Shifter Romance Box Set

by Unknown

  The arcade was loud, full of children and teens as they ran between blinking machines. It was difficult to hear without shouting, I covered one ear and yelled. “Let's get some tokens!”

  Brandon nodded, following me to one of the many machines that dispensed the little disks. Popping in a few dollars, I gathered the metal coins that clinked into the basin. Smirking, I dropped a few into his palms. “Spend them wisely!” I cried, “they'll go fast!”

  “You know,” he said, voice raised just enough for me, “you don't need to scream. I can hear you just fine.”

  Crinkling the bridge of my nose dubiously, I tried to judge how serious he was. “Really? You can hear just fine over this racket?” I asked, softer... testing him.

  Bending down, he kissed my nose. My cheeks were on fire, and they only got worse when I noticed some young teenagers were gawking at us and giggling. “Yes,” he laughed. “Let's just say I've got good senses.”

  Of course, I thought silently, staring at him as he walked away. If he could smell those donuts from so far away, why am I so surprised? He's a werewolf, I keep letting that part slide out of my brain like it doesn't matter.

  That's because it doesn't matter. Not really.

  Looking up, catching the faces of the girls giving doe-eyes at Brandon, I hurried over to him. He was standing beside a game that showed off two guys with their fists raised. “Here, look, they made a game out of Giant Hunter 2!”

  Rubbing my forehead, I stared at the blinking screen. “You're kidding me.”

  “Let's play it, come on!”

  “Alright alright,” I said, popping in some tokens. “This is going to be worse than the movie was.”

  “Maybe,” he admitted, his hip bumping against mine. “Or it might be as fun as the night we saw it, that counts for something.” His touch, his words, they made my mood soar.

  The game began, so we started mashing buttons. It was, as I had predicted, an awful creation. Our characters ran around on the screen, chased by a giant who was intent on crushing them. The mechanics were cruel, you died instantly on anything you touched. Soon, though we were laughing over the noise of the buttons clacking, we'd eaten through our tokens.

  Shaking my head, I slapped the machine. “That was terrible!”

  “It really was,” he chuckled, poking at the coin slot. “Want to play some more?” His teeth glinted with his tilted grin.

  “Yes,” I sighed, sticking out my tongue. “I'll get more tokens, you stay here and guard our game.”

  Brandon saluted me, his face so stoic I was laughing all over again. This was what I'd been chasing, this feeling of excitement and freedom. There were no worries with Brandon. The only thing between us was fun, joy, and love.

  I was especially fond of the last part.

  Walking on air, my head foggy with childish thrill, I bent beside the token machine. I wonder if I should grab more this time, or...

  “Fiona?”

  The voice came from behind me. It was familiar, but it wasn't Brandon. My skin prickled, body moving in slow motion as I turned to find Mark standing there. He looked like he was torn between being ashamed, or being relieved. “Fiona, it is you.”

  “Hi, Mark,” I responded numbly. What do I do, what do I say? “Uh, how are you?” The last time I saw you, you were on the verge of... of...

  Looking away, he stared at nothing I could see. “You didn't come to class yesterday.”

  “No, I didn't.”

  Perhaps my short words bothered him. He twisted back, eyeing me with distrust, something I'd never witnessed in his gaze before. “You were avoiding me, weren't you?”

  Parting my lips, I sought out words. Mostly, I wanted to just slink off and escape the awkward interrogation. “Mark, listen, I...”

  “Fiona, what the hell happened the other night?” It was like he was imploring me for answers. All I cared about was how he was too close to me. The token machine blocked me from escape. “I mean, I wanted to apologize for how crazy I got—I was sort of drunk, and I thought you were into me, but then—then that guy showed up and... Hey. Fiona, talk to me!”

  I was staring at the ground, willing myself to vanish. “Mark, leave me alone. Please. I don't really want to see you after what you did. Okay?”

  “But it was an accident!” He reached out, grabbing my shoulder, making me flinch. “Fiona, just talk to me already!”

  Lifting my head, I saw Brandon as he shoved Mark violently off of me. “Get away from her!” The fury in those green eyes, it paled in comparison to the disdain in his shout. Mark went tumbling, hitting the side of a claw-machine.

