The more I see the world, the more am I dissatisfied with it.”
~Jane Austen
With the rain spitting in true West Coast fashion, Wick and I took cover under the netted tents, the ones Darryl referred to as the Safe Zone. The other players cast relieved glances our way when they saw us sitting this round out.
I needed a time out before I could talk about what happened in the forest. A fuzzy feeling fogged my brain. What could I say? I had no idea what happened.
One thing for sure, in addition to finding the person behind the supe attacks and capturing Herman either for the SRD or Booth’s private agenda, I needed to speak to Donny, my handler. And soon. The old Shifter knew my situation and might be able to tell me what was going on. If my To-Do list got any longer, I would have to hire a personal assistant and that was plain ridiculous.
Did PAs go on coffee runs? I could use a cappuccino right now, with cinnamon.
To distract Wick from pestering me further on the forest incident, I asked him if he had any siblings.
“Three younger brothers,” he answered.
“Your poor mother.”
Wick smiled, but it looked slightly droopy.
A thought hit me. “I’m so sorry. Are they still alive?”
The question might seem harsh to a norm, but given the extended lifetime of Werewolves, it wasn’t. Weres were all born as norms. They became supernatural by contracting the lycanthropic virus, usually not by choice. Unless they died of unnatural causes, all Weres, like Vampires, outlived their norm families.
Wick shook his head. “No. They’re long gone. I keep tabs on their families though. From a distance.”
“You didn’t make contact after the Purge?”
Another sad smile. “I maintained more distance after the Purge.”
“Are they anti-supe?” My heart sped up. That would be too cruel a fate for Wick.
“No. But it’s safer for them if no one associates them with the Alpha of the Lower Mainland. I would never forgive myself if they were harmed because of me. I caused enough pain for my family.”
I looked away, sad for Wick. What he said made sense. It was the right thing to do, but Wick would probably trade his power to have his family back. His tone and the brooding look in his eyes spoke volumes.
“What did you like most about having siblings?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood.
Wick paused and then laughed. “Well, I was the oldest.”
I waited.
“I teased and picked on my brothers. Ruthlessly. But I would beat up anyone else who tried to hurt them.”
I laughed along with him. The image of Wick as the protective older brother wasn’t a big leap for his personality or the position he held in his pack.
“What about you?” He asked the question I hoped to avoid, but, of course, I’d set myself up, opening this can of worms.
“I was adopted.”
Wick frowned. “But did you have any siblings?”
I shook my head. “No. My parents found the adoption process so painful and drawn out, they didn’t have it in them to go through it again. Great parents, but I lived a lonely childhood.”
Wick nodded. “Did you ever look for your birth parents?”
“Yes, but I never found them.” I looked up at the mesh ceiling. “I was born in the first year of the Purge.”
Wick nodded. He knew my age, but he’d given no indication he’d made the connection. Until now. His face softened, and he reached out to take my hand. “The Shifter Shankings.”
“I don’t know if my birth parents put me up for adoption to protect me, or because they were killed. My documentation said nothing about supes. It was too early in the Purge for that. I hoped the SRD stashed private files somewhere, but I’ve yet to find them.”
“So your parents could still be alive.”
I nodded.
“And you could have siblings.”
A pause. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“If you could choose, would you want a sister, a brother, both?”
I hesitated. “I’m not sure. As a kid, I always hoped for a brother. Now, I think I’d be happy with anything really, anyone.”
Wick squeezed my hand.
Chapter Seventeen
“I will fight you.”
~Ma’ii
When faced with uncertainty, or in my case absolute confounding bewilderment, when confronted with my man situation, I found it best to hide in a dusty library that no one under the age of one hundred frequented. Something about being surrounded by old books, each with their own past and smell, comforted me.
Although our date ended on a sombre tone, Wick managed to lift my spirits when he dropped me off. Cradling my face in his hands, he stared into my eyes with a strange look, not reverence or devotion, but something close. Then he kissed me. The tenderness he conveyed in that one kiss, the compassion, understanding, acceptance, and desire, all in one, melted my heart, sending my mind into a tailspin. The date with Wick had been a bad idea, my mind divided, my heart more conflicted.
None of the books on the shelves in this library could tell me what to do about a confused heart. I walked up and down the aisles, running my fingers along the thick bindings of the books, leaving a trail in the dust.
My hand recoiled when one of the books zapped it. Shaking my hand, I glared down at the culprit. With gritted teeth, I pulled the book off the shelf, trying to ignore the tingle running down my arm. My mom always told me “curiosity killed the cat,” but that life lesson never really stuck. If something stung me, I wanted to know why.
