by Josie Hunter
“It’s beautiful. So…perfect.”
She turned back to explore the interior. The dark wood floor shone around the perimeter of the room, and the center of the room was a huge expanse of black rubber, a giant floor mat big enough for any training session. The fourth wall was covered in training weapons—swords, knives, throwing stars, staffs, crossbows—and gear of all sorts, including shields, paddles, targets, and protective clothing.
A Bowflex machine filled one corner while another held a stationary bike and the elliptical machine. In the center of the room stood a freestanding kickboxing stand. The exact kind she’d worked on in Boston.
“Like it?” he asked.
She kicked off her high heels, rushed toward him, and threw herself into his arms, almost impaling herself on the screwdriver. She dotted kisses over his face.
“Oh, Rusty, I love it! You’re the best friend ever.”
“No need to go overboard now,” he said, a blush staining his face. “It’s just a room.”
“Just a room? It’s heaven on earth.”
When he dropped her to the floor, she skipped onto the rubber mat. She spun in a circle, her eyes landing on a rope hanging from one corner, a pommel horse, and a set of rings. Dizzy now, she swirled in the opposite direction, this time her gaze lighting on a hanging heavy bag, extra mats, and rows of shelving that held more equipment than she’d ever imagined.
A padded bench sat on a grass mat against one wall. Above the bench hung a row of wooden pegs. Hanging on one of those pegs was a pristine martial arts uniform. Next to it was a wooden frame holding rows of colorful belts. White, orange, yellow. Green, blue, purple. Brown, red, black. A lifetime of training and accomplishment.
“Oh, Rusty, you framed my belts?”
He bobbed his head. “I got them from your mom when she arrived last week. I had her dig around for them. I knew you had them somewhere.”
She grabbed the uniform from the peg and held it to her body, clutching it tight. “I wish I could train right now. Maybe this weekend? Can you?”
“Yep,” he said, “it’s been too long. I’m as antsy as you are.”
She spun around in another circle. “How did you do all this behind my back?”
“Like you care what I do,” he said with a laugh. “Anytime I said the words ‘work to do’ you became mysteriously busy.”
She hung the uniform back on the peg, grimacing. “I’m not that bad.”
“Fuck, Steph. Have you ever lifted a paintbrush? Turned a screwdriver? Held a hammer?”
“No,” she said, “but that’s what I have you for. I’m the brains, and you’re the brawn.”
“Maintenance and building isn’t exactly brawn. It’s skill.”
“But look! Your woodworking minor came in handy.” She gave a sigh. “I can’t believe you did all this for me.”
“I was getting tired of your complaining. ‘I’m out of shape,’ ‘I haven’t climbed a rope in weeks,’ blah blah blah. Now you can get your own brawn back.” He pulled back his arm, and his fist dove toward her. At the last second, he pulled his hand back, but she’d already doubled over with an oomph. “See? You’re soft. I never even touched you, and you moaned like a wounded cow. Time to get you back in shape.”
Stephanie smiled. “You’re an old softie. You know that, right?”
“I don’t have a soft bone in my body, and you know it.” His tone was serious, but his pleasure at her words showed in his face. He put his hands on his hips and surveyed his handiwork. “I’ve been working on this room for a couple weeks now. Had to bring everything in the back through these doors.” He gestured to the row of sliding doors.
“It’s perfect, Rusty.” She stretched up on tiptoe and kissed the bottom of his chin then wrapped her arms around his waist. “Simply perfect.” Her forehead scrunched. “But where did you get the money? This surely isn’t in our budget. I’ve seen the budget.”
“No worries. Robb Jackson came to visit shortly after we moved in. You were on one of your endless quests to avoid work and—”
She smacked his arm.
“He, Marcus, and Steve wanted to thank you properly for saving Rosa. When I said you missed that old kickboxing bag, they wanted to do a bit more.”
“I’ll have to invite them over for a workout. We’ll all enjoy this.”
“Not Talon. He hates to sweat. Says he gets his workout flying, that’s plenty.”
“Where is Barry?” She deliberately avoided mentioning Dylan.
“Barry took your old friend home. Apparently working for a couple hours saps the life right out of the dude.” Rusty shook his head sadly, the spikes of his hair waving like a red sea anemone. “We should fire him now and save ourselves the headache. He’s not going to be a good team player. No, sir. I got bad vibes from him.”