  Covering my mouth, I stared between them both. I wasn't the only one watching. Collectively, the arcade had come to a pause. Teenagers stood around, wide-eyed or whispering nervously.

  “Brandon,” I said softly, but he was stalking towards Mark again. The smaller man saw him coming, hands lifted to ward him off.

  “Whoa, hey, calm down! I didn't do anything!”

  The cords in his arms flexed, the yellow shirt going taught over his broad back. Brandon reached out, pushing Mark against the blinking, ringing machine again. “I told you to stay away from her! How do you have the guts to even talk to her after what you did?”

  Licking his lips, Mark shot a quick look side to side. If the room had still been buzzing with the laughter and white noise of normalcy, I couldn't have heard him speak. As it was, even his mumbling reached my ears. “Look man, relax. Fiona and I, we're friends. Okay? That night, things just got a little hazy. She was flirting with me, I was drunk, you know how it goes.”

  My neck turned pink, as did my ears. Glancing around, I saw people staring at me, realizing I had to be the 'Fiona' in this tale. “Brandon,” I said again, stepping closer to them. “Come on, let's go.”

  He wasn't listening to me. “You're scum, you know that?” Growling, a sound so awful it made Mark jump, he grabbed the man's shoulders. “I should drag you outside and show you how it goes.”

  People were whispering around us, phones flashing to take photos. This is getting out of control. “Brandon!” I snapped, touching him on the middle of his back. That got him to stiffen, his jaw twisting enough so he could stare back at me. The hot centers of his eyes reminded me of how he'd gotten last night, when he'd begun losing control. “Let's just go, please?”

  Scowling, he went to speak... and was cut off when Mark, perhaps sensing an opportunity, swung his fist into Brandon's cheek. The sound cracked like timber, a few girls screamed.

  Amazingly, Brandon didn't wince. I wasn't sure he even blinked. With the patience of a hunter, the man—the werewolf—turned towards Mark. The slow way he peeled back his lips, flashing teeth that were sharper than any human's, made my stomach flip. “Oh, so you do want to play.”

  Everyone sensed the danger, the rising vibe in the arcade.

  I was close enough that it made my hair stand on end.

  Brandon ripped Mark away from the machine, throwing him several feet into the crowd. People scattered, the chaos breaking out all around. Before my eyes, the man I loved was turning into something I'd, until last night, thought was myth.

  His muscles bulged, features twisted. I saw what was going on, knew he was transforming. I wondered what Mark thought, scrambling away on his hands and knees. I need to stop this! Desperate to prevent Brandon from doing something unforgivable, I launched myself at him. “Brandon, stop this! Please, stop right now! This is too much!”

  I clung to his arm, he easily lifted me in front of him. My toes left the ground, his nose inches from mine. In that moment, I feared for my life. It reminded me of that day, of watching the water bore down on me.

  Brandon—no, was he Brandon?—bared his teeth at me. He still looked relatively human, but his eyes didn't see me. “Brandon!” I begged, his breath hot on my skin. Is he going to kill me? “Brandon,” I said in a panic, thinking if I stopped speaking, I'd never begin again. “It's me, it's Fiona! Please, Brandon, I love you! Remember?”


  I love you I love you I love you... so please, don't hurt me. Don't hurt anyone.

  Maybe my plea reached him, or maybe he'd simply come to his senses. Rage erased from his face, leaving behind the wide-eyed, baffled visage of the man I knew. Setting me down gently, he glanced around like he'd woken from a dream.

  A nightmare.

  “Fiona,” he whispered, both of us recognizing the unease in the expressions of the remaining people, “what did I...?”

  He let go of me, but I grabbed at his shirt. I felt him fading from me, his horror at his actions coming to life. “Brandon, calm down. Everything is fine, no one is hurt.” Mark, who'd retreated to a corner of the Arcade, wasn't close enough to argue. “Just take a breath, Brandon.”

  Pulling away from me, he shook his head sluggishly. “No. No, I did it. I lost control, like I was—like I was scared I would.” Covering his eyes with a wide palm, I saw only his mouth. It worked itself into a grimace. “Why did I do that? Why did I think this would all be okay? I should never have come back. I belong... I belong back in the forest, like an animal.”

