In Deep Shift: The Protectors Unlimited Book Three

by Blackwood, Keira

  “Thanks for the ride,” Mia said. She patted my back before climbing off.

  Already her arm didn’t seem to bother her anymore, and that wasn’t just shifter healing. That was a high tolerance for pain.

  She stood there, in her skin-tight jeans and her loose low-cut t-shirt, and looked at me. Her eyes sparkled with interest as she openly stared. I found myself drawn to her lips, full and pink. I was drawn to her.

  Who was this woman? Why was she at The Tipsy Claw? And why did she look at me like that?

  I forced myself to turn away. I released the break, steadying the bike as I turned the handles. Then I twisted the throttle and drove away. I didn’t look back. It was harder than it should have been to leave. I didn’t know her, and she couldn’t know me. I couldn’t let her. My task was far too important to get involved with anyone, let alone someone who wanted to fight, someone who brought forth emotion in me. I couldn’t allow myself to feel. For this, I needed to be numb.

  My back was cold without her warmth. I was cold.

  And angry with myself.

  I had been so close to Roadkill. So close to finding the device, to finding out what he’d done with it. And instead of forcing the information out of him, I’d left. After four weeks, I’d left because she was there. Because staying meant she was in danger.

  I shook my head. There would be another opportunity. I’d make one.

  After surveilling The Tipsy Claw for so long, I would’ve seen if there had been a trade. I’d have seen Roadkill leave. The device wasn’t sold yet. It wasn’t lost to me—it was still in the building. I would find it, just not tonight.

  The farther I drove, the better I felt. The cool night air washed away everything but purpose.

  I circled back to the center of town and parked my bike two blocks from The Tipsy Claw, in the empty lot of a rundown strip mall. It was far enough away from the bar to prevent being seen, while close enough that I could return to my bike quickly if the situation so required.

  I crossed the street and followed the dark alleys to the back of the closed cupcake shop. The metal ladder was cold on my palms as I climbed.

  The scent of sugar and yeast filled my lungs as I breathed in deep. The aroma was strongest in the morning, when the ovens were first started, but it lingered well beyond closing time. This place had become a familiar part of my routine. I settled into my perch, a camp chair nestled into the pea gravel, hidden in darkness behind the cupcake-shaped sign and waist-high wall of brick. From here, I had the perfect view of The Tipsy Claw across the street.

  I watched. I waited.

  A steady stream of cars drove by on the road below. As the hours passed, the distance between one car and the next grew until a peaceful calm fell over the city street. The guard from the front door went inside, and a few of the women who’d been in the bar left. Most stayed, as they always did. Eventually, even the bar grew quiet.

  I considered returning to the Grand Marina, to my room. I had to sleep eventually, but it was difficult to give up my watch even for a few hours of rest.

  Darkness lifted slowly, in a gentle glow, and I knew it was time.

  It was a quick and quiet drive back to the hotel. I parked my bike out in the far lot and walked up to the lobby. The hall was empty, but I could hear the sounds of the bar as I passed.

  “Sun’s going to be up soon,” a male voice said. “I’m cutting you off.”

  “Well you’re no fun at all.” Her voice hit me like a fist to the gut—Mia. I turned and headed for the elevator down the other hall.

  As vivid in my mind as if I’d just experienced it, I felt her body pressed against my back. Her sweet cinnamon scent enveloped me even as I walked away. I could picture her face—the blaze of excitement in her green eyes, the smile on her full lips. I sighed and pressed the button on the elevator.

  The door opened and I stepped inside, thankfully alone.

  “You’re into her.” A high-pitched voice said from beside my ear. I turned my head and found a ball of red and orange fur on my shoulder.

  “Go away,” I said.

  “Zane and Mia sittin’ in a tree. K-I-S-S—”

  I swatted my hand at the little sprite.

  It moved, black wings fluttering as it circled my head.

  “Mwa mwa mwa.”

  “Are those supposed to be words?” I asked.

  “Kissing sounds,” said the sprite.

