by Lisa Ladew
Jameson waited just inside the door for Carick to make his way inside. His face had been pressed to the phone again, ever since they’d left the meeting. He was way faster typing with two thumbs than Jameson ever had a prayer of being.
Carick pulled open the door and stepped inside, wincing at the martial drumbeat of some heavy metal song blaring through the wide open room. Shouts from the males watching a fight punctuated the bout, whenever someone got a good hit off.
He stepped next to Jameson and leaned against the wall with him, both of them studying the crowd almost companionably.
Jameson only pretended to study the crowd, actually. His mind was racing over what had happened to him at the TOV meeting when he’d looked at that woman. His response had been strong, overwhelming, and completely inappropriate. Switch or not, the Keeper had more important duties than to rut with the switch during her prowl. (you don’t. she’s yours) Jameson’s skin crawled. He shivered and rubbed his arms. Was someone watching him?
He had to get ahold of himself! He explicitly remembered thinking that none of it mattered. Keeper. Steward. Switches. Vampires! Of course it mattered. It was everything. His duty was more important than anything else, even mates he wasn’t allowed to have, even family. He would do it. He would find the woman, determine what she was, then turn her over to… someone. Someone other than him. Whatever Carick thought. The Keeper’s duty was to the Steward. Right? He would ask Carick.
His mind still pulled at him, demanding he return to thinking of the woman. He ignored it, standing straight, looking at the crowd. He would get through this night, measure shifter response to the Steward, then decide what to do about the woman. Tell Carick about her? Tell anyone? Or just keep looking for her himself.
Decided, he was able to focus on other things. He left the wall and stalked closer to the “ring” where a fight was going on. A sweaty, nasty one, it looked like. People stepped over fresh blood sprays. The sparring “ring” was nothing more than a large square marked on the floor with duct tape. Dark brown splotches stained the concrete within the taped-off border, from nights when things had gone too far. Still, sparring was the closest thing Five Hills had to an official shifter meeting time. Jameson saw more faces that he didn’t know. Twice as many men as he’d ever seen before. Word was getting out, for better or worse. Dario was there, the wolf cop; Flint and Bryce too, the bears; Aven, the eagle; Riot, that cat seemed to be showing up more and more; and Hernando, the mated condor, but without his mate.
Jameson reached the crowd around the ring. The female was in there! A male he’d never seen before elbowed Jameson in the ribs, shouting, “Her name’s Shiloh, and she’s awesome. Like what’s-her-name, that woman who beat Rhonda Rousey!”
Jameson watched in fascination. The first female he’d ever seen in sparring, which he’d started as soon as he’d moved back into Five Hills after the reckoning and his subsequent bug-out. He’d moved it a few times, of course, and no one who knew him then was still alive to recognize him now. But it was his baby, and always had been. Flint was kind of in charge, too, because this was his place, and because he was a badass bear, but they tried not to step on each other’s toes. Flint was hovering over the far corner, watching the fight with arms crossed, analytical frown on his face.
With a start, Jameson realized Shiloh was fighting her brother, Ryder. Which made sense. He didn’t think any other male in the room would have been willing to fight her in her human form; too much societal baggage attached to men fighting women. But her brother? They’d probably been fighting like this since childhood.
Jameson watched, wildly interested. Shiloh was such a mystery. The exotic, muscled female dropped into a crouch, sweeping one leg out at Ryder. Her brother hopped lightly, like a kid over a jump rope, with a smile to match. He waggled his fingers and shot a taunting look at her.
She surged from the floor, springing powerfully, a spin-kick catching Ryder square in the chest. Even as big as he was, the male had to take several steps back to regain his balance.
The shocked look on his tan face lasted a moment before it turned scheming. He went on the offensive, whipping out at his sister with a right hook. She dodged to the side and he dipped to grab her calf and flip her onto her back. Shiloh’s furious yell carried over the music easily but she was back on her feet in milliseconds.