She smiled and ran her hand down his arm, and her eyes misted with tears. “You’re such a good friend to me, Rusty.”
He studied her for a moment. “He gave us a bit of backstory, but I know your side of it, too, so I’m holding my final judgment.” He grabbed her hand and squeezed. “He’s Laura’s father, isn’t he?” When she swallowed hard and her eyes widened, he said, “No, I’m not psychic, not even using my incomparable Sherlock Holmes deductive ability. Those green eyes are pretty memorable, and I know a little wolf-girl with the same ones. It won’t be hard for anyone to figure this out.”
“Yeah, I figured that…I’m trying to decide what to do.” She started to tug him toward the hallway. “Aren’t you starved? We could eat out in the garden. I have four cheeseburgers with your name on them.”
“You got burgers? You know how I feel about—”
“Just kidding. I have a huge spinach salad for you. With plenty of dressing, just the way you like it. Filled with MSG.”
“Now you’re talking.”
* * * *
When she got home, lights blazed through the entire house. Stephanie smelled the delicious aroma of baked ham coming from the oven, but when she called out, no one answered. She dropped her purse on the foyer table—it was so nice to have actual furniture.
The house was empty. The door to the patio was open, so Stephanie stepped out into twilight, her favorite part of the day. Years of evolutionary experimentation had resulted in twilight being the safest part of the day for members of her species, both animal and shifter.
Instinctively she went on alert for any sight or sound out of the ordinary, her body freezing into stillness, her senses alive, searching for danger. When she determined everything was as it should be in her corner of the world, she kicked off her shoes and stretched as tall as she could, basking in the outdoors. She loved the slightly cooler air that came when the sun went down. It was Texas, and the heat remained, but still, the absence of the sun made a huge difference. She breathed in deeply to take in the scents of the flowers her mother had planted in big terracotta planters and faint smell of the small shoots beginning to burst in the herb garden. Her mother believed very highly in the freshest greens possible.
A quiet hush filled the backyard, broken only by the soft sounds of the night insects as they came out to hunt and explore. They chirped in the leafy foliage and tall trees and murmured in the woods beyond her fence line. Another sound filtered through the grass—a very soft growl.
She put her glasses near her mother’s on the railing. She laughed softly to herself and jumped down the steps into the yard. Her body shimmered in a muted glow. Suddenly she found herself buried in a pile of warm clothing. She twitched and jumped from her fabric burrow to find herself staring at tall stems of grass. She realized she really needed to hire a boy to mow it. She twitched again and then took several tentative hops in the direction of the growl. Her ears perked up to hone in on the sound. Grass rustled to her left, and Stephanie pounced, her fluffy heap of white fur landing directly on top of a tiny little wolf.
The wolf wiggled and flopped, its fur rubbing over Stephanie’s, its soft doggie breath caressing her whiskers an
d nose. The little wolf wrapped its paws over Stephanie’s body, and they rolled through the grass, over dandelion spouts, across several patches of crabgrass to land on one of the flagstones of the walkway. A paw swiped at Stephanie’s ear, a bit too roughly, and Stephanie lunged, giving the little wolf nose a tiny nip with strong teeth. The wolf reared backward with a small yelp then wigged its hindquarters, the nip quickly forgotten in its exuberance. Stephanie felt badly for inflicting any pain, however small, but the tiny creature needed to learn not to play so roughly. The wolf barreled forward, and just as it reached her, Stephanie sprang forward on strong legs and leaped over the furry body.
The wolf skittered across the flagstones then rolled, stumbling to rise on short legs. It scampered forward, and this time, Stephanie burst sideways, running down the path into the garden. She spun around and watched once she reached the haven of the dark patch. The wolf started to follow then dropped on its haunches and began to whimper. Stephanie saw a glow in the grass beyond, and within seconds, her mother leaned down and gathered the wolf pup into her arms.
“Your mama’s playing with you, pumpkin.” She put the pup down on the grass. “Go get her!”
The wolf scampered through the grass toward her, and Stephanie twitched and ran from the garden, across the flagstones, burying deep into the brush. She heard the sniffing and snuffling as her daughter tried to track her. From her hiding place, she watched the little paws digging in the dirt, the wolf’s ears flicking as it tried to detect sounds. Stephanie heard the click of claws as the wolf crossed the flagstones to track into the grass. Just a bit closer…She felt the warm breath on her fur right before the pup pounced. Her daughter was getting much better at controlling herself.