  I gritted my teeth and closed my eyes until the elevator stopped.

  The doors opened and I stepped out in the hall. I looked left and right, and then inside my pockets. There was no sign of the flying creature that had haunted me for the last four weeks.

  Could it really be gone?

  I walked unpestered down the hall, and into my room. The door clicked shut behind me and for a moment, I thought I’d been gifted peace.

  “Boo!” The fluffy ball of fur peeked its head down in front of my eyes. I could feel its claws on my forehead.

  I shook my head and it took flight.

  “Why won’t you leave me alone, you, you…”

  “Nona.”

  “Is that short for demon of annoyance?” I asked.

  “It’s my name, dummy.”

  Black wings fluttered like that of a hummingbird, its tiny body darting to and fro around the room. I watched. I waited. Then I struck.

  With a quick movement, I reached out, catching the sprite in my palm.

  It pecked at my hand with its tiny beak as I carried it to the sliding glass doors of the balcony, all the while making what I guessed was meant to be a growl. It sounded more like a purr.

  I opened the glass and threw the cat-eared bird with all of my strength and slammed the door shut.

  Peering through the glass, I searched for a sign of it, that it was both uninjured and gone. Was I finally free of it? Exhaling with relief, I turned to get ready for bed.

  “I told you that you couldn’t get rid of me.”

  I sighed, then toed off my shoes and collapsed on the bed.

  Above my head, the sprite flew in circles.

  “It didn’t work before, so why do you expect it to work now? You’re stuck with me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because, silly, I like you.” Its little wings fluttered as it spun around in laps.

  “I don’t like you,” I said.

  “Too bad,” Nona said. “I’m staying. You need me.”

  “I don’t.”

  “I’ll grant you one wish.”

  “I don’t want it,” I said.

  “You will.”

  “No.”

  “You will,” the catbird said. “You’re going to want it. You’re going to need me. This thing you’re chasing, it’s going to destroy you.”

  “Thanks for the warning.”

  “I could tell you a bedtime story if you like.”

  “Go away.”

  “You say you don’t like me, but that’s okay,” the thing said. “I know who you dooooo like.”

  I turned off the bedside lamp and closed my eyes.

  “Zane and Mia sittin’ in a tree...”

  I tuned out the little bastard and drifted off to sleep. In my sleep, I would dream not of sprites or weapons, not of my mission, but of foxes.

  Chapter Four

  Mia

  Dragons—my dreams were filled with dragons.

  Sprawling black wings painted the ground in darkness. Fire spewed like lava and spread over grass and trees.

  Panic. Everyone around me lost their shit, screaming, running. Not me. What welled inside me wasn’t fear. Instead, I felt a sense of awe.

  A world of magical fairy tales come to life—it wasn’t fiction. Dragons were real.

  Shimmering scales, sharp talons, reptilian faces, and those wings—glorious, expansive wings.

  I reached a hand toward the sky and extended my fingers, though the dragons were much too far away to reach. Still, it was almost as if I could—until they all slipped away.

  *
* *

  A terrible sound cut through my happy place, pulling me back to the present. It was a ringing dinging headache of a sound. It was my phone.

  With a sweep of my hand, I felt along the nightstand. As soon as I contacted the rectangular shape, I grabbed hold of it.

  “Wha…?” I answered. Even to my own ears, it didn’t quite sound like an entire, comprehendible word.

  “Ms. Blake, have I caught you at an inopportune time?” The voice was authoritative and vaguely familiar. I tried to place it.

  “No,” I said. “What’s up?”

  I blinked the sleep from my eyes, and looked to the dark curtains. There was a lot of light sneaking in through the edges.

  “I’d like an update.”

  I sat up and looked at the clock. Ten forty-seven—late start. Maybe I’d had a few too many drinks last night. I tried to remember.

  “An update,” I repeated.

  “On your visit to The Tipsy Claw,” he said. “Last night.”