Flint stepped into the square at the far corner and barked an order, his deep voice bouncing off the walls with the music. “Now, shift!”
Smart. You never knew when you would have to shift in battle. Fighting as your animal was instinctual for the most part, but changing in the middle of a fight, shedding clothes while dodging punches? Best practice that shit.
Their clothes ripped off of both of them. Neither was wearing tear-aways, which not only got expensive as hell, but both had to rip at their clothing with their claws as they shifted lest the other have an advantage to press.
In a moment they squared off as big cats. It was always intriguing to Jameson, watching other shifters’ animals when they fought, learning their differences. Where wolves were usually directly aggressive, and bears were lumbering hulks of unstoppable power, cats were more inclined to toy with their opponents. Raptors? They flew out of reach and dove in straight for the eyes.
As cats Shiloh was the larger of the siblings, a snow leopard with dappled white fur and thick, muscled shoulders and back. Ryder, meanwhile, had become a lean clouded leopard; hard-packed with muscles poised to spring, dark in look and deadly silent as he padded around his sister, eyeing her like she would soon be dinner. Shiloh pounced, not telegraphing the move beforehand, using her superior size and weight to pin her twin. He twisted and snarled, his enormous canines snapping and his long tail whipping in fury. Fur and blood flew through the air and the crowd gasped in hot anticipation.
Good stuff. Strong shifters. But who in the fuck would win?
Ryder managed to get turned, sink his fangs into his sister’s flank. She howled in pain, an inhuman scream that had every wolf in the room wincing, and struggled to get free. Ryder wasn’t giving at all. Blood flowed freely around his jaws, his teeth fully buried in fur and muscle. Shiloh swiped at him with her claws, scratching bloody tracks into his nose, but Ryder held tight, dragging his sister’s body across the floor as she yowled in protest.
Flint dropped to his knees next to their matted, bloody heads and slammed his hand on the floor. “Point!” he yelled.
The two cats disengaged, Shiloh laying on her side and panting, Ryder rolling away and shifting immediately. He gathered his clothes, held them in front of his body, and stalked to the bathroom.
Shiloh panted for a few more seconds, cat tongue peeking between her fangs, blood matting the fur around the two large holes in her flank. Then she shifted, as quickly as Jameson had ever seen anyone shift. Naked, lean, dangerous female sprawled on the concrete, blood mixing with sweat to slick her skin. The crowd went completely silent, staring as Shiloh pushed to her feet, snatching her ruined clothes from the floor, not using them to shield her body at all. Jameson’s manners took over and he looked away, but not before he caught the heated look Shiloh threw him. That female, she wanted him to see her. Her expression said it might be only sex between them, but it would be the kind he didn’t soon forget.
Carick pushed his way through the crowd to stand in the center of the room. Jameson watched shifters notice him, try to scent him, frown and ask each other questions.
Carick held his hands up, launching into a speech like he’d been the one to call the meeting to order. Like they all knew who the fuck he was, and were ready to declare fealty. Carick’s voice rang out. “Shifters of the forest, I address you in a time of great need, and hope you honor my call. For many years your duties have been neglected-” Someone flicked the music off, like they wanted to hear this, and Carick threw his eyes to the ceiling for a moment.
Bryce, always playful even when he was asking the hard questions, snorted, cutting Carick off. “What do you know
about our duties? Who in the fuck are you?”
Bryce was big, wide through the chest and neck and thigh, like bears always were, but when Carick strode over to get in his face, the Steward dwarfed the bear. “You think I’m talking about the way you spend your time, shifter? Riding rubber boats filled with screaming females down rivers?” He gestured to a promotional poster for white water rafting on the wall. “Trading money for goods while blood thieves conquer your country?”
Bryce gulped and frowned. Right. Jameson felt the same fucking way. Shit was getting real.
Carick wove his way between the standing shifters as they tracked him with eyes, ears, and noses. “You have neglected your purpose. Your reason for even being on this earth as the extraordinary beings you are. Your only purpose as the winged and clawed and furred, the strong shepherds among the sheep, is to save them from the beast who hunts them in the meadow.”
