Beast Coast (A Carus Novel Book 2)

by J. C. McKenzie

  Somehow, I managed to leave the house feeling more confused than when I entered.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  “I exist only for you.”

  ~Andy’s fox fera

  The sun filtered through the forest canopy, lighting the way down the path. I came to the same clearing where I’d met my fox fera and sat down cross legged in the centre. I tried to clear my mind. I am you. You are me. We are one.

  All my feras perked up from their resting places within me, and repeated the mantra. A breeze of deep love surrounded and warmed me. For once, the absence of Wick and Tristan, the domineering Alphas, came as a relief.

  Little fox, I started. And then stopped, unable to go on. A tear streaked down my face.

  Why sad, Carus? she asked.

  I don’t want to lose you.

  You cannot lose what has been found.

  It was pretty close to what Herman had said earlier, but I still felt unsure and nervous. The little fox nudged me. Be strong. She grinned.

  Strong, like predator, my cat hissed.

  It still sat wrong. I wasn’t ready. Standing up, I shucked off my clothes and concentrated on the fox before willing the change. It came fast and ready. My bones shrank into themselves, and I felt more than saw my red hair shoot out. Shaking off the last shudders of the shift, I stood in the clearing as a fox, vibrating with energy. Everything seemed larger, brighter, and fuller. I sniffed the pine-laced air and suppressed the urge to race off into the bush.

  A helicopter flew over the area. I ducked and sprinted to the tall grass that lined the clearing to cower. The fox might be intelligent and perceptive, but the small size left me with an overwhelming feeling of vulnerability. As a falcon, I might be small, but spending most of the time in the air, I was virtually untouchable.

  Run, the fox whispered. Be free.

  Despite my nerves and my common sense telling me not to, I obeyed and took off into the woods. I leapt over logs, sprinted down deer trails, and weaved between the trees until eventually I found my way back to the clearing. The sun, lying low, was no longer visible from the break in the canopy. Time to go home. I had to do this now, or I’d lose my resolve.

  Running in the fox’s shape lent me strength and clarity. Taking a deep breath, I shifted back to human form and focused on the fox’s energy. Please leave my mind. I…dispel you.

  A warm heat spread and covered my body as if I lay on some tropical beach basking in the sun. Somehow I knew it was the fox’s love for me. Maybe she said so, I don’t know. I was too consumed by the warmth. And then…nothing.

  Cold and alone.

  Barren.

  I bent forward, resting my arms on the ground and cried. The fox in my head was too much, but with her gone, I felt empty.

  Something brushed my leg. Why sad?

  I screamed and jumped up. A ghost version of the fox grinned at me. I reached down and touched her—soft and smooth as the first day we met. She wagged her tail.

  Now I walk beside you like a normal fera. Not in your head. But no one can see. No one can hurt. Stronger. Safer.

  The other feras vibrated with excitement. They rushed back to my mind, and the feeling of emptiness lessened. I searched within for the fox and found nothing. I held the image of the fox and tried to shift again, but nothing happened. My eyes pinged open.

  I can’t take your shape, I said to the ghost fox.

  No, Carus. You need to reabsorb me for that.

  The idea of taking in the fox again, and the pain and chaos that followed stopped me from reaching out. I didn’t even know if I could do that. But if the fox remained “outside” my body, what purpose did she serve now? Feras never answered questions straight-up, but it didn’t mean I wouldn’t try. So, I can see you?

  She nodded

  And I can touch you?

  She nodded again.

  But nobody else can? Every fera was a Shifters greatest strength and greatest vulnerability, because the death of the fera meant the death of the Shifter.

  I exist only for you.

  Epilogue

  “The world owes you nothing. It was here first.”

  ~Mark Twain

  The walk out of the forest had been long and lonely; my other feras wise enough to remain silent and leave me to sort out my thoughts. My Witch neighbours had invited me over by text message, and I’d accepted, not wanting to sit by myself tonight.