When palming the d
ust off the cover didn’t work completely, I took a breath and blew. Hard. The Encyclopedia of Mythical Creatures stared back at me.
The shock lessened to a distinct numbing sensation. Or maybe I’d become acclimatized. Desensitized. Before I could open the book to see what all the fuss was about, my phone beeped.
Lunch? Mel texted.
When and where? I shot back.
Sushi Town on Main. 2pm. Today.
I looked at my watch—a cheap plastic sports issue from the local department store that cost under twenty bucks. I refused to pay more for a watch I’d lose in a shift. I only loved one watch and I never wore it in fear something would happen. My mom gave it to me for graduating high school. She’d told me my dad always planned to get me one, but he’d passed before he could.
Looking at the time, I had an hour before Mel wanted to meet. You’re on, I replied.
Sweeeeeet! She responded, defying her age of one hundred and ten years old—thirty years my senior. She acted and texted like a boy-crazy teenager.
Shaking my head, the book stinging my hand drew my attention once again. Leather bound and thick, it reeked of so many supes it was hard to distinguish one scent from another. I opened it to the first page. The small print blurred together, and I had to move the book in and out before my supe vision kicked in and focused.
But I didn’t get to read much before the poignant mix of mischief and trouble filled the room. The heady scent of coyote made me smile. I slapped the book closed and shoved it under my arm.
Donny O’Donnell stood at the end of the aisle. My new handler was old—wrinkles creased his face, showing he smiled more than frowned. His coyote familiar, Ma’ii, slipped into the room after him before the door swung closed.
When I first met Donny, he’d hooked me up with various wires to a lie detector contraption for Agent Tucker to interrogate me at the SRD headquarters. They thought I’d gone rogue. Technically I had, but it was against my knowledge. My handler, Landen was to blame for that debacle.
The machine was completely pointless. O’Donnell could scent a lie from the truth, but Agent Tucker hadn’t trusted him. His previous addiction to technology made me wonder why he now trusted Agent Nagato. Maybe he only used Nagato for on-call work where he couldn’t drag the machine along with him.
When Agent Tucker had asked about my fera, I leaped across the interrogation table and strangled him. Donny hadn’t moved to stop me or help Tucker. I’d liked the old man ever since.
Agent Booth had been the one to stop me from squeezing the life out of Tucker. Sometimes, when I was having a particularly bad day, I thought about the look of panic on Tucker’s face or how his eyes bulged when I’d tightened my grip. Made me feel better.
I knelt to scratch the fera’s head on the bridge of his nose. Ma’ii tended to bite me in sensitive areas, like the soft skin at the back of my ankle, when I annoyed him or Donny. Navajo for Coyote, I’d once commented on the redundancy of Ma’ii’s name when we first met. He hadn’t been amused. For an animal that represented trickery and pranks, he didn’t have much of a sense of humour.
My mountain lion hissed at the attention. She should be getting the good loving, not the coyote. My wolf didn’t like it much, either, and mentally paced back and forth. My falcon couldn’t give a shit. She liked anything that pissed off the cat.
When I stopped scratching Ma’ii, he bumped my leg with his nose. More, his voice crystal clear in my head. I’d learned one of my special skills as Carus was the ability to mind speak with any animal familiar. And recently, I extended that to anyone supernatural. Which left a big question unanswered—what was Clint? Was I able to speak to his mind because he was a human servant, or was he more?
Ma’ii jabbed me again, and then tried to nudge my hand into action by lifting it with his snout. More!
Go scratch yourself, I huffed back at him.
The coyote’s ears drooped, and he sulked down the library aisle to Donny, who obliged and started scratching him where I left off.
“Reading?” Donny asked.
“Wasn’t planning on it.” I waved the book in the air. “But this one caught my attention.”
Donny squinted at the title. Feeling sorry for him and his aging eyesight, I closed the distance between us and handed the book over. He jumped when it contacted his skin. Must have shocked him too. When he read the title, he started laughing as if it made all the sense in the world. “Fitting.”
I raised my eyebrows, but Donny shook his head.
“I have questions.” I took a seat at the table closest to us.
“I figured.” Donny pulled out a chair and joined me. “Agent Booth said you were looking for me.”
“Yeah.” I leaned forward, about to launch into a retinue of questions, when I remembered my manners. “Oh! How was your vacation?”
A small smile appeared on his face. “Is that where I was?”