Carick shot Jameson a look, then swept an arm across the crowd. “Let me be clear, you are the shepherds, the sheep are all humans in existence, and the beast is the vampire, a vile blood thief who seeks to drain the blood from every last one of your sheep. Yes, vampires exist. Yes, they are immortal, unkillable. And yes, shifters and vampires are mortal enemies!” He shouted the last word, and it echoed around the space.
Ryder and Shiloh came out of the separate bathrooms at the same time, fully dressed, bumping fists as they joined the small circle around Carick. Jameson was impressed. It took a strong bond for a fight that brutal not to affect it.
Many shifters muttered, but no one called Carick a looney. No one laughed and pointed fingers. No one walked out of the room. Word had gotten out, and they believed it.
Carick waited for someone to speak, and Flint was the one who finally did, his scar twisting down his neck in the overhead light. “But we can’t kill them.”
Carick whirled on him. “You can’t. Your job is to contain them, to hold them for your switch while she plunges her energetic dagger into his heart. Otherwise you could separate head from body from limbs, scatter the pieces to the four winds, and the filthy bloodflesh of the vampire would still seek to connect itself, to reanimate.”
Someone in the back row muttered, “Vampire zombies. Shit.”
A shifter, a wolf who hadn’t been there three days before to hear Jameson’s story, spoke up. He stood near Flint with his arms crossed over his chest, and his tone was defiant. “What in the hell is a switch?”
Carick nodded and faced the shifter. “A switch is a weapon in the form of a woman. Warriors in possession of an energy no one else can wield. This energy is what kills the vampire.”
Bryce shook his head. “What about garlic? Crosses?”
Carick pulled himself up to his full height, his voice booming. “Human myths, each and every one. Vampire’s would laugh in your face for such folly. Then feed on you.”
The wolf spoke again. “Then where do we come in?” The guy was asking the perfect questions, feeding into exactly what Carick was apparently looking for. If Jameson hadn’t known better, he might have thought Carick planted him like a shill. How in the hell would Carick have managed that? He knew no one besides Jameson. Couldn’t drive. Had no phone, except for Jameson’s.
Carick turned in a circle. “Your purpose entwines with the purpose of the switches so fully, there is no difference in it, only in the way you pursue it. Switches kill. Shifters stalk and hold the Vampires and protect the switches from Vampire bites and blows. Shifters can shift to heal, switches cannot, so you are their armor.” Jameson startled. He’d read that before, in The Keeper’s Book. He needed to ask Carick about the book.
Carick pushed on. “You mate them, you protect them, you sense when they are in danger. The strongest among you live in their covens with them, planning Undoings.”
It sounded unending to Jameson. Was there a way to win? Could they ever hunt up the last vampire and kill him? If that was possible, why hadn’t it been done before?
Carick was on a roll, so Jameson kept his questions to himself while the big male spoke. “There may be those among you who have something precious, an object you’ve held sacred for much of your life, but you’ve never known why. It could be a stone, a weapon, a piece of wood that you never knew what to craft from it. You’ve carried it with you for years, not understanding the compulsion. This is one of your most important purposes. Shifters can intuit what the switches need, even the weapon that will be the most true for a switch to whom they are covenbound. They are compelled by the instinct to gather or create the item, to hold it, save it for decades if that’s what it takes, until they meet the switch to whom it belongs. Then they hand it over.”
He looked around in a nervous circle, and for the first time, Jameson realized Carick was using this as a barometer. If any shifters had such a thing, that meant the covens could come back. That meant switches still existed. He watched the crowd, holding his breath.
A wave of unease moved them. Flint and Bryce exchanged curious looks as Ryder bumped Shiloh with his shoulder and she glared back at him. Riot twisted his fists in his pockets and shifted from foot to foot.