  “It is okay! Brandon, listen to me!” Again, I touched my fingers to his arm. That time, he yanked away like I was made of fire.

  His reaction stunned me, but not as much as how he spun away and began to flee. In seconds, I watched the man I loved running from the Arcade.

  Running from me.

  “Brandon! No! Come back!” My scream was plaintive, he still didn't turn. I knew he had to have heard me. He'd told me how good his ears were. Ignoring the confused whirlwind of people, ignoring the distant sounds of sirens from someone calling the police, I sprinted out the door.

  I needed to catch up with Brandon. More than anything, I needed him to know everything was alright.

  Is it, though? Is it really alright? He attacked Mark, in front of everyone... his temper, when he lets it get out of hand he just becomes someone—something—else entirely.

  The idea that Brandon might never get control of himself, might actually be dangerous, crossed my mind. It filled me with dread, so I buried it down into a corner of my mind. No, I love him, I know he's a good person.

  This was just an accident.

  I could only pray it would be the last.

  The search went on for hours, proving futile. Wandering around downtown in a funk, asking if people had seen a man run by in a yellow shirt was getting me nothing. It was after two by the time I finally found myself at the front door of my apartment.

  Angel danced at my feet, getting more demanding when I ignored her. I couldn't give her any thought, though. Not right then. What do I do? How do I even begin to try and find Brandon?

  Spotting the empty box of donuts sent nails of sorrow into my guts. Everything felt so... unfair. I'd had him. Had him and all the wonderful things that came with him.

  Staring at the couch, recalling our night together, it made my eyes water. Will he come back? He has to. He has to come back. Imagery of Brandon running away, living alone in some dark, wet forest, entered my mind unbidden.

  I need to call the police, report him missing. Is that smart, or asking for more trouble? I couldn't be sure the cops would take me seriously. Brandon had only been gone a few hours, there was still a chance he'd show back up at my door.

  Wasn't there?

  Reaching down into my purse, I dug around for my phone. I wasn't positive if I was going to call the authorities, my grandpa, or no one. My plan was fuzzy. In a whirl of confusion, I upended the contents of my purse, not finding my phone among the pieces.

  And then I realized why that was. Brandon has my phone.

  It was defeat that rolled through my body. My eyes wandered listlessly, spotting my laptop. For a while, I just stared. Why am I looking at that? It was as if something was trying to bubble out of the darkness of my intuition. I need to keep looking for him, but I don't even have a phone anymore. Where do I go from here?

  It hit me.

  Angel mewled plaintively, trying to get in my lap when I bent down in front of my computer. Shoving her aside as gently as I could, I tapped on my keyboard. My excitement was rising rapidly, I was hasty and making mistakes. Still, I opened up the program I'd installed at Mark's behest a few weeks back.

  He'd had been amazed I hadn't had insurance on my phone. Then he'd shown me an application that would let me remotely track the new one I'd had to buy.

  Mark, I could almost thank you.

  Staring at the screen, I saw the tiny circle moving on the map. It was Brandon, with my phone. As long as he had it, I could track him with GPS.

  Snatching up the computer, praying the battery lasted long enough, I ran out my front door. The cool air felt good on my hot face. Fumbling with my keys, I jammed them into the car. Setting the laptop on the passenger seat where I could see it, the tires squealed as I backed out of my driveway.

  Speeding was an awful idea, but all I cared about was reaching Brandon.

  He's in the desert, moving fast. I need to hurry before it's impossible to find him.

  * * * *

  The road was swimming before my eyes.

  Night had fallen fast, as it was won't to do when you've been driving for hours. My body ached, my head pulsing with pain. I need to keep going. Brandon isn't far ahead now, if the GPS is working right.

  My tires crushed dirt, rumbling into the silent curve of the empty road. I'd seen no cars, it was likely I'd be ignored if I left the vehicle where it was. The map on my dying laptop showed the blinking dot that was my phone, indicating it was only a half mile away from where I'd parked. It hadn't moved for a few minutes.