“Agent Booth lied to me?” Really, this didn’t come as a surprise. I already knew there was something hinky about the assignment she set me on. That she was able to lie without tipping her hand, either by scent or any other classic tells was worth mentally noting.
Something flashed across Donny’s face, too fast for me to analyze. “She’s a woman with many secrets.”
“But she’s a woman?”
The confusion on Donny’s face made me laugh.
“Oh come on! Surely you’ve noticed she lacks a scent. I want to know what she is.”
“Some things are better left undiscovered.”
“So you know what she is.”
“No one can ever really be sure of anything.”
I reached across the wooden table and jabbed him in the chest with my finger. “Nice evasion tactic. Don’t think you’re slipping one by me. I’m going to let you get away with it for now, only because I have bigger questions I want answered.” I paused as sharp teeth sank into my skin. “And tell your fera to release my calf muscle. I barely poked you.”
Donny laughed. “Tell him yourself.”
With a grimace, I settled back into my plastic chair and looked down at Ma sitting at my feet with my right calf in his mouth. He’d taken offense to my finger attack on his Shifter, but not enough to break skin.
I’m sorry I touched your Shifter. He’s fine. Please release my leg.
Ma looked up at me with soulful eyes. Watch yourself, Carus. I will fight you.
I had no doubt Ma would put everything into a fight for his or Donny’s life. I didn’t fear the possibility because I would never dream of attacking either of them and if I did for some justifiable cause, they were both old. Really old. When it came to fighting, the adage about getting better with age only worked to a certain point. Donny and Ma were well past that.
“So what did you want to see me about?” Donny leaned back in his chair, much like I envisioned a therapist would, minus the pencil and notebook.
“I want to know more about what I am.”
Donny nodded and waited.
“And I was hoping you could fill me in, since you seem to know so much.”
“I am not an expert.”
“You know more than me.”
“What is it you know?”
“I know only what you’ve told me. Feradea, the beast goddess, singles out a chosen one every five hundred years or there about. I am the chosen one, the Carus. I can shift into more than one shape and talk to not only other Shifters’ feras and Weres, but all supernatural beings.”
Donny sat up. “I didn’t tell you that last part. About communicating to all supernaturals.”
“Yeah. Thanks for leaving that out. Why the big secrecy?”
“I didn’t know.” He squinted at me. “How’d you find out?”
“Doesn’t matter. What I want to know is, why me? Why didn’t I bond to one fera like all the other Shifters? Why did mine get internalized, instead of staying physical to walk beside me like yours?” What about the big bad monster that lurks inside? I didn’t ask the last questi
on. Having only met Donny a handful of times, I couldn’t bring myself to reveal something so private, so hidden, despite my gut telling me I could trust him.
“Well I can’t answer the ‘why me’ part. You’ll have to ask Feradea. We covered the lack of a prophecy the last time we spoke, so you can stop giving me dark looks like you’re going to be forced to go on some epic journey to save the world.”
I faked wiping sweat off my brow. “Thank goodness for that. My respect for you just went up.”
“How’d you get your forms?”
I squirmed in my seat and looked down. It was a sensitive topic for any Shifter. Each experience was unique and private. The metaphysical meeting of souls held a sacred place in every Shifter’s heart.
“Let me tell you what I think happened. After you hit puberty, you had a compelling need to walk into the forest, like all Shifters. Except when you finally did stumble into the bush, you were greeted by more than one animal.”
Fidgeting in my seat, I met Donny’s eyes but didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. Donny missed nothing. My sheer discomfort would confirm his guess.
“How many forms do you have?”
“Three.”
Donny waited. He was good at that. Letting the silence fill in and ask the questions for him. It spoke of years of patience.
“Mountain lion, peregrine falcon, and wolf.” Watching Donny’s face, I could tell from the twitch in his mouth and slight furrow in his brow he hadn’t expected my answer. I folded my arms, feeling defensive. “What does it matter?”
“Animals symbolize extraordinary power for people around the world. Totems or spirit guides act as messengers and protectors. Surely you know this.”
“I do. But feras are not the same as animal totems or guides.”
You are so young, Ma’s voice snickered in my head.
“I disagree,” stated Donny. “A fera is a companion, a guide, and an integral part of your soul.”
“So my soul got smashed up into four pieces?”
He shook his head. “Not exactly. The fera becomes a part of you. Merges with you. Reinforces the essence that is your soul to make it stronger—fills in the gaps to make it more whole.” He gave me a stern look.
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