Carick smiled and his eyes took on a glow, not of warmth, but of something darker. He raised his arms and motioned around the crowd. “Those of you who can’t look at me, who are shuffling your feet and remembering items hidden in your homes, you are covenbound.” His scowl turned triumphant. “The battle will carry on!”
“Where are the switches, then?” the wolf asked again. Shill! Had Carick pulled him aside in the parking lot?
Carick shot a dark look at Jameson. “Killed. Like your ancestors, in a great vampire battle in the forest over a hundred years ago. But you are here. You live, descendants of those who were not killed in the battle. Switches will be the same. They may live in this town, dozens strong, but none will know until they sight their first vampire. This activates an energetic glow in them, that all shifters can see.”
Bryce snorted. “You mean they get switched on?”
Carick frowned. “Explain.”
Bryce mimed pressing a button on an invisible desk in front of him. Carick only glared, so Bryce pressed another invisible button on an invisible wall. Nothing. Flint elbowed him and faked a laugh. “Good one. Don’t worry about it.”
Bryce wouldn’t give up. He swiped his phone out of his back pocket, his face determined. He held it in front of Carick’s face and pressed the button, the screen lighting up at once. “Switched on!”
Carick stared, frowned, then almost smiled. Jameson couldn’t believe it. Carick nodded. “Switched on, yes, the first time a switch lays eyes on a vampire, she gets switched on. Glows just like that screen there, but the glow is only visible to shifters. The first time she kills a vampire, she becomes fertile. And the first time you put a resonant in her hand, she becomes a killing machine like you’ve never imagined.”
Jameson shook his head and stepped forward. “Wait a second, Steward,” he growled, blind to the eyes on him. “You never said that before. Switches don’t become fertile till they kill a vampire? Then how would any be born after the Reckoning? No vampire hunts means no switches switched on and no switches having babies!”
It all fell apart, that quickly. Fuck. Unkillable vampires. For the shifters to fight them, they’d have to encase them in concrete, or something equally ridiculous. Especially in the age of cell phones and viral videos.
Carick’s scowl never wavered, and he didn’t speak. Jameson, who was starting to figure him out, saw the wheels turning in his mind.
He finally spoke. “We must operate as if switches exist. We must seek them out. They are our only hope. Anything could have happened. I cannot believe that The Well would allow such a species to die out completely, especially so essential to…”
But his words trailed off and his face closed off. He strode out of the circle of shifters and to the wall to pace and talk to himself, ticking facts off on his fingers.
They’d come full circle.
Chapter
17
Jameson drove to the library where the emergency Triumph over Victory, or TOV, meeting that the humans had called was being held. The Victory Party had announced that a powerful politician had joined them, shunning his old party, and the rumors were flying on every news channel that the guy was going to run for president in the next election. Jameson had already marked him as a vampire, and when Carick told him about the press conference, showing him the red-eyed male on Jameson’s own phone, Jameson’s blood had gone cold. The vampires were after the presidency.
It had been almost exactly a full day since Jameson had stalked out of sparring, Carick following without a word, both of their minds on what had been revealed. Switches weren’t fertile until they killed a vampire, and neither of them knew if that was a deal-killer or not. The two of them mentally circled each other like wild animals, neither saying a word, blame for the other locked behind both their lips.
Jameson had dropped him at the cabin, then driven a short way down the road to park his truck and lope off into the woods. He’d slept under the stars in the cool of a dirt bed dug out from underneath a tree root, waking at first light and returning to Carick, most of his anger evaporated, slept off. Carick was doing the best he could, just like Jameson was. The Steward had acted like the incident never happened, demanding they go to the Tsigule Cliffs again, then making them visit the site of each boulder that was supposed to mark a coven. The boulders were spread wide through the forest, and as they drove Carick typed away on Jameson’s phone, researching the vampires and the Victory Party.
As they pulled in the parking lot, Jameson caught a scent of shifters congregating, heard them arguing through the open window. He levered his truck directly next to the group of shifters and jumped out, ready to break up the fight. He didn’t care who started it, he would finish it.