  The screen went black, cementing my decision. I need to go out there. 'There' was, unfortunately, the middle of the rising dunes. Grabbing a flashlight from the compartment by the front seat, I scrambled out into the quiet night.

  If I hadn't been so hopeful in my search for Brandon, I suspected I'd have felt more scared. Wandering into the empty stretch of sand, alone, was just rife for trouble.

  One foot in front of the other, I soldiered on.

  I hadn't been walking for long before the road vanished behind me. The rising of rocks, hills, sparse trees and brush made everything harder to see. My goal was to not change course. I had no way to find Brandon if he moved, I could only pray he'd stay where I'd last seen him.

  Flicking the light across the ground to keep myself from breaking an ankle, I inched carefully around a large array of rocks. The air was chilly, my thin jacket hardly enough. Hugging myself, I wondered if Brandon felt the cool weather the same way as I did.

  Like summoned from my thoughts, curious things that wondered about my lover and his abilities as a so-called werewolf, a low snarl slid through the wind to my ears. Instantly I froze, one hand touching the rock beside me.

  What was that? Was it Brandon?

  My chest tensed, muscles fighting me as I inched around the slope. Part of me needed to know what had made that sound. The rest of me was begging to turn and flee. Calm down, it has to be Brandon. You've heard him make weird sounds before.

  But I was wrong. Partially, anyway.

  There in the distance, I spotted the source of the noise. Two figures were facing one another, both of them wearing twisted faces of rage. Brandon was one of them, still dressed in the yellow shirt I'd bought him that morning.

  The other person, I'd never seen him before. When he snarled again in that guttural way, I knew what he had to be. He had a similar aura to Brandon, a powerful heat that made my skin ripple. Brandon's eyes, hot green jewels, were fixed on the man's cold blue ones.

  If I'd had any doubt, it vanished when Brandon began speaking. “Why the hell did you follow me, Hector?”

  Chuckling, a gritty sound like rusty pins, Hector flexed his hands. “You know why.”

  “I'm not going back! I'm done living like you do, like an animal!”

  Narrowing his eyes, Hector cracked his neck. “Oh? You think you'll fit right back in to your pretty little human life?”<
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  The flicker of doubt in Brandon's face made me grip the rock beside me. “Yes,” he said, sounding less than sure. “I'm not—I don't need to defend my choices to you! You don't control me anymore.”

  Hector bent low, as if he was going to jump. “I can't force you by sheer willpower any longer, that's true. And you clearly won't listen to reason. That doesn't mean I'm opposed to dragging you back home myself.”

  The tension was electric, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth. Brandon felt it too, I could see it in his stance. But where it made me want to turn, to run away screaming and never once look back...

  For Brandon, it made him grin. “You actually want to fight me?”

  “I didn't say fight,” Hector whispered. “I said I would drag you home.”

  “That's not my home!” With a rumbling noise from within his barrel of a chest, the man I loved began to transform. “Not anymore. Not ever again.”

  Hector was larger than Brandon—much larger, in fact—to the point it took me a second to understand he was growing before my eyes. The dark hair on his head spread, melting along his skin and growing upwards like grass where it touched. He wore a thin, torn up shirt that tugged on the verge of bursting across his shoulders.

  When it ripped, the sound rattled through the air. I caught a glimpse of pale flesh, before that, too, became overgrown with matted fur. Yes, I realized, it's fur. They're actually turning into wolves.

  I struggled to comprehend the sight of it all. I'd believed Brandon when he'd told me he was a werewolf. He'd been so earnest, and it made a strange sense when combined with his abilities.

  But seeing it happen... that was a whole other story.

  My arms hurt, I looked down to see I'd been carving half-moons with my nails into my skin. Sweat beaded, dripping from my throat. Knowing Brandon was something inhuman hadn't prepared me at all for seeing the truth of it.

  Brandon's hands clenched, sharp claws gliding from the tips. He'd been muscular before, now he looked like a being of pure strength. The yellow shirt was about to rip, as Hector's had. Astoundingly, Brandon pulled it over his head quick enough to save it. I watched it fall to the sand, leaving his chest exposed to the air. His jeans followed, shoved down in one motion.