  Ohhhhh yeah. That wolf guy—Dribble or something like that—had dropped me off at that biker bar. That’s where I’d met Zane. I’d punched a guy, climbed through a bathroom window, and ridden on a motorcycle. I’d planned to go out searching for my mother after that. My brother Mason had given me a lead in Fairview, called me up a few days before my ‘meeting,’ but before I had a chance to take two steps outside the hotel, he’d called back. It wasn’t her—it never was. That’s when I’d hit the hotel bar. I remembered the basics, but the details were still a little too fuzzy. Yep. I’d definitely had a few too many drinks after Zane had dropped me off.

  “So far there’s nothing to report.” I sat up against the headboard.

  “Did you interact with any of the Obsidian Claws?”

  Did face-punching count as interacting?

  “A little,” I said. “It was a pretty typical shifter biker bar. Half-naked women, beer, bucket-loads of testosterone.”

  “Their leader, brawny guy with a shaved head, bushy beard, tattoo of a wolf across his face, did you see him?”

  Saw and punched.

  “Yeah,” I said. “He was there.”

  “Did you see him interacting with anyone who didn’t fit in with the others, anyone who could have been there to make a deal for the device?”

  Again, my thoughts went right to Zane—to his wide chest and broad shoulders, to his square jaw and steely eyes. To his smoky scent. But he hadn’t been there to make a deal. He was there to watch the action happen, same as me. Or so it seemed.

  I was supposed to be answering a question—if I’d seen anyone who could have been at the bar to make a deal for the mystery weapon. “No,” I said. “But I mean, what are the chances that the whole thing would go down on my first night there?”

  A muffled grunt came through the line. Did Dribble have reason to believe more was going to happen last night? Did he have intel that he was holding back? It wouldn’t surprise me if he did.

  “Alrightly then.” I pulled my t-shirt off over my head and threw it in the corner, cradling the phone between my shoulder and ear. “I’ll call you back, Dribble, when I find out something useful.”

  “It’s Drexel.”

  “Right,” I replied.

  “I’m concerned you’re not taking this situation as seriously as you should.”

  “I’m serious,” I said. “Totally.”

  He sighed, clearly unconvinced. “Look, I should have told you everything last night. If you understood what we were up against, perhaps you’d treat this case as you’re meant to.”

  I nodded in agreement, even though I knew he couldn’t see me. These things always went like that—boss guy tells you what to do, but leaves out all the important bits as to why he wants you to do it. That was fine generally, but not always enough to get the job done.

  “Before the Tribunal came to power, there weren’t official rules,” he said.

  “Yeah, I know. Law to a lawless land, protection for shifter kind. I’ve heard the speech,” I stretched my arms and tried to stifle a big-ass yawn.

  “Yes,” he said. “But that’s not the whole story.”

  “Oh yeah?” Maybe he did have something interesting to tell me.

  “There were four predominant clans. Not just the three that are spoken of today.”

  “Wolf, tiger, bear, and...fox?”

  “Dragon.”

  “Of course.” I was only being a little sarcastic. It would have been nice to see foxes get a little more love, but I was also interested in hearing Drexel’s alternate history lesson, so long as it was at least somewhat relevant to what we were doing.

  “Everyone had their own ideas as to how shifters would be best protected, and while the three clans agreed to compromise for the common good, the dragons had other plans. Blessed with wings and fire, they had the advantage. They thought they could force their will onto all of shifter kind.”

  “Their will? Like they wanted to be shifter warlords or something?”

  “The truth is that they considered themselves superior to the rest of us. They refused to accept the legitimacy of territory claims made by any other race. They ravaged, taking what they wanted. They killed, and they refused peace.”

  His words sank in. Dragons wanted to be separate from the rest of us. They could have been a part of the Tribunal. They weren’t.

  “Instead of working with us, they chose war.”

  “Well that sucks.”

  “Yes. That is why the worst of them were sealed away, why they aren’t spoken of, and why you’ll find so few among us anymore. Those who remain are bitter, and they would do anything to see the Therion Tribunal fall. Mia, I’m counting on you. You must stop the dragons from reaching that weapon. All of shifter kind depends on it.”