  When I opened my door to go down the hall, Tristan’s presence surprised me. With his hand half-raised to knock on the door, he paused.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Hi.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “I came to check on you.”

  “Well, I—”

  Tristan’s lips on mine stopped my words. His arms came around to hold me tightly against his chest. My hands had a mind of their own—one snuck up to run through his silky black hair and the other drifted down to grip his tight ass. He answered by deepening the kiss and pushing me into my apartment and against the wall.

  Citrus and sunshine curled around me with invisible, caressing fingers, sucking the air out of my lungs and replacing it with delicious heat. Tristan’s tongue stroked mine and warmth spread from my chest, sending tingles down my arms and legs. As much as I wanted to haul him to my bed, this wasn’t about the lust racing through my veins and aching between my legs. I needed this reassurance. I needed his presence. I needed him.

  Tristan pulled back and touched his forehead to mine. “I’ve missed you.”

  “I missed you, too.”

  My apartment grew heavy with unspoken words of who else I might miss.

  “You were heading out?” Tristan’s normal purr held a gruff edge.

  “Yeah.” I cleared my throat and straightened his shirt, running my hands down his chiseled abs. “Going over to my neighbours for some karaoke.”

  Tristan took a step back and smoothed my shirt, tugging it back to my waist before gripping my hips. “Another hobby you forgot to mention?”

  “No. I can’t sing and neither can they. I just…”

  “Didn’t want to be alone?”

  “No,” I whispered.

  “Can I join you?”

  I hesitated.

  “I can’t sing either. No judgment.”

  I laughed and nodded. Tristan took my hand and led me out of my apartment. The Witches opened their door with smiles and hugs. I had no idea what they’d planned, but it had to be better than watching reruns. They accepted Tristan’s presence easily and invited him to join us.

  The little fox trotted beside us like a devoted puppy, giving me strength and comfort. I’ll never walk alone again. She also gave me a lot to think about. If I could dispel her, it meant that I could dispel any or all of my feras.

  Maybe I could even dispel Lucien and rid myself of the blood bond shackling me to him. He’d said it himself—I should think of him as a “blood-sucking fera.” If I could remove his control, I would be free.

  Free to choose whatever life I wanted…with whichever mate I chose. I glanced over at Tristan. He listened to Ben talk about the crazy gnome elder who’d come into headquarters. Matt passed me a beer, and Christopher, thankfully, kept away.

  I could dispel my mountain lion or wolf and no longer be torn between two mating calls. But which one would I choose?

  Right now, Wick’s unavoidable obedience to Lucien was enough for me to keep my distance, as much as it pained my wolf and my heart.

  Tristan looked over and flashed a smile.

  The sight warmed my chest and strengthened my resolve. I wanted to know more about Tristan. Right now, he didn’t appear to have any faults. The very thought sent warning bells ringing in my head, like an impending tsunami headed my way. Nobody was perfect. Everyone had cracks in their veneers.

  I watched Tristan accept a carrot “microphone” from Patty. What secrets did Tristan hold close?

  I planned to find out.

  “Ready, Andy?” Ben looked over at me and raise
d his beer bottle as the opening notes to Milli Vanilli’s Blame it on the Rain blasted through the stereo speakers. “Ready, Tristan?”

  I brought my beer bottle up and used it as a microphone as I belted out the first verse. Tristan joined in, not at all ashamed he sung slightly off key. Not a bad fault to have, in my book.

  The Witches joined in for the chorus, and Patty took over for the next verse, crooning into his fake microphone. I looked over the group and realized these Witch bitches weren’t so bad after all. Then my attention snagged on mute Christopher banging on the drums—empty bulk coffee tins—glaring at me as if he contemplated my death.

  Well, maybe some of them were.

  A word about the author...

  Born and raised on the Haida Gwaii, off the West Coast of Canada, J.C. McKenzie grew up in a pristine wilderness that inspired her to dream. She writes Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance.

  You can visit her website at:

  www.jcmckenzie.ca

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