  Well that was a lot of responsibility.

  “I’ll do my best,” I said. “I swear.”

  “Good,” Drexel replied. “I await your call.”

  With that he hung up.

  I saved his number into my contacts and tossed the phone on the bed, then threw open the curtains. Sunlight poured through the window, bathing my bare skin in warmth.

  I flipped on the TV to the jazz music-only station, and headed in for a shower.

  The hot water worked magic, heating my skin and casting wakefulness over my foggy brain.

  Steam filled the glass encasement, like smoke from dragon’s breath.

  When I closed my eyes, I saw Zane.

  Clean-shaven, square jaw, eyes like the sky, darkening to deep, icy pools as he scowled. Built like a linebacker, yet agile as any shifter. He was sexy, and reserved, and perhaps a little bit quirky if not completely mad.

  But was it possible that he was a dragon?

  The story I’d been told didn’t fit. He wasn’t at the bar to make a deal with the Obsidian Claws. In fact, the boss Claw seemed to have a beef with him. What had he said? Something about the Congo. What I did remember clearly was what the biker had called Zane—fucking flying demon. That was clear, and it fit with the dragon angle.

  After my shower, I toweled off and dressed in a fresh pair of black jeans and a loose white t-shirt. Blow-drying my long hair took for freaking ever, like always, but when it was done, it had nice volume. I threw on my Converses, grabbed my phone and bag, and headed out the door.

  After breakfast I’d figure out my next move. It wouldn’t be so easy to walk right into The Tipsy Claw a second time. But dragons would be going there sooner or later. And so would Zane.

  Maybe I could find somewhere close by to watch the place, like the cupcake shop across the street.

  Pleased I’d figured out a plan, I made my way down the hall and took the elevator to the lobby.

  One step out and I froze. To the left was clearly the way to the breakfast in the hotel restaurant. I could smell freshly cooked bacon and eggs and other foody deliciousness. But there was something right here that was more pressing than my growling stomach.

  It was the scent of smoke, like a cam
pfire in an autumn forest.

  I turned right and jogged ahead, searching.

  Sure enough, just outside the sliding glass double doors was a huge man with dirty-blond hair and a leather jacket. He was walking away, leaving the hotel. A flutter of anticipation swirled in my core. Even from behind I knew it was him. It had to be.

  I walked slowly, adding distance between us. If I could smell him, it was possible that he could smell me. Would he? I guessed that depended on if he really was some kind of shifter. His scent didn’t have the same wild quality that shifters usually had. But shifter or not, he was more than human.

  Deep down I hoped he was a dragon, even if it meant he was the one I was sent to find. Even if it meant we were supposed to be enemies.

  More than anything, I wanted to snag myself a dragon.

  His stride was sure and his dark jeans flattered his ass. I enjoyed the view.

  My pulse quickened, excitement flooding through me. A smile spread across my face as I followed him out the door. It was a familiar feeling—the thrill of the hunt.

  Hot and bright, the summer sun beat down hard. The air was filled with perfumes and colognes of people bustling about, but beneath that was the soft scent of late blooming flowers.

  I followed at a distance, listening to the sounds of cars, to laughter and chatter, anticipating Zane’s next move.

  His head quickly turned to the left.

  My breath caught and I froze.

  But he didn’t turn completely around. Instead he looked over the lot of cars, and I caught a glimpse of the side of his face.

  Hard blue eyes shone like sapphires beneath a furrowed brow. His jaw was clenched, like the morning had pissed him off already, and that little blood vessel ticked on the side of his forehead.

  He was Zane, all right, no question.

  What was he doing here, at the hotel where he knew that I was staying? He hadn’t come to my room, or at least I hadn’t heard him knock. I had slept hard.

  Zane walked through the packed lot and stopped beside his motorcycle.

  I remembered the feel of riding behind him, of the wind in my hair, of holding tight to his hard chest, of being pressed up against his back. A warmth carried through me at the thought.