Stephanie rolled over and shifted. She sat up, gathering the pup in her arms.
“You did great, Laura,” she said, cuddling the wolf against her face. “You’re going to be such a big wolf someday.”
The wolf licked her cheek and then shimmered. Her daughter pressed wet kisses over her face.
“Love you, Mama.”
“I love you, too, baby.”
Stephanie rose and settled a naked Laura against her hip. Her mother was already on the patio, dressed in a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. When Stephanie reached the patio, her mother grabbed the toddler so Stephanie could gather her clothes.
“Her stalking skills are getting better,” her mother said.
“She’s a lot quieter than she used to be. And she only nipped me once.” She reached out and tweaked Laura’s nose. “Gotta watch those sharp wolf teeth, baby.”
“Better eat you wif, Mama.” Laura giggled.
Stephanie turned to her mother. “Where does she get this stuff?”
Her mother held up a hand and laughed. “Don’t look at me. She’s your daughter.”
“Well, we don’t bite people we like,” Stephanie said.
Laura bared her teeth and gave a little growl.
“No biting,” Stephanie repeated, trying for a more serious tone. “Right?”
“No biting, Mama! I be careful. Promise.”
“That’s my good girl. Now go get your clothes on for dinner.” Her mother put Laura down, and Stephanie gave her a little swat on the butt. Laura laughed as she ran through the sliding glass door.
“I’m afraid we’re not very good role models,” her mother said. “What do two rabbit-shifters know about wolves? I’m surprised she doesn’t hop.”
Stephanie watched as her daughter rounded the corner and disappeared down the hall. “She’s working with her instincts, Mom. They seem pretty sharp. I think she’ll be fine.”
“She really needs a bit more guidance than we can give her. Maybe we should put her in preschool. Don’t they teach stuff like that now?”
Stephanie laughed. “How to be a wolf?” She shook her head. “No, my guess is they concentrate on teaching them not to be shifters. There’s a lot of temptation in this town to be what we are, but there’s also a lot of tourists and visitors. I’m sure they try to get kids under control early.”
“You and Claire took to shifting like ducks to water. You had such control for being so little. I miss those days.” Her mother sighed wistfully. “Laura is coming along nicely, no matter our differences. We’ll just continue to do the best we can.”
Stephanie’s mind whirled. Claire. Rabbit-shifters. Wolf-shifters. Jake Westin. Dylan Winston. It was just all too much at once. Ironic that she could keep control on missions, be fearless when she had to, kick ass when necessary, but the idea of starting a relationship or confronting a man about their shared past threw her into a tailspin. Keeping a rein on her personal life had just about brought her to her limit.
When her mother started toward the door, Stephanie reached out and grabbed her hand. Her mother turned around, her brow furrowed. She studied Stephanie for a minute.
“Something wrong, honey?”
“I had a very strange day.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“Yes. I have a few things I should tell you.”
* * * *
Medea had been in Catamount less than two hours and already she hated the place. Dressed in black—her signature color, and mood if the truth was told—she strolled the downtown area. Not caring about subterfuge tonight, she smoked a cigarette, just getting a lay of the land, trying to determine who might be out and about at midnight so she could plan accordingly. She had no qualms about leaving a high body count when she managed to get out of this sappy place, but Esteban had asked her to keep the collateral damage to a minimum if possible. He’d been a bit jumpy lately, so afraid those Homeland dicks would track something back to him after his daughter’s kidnapping and discover how big his web of lies and damage really was. Esteban did run legitimate businesses, but they were barely loose threads in a very large, very complicated web of dangerous, deadly intrigue. Charlotte herself couldn’t have created a web as intricate as the one created by Esteban Santos.
He’d been different since the fiasco in New Orleans. She hated to see Esteban acting like such a frightened rabbit. He was a snake-shifter, a member of the Serpent Society. No entity—shifter or man—should be able to bring him to his knees in fear. Yet, that’s exactly where he was. On his knees, as if waiting for execution. Homeland Security, Justice, the FBI, each agency put a sense of apprehension in Esteban when they dug for intel, but none of it compared to the literal fear she saw when someone mentioned the Project Shimmer Commission or, even worse, the paranormal council.
Every day he went to the labs, hiding at his company, entrenching himself in his real business, cloaking himself in normality as though that could save him. He was on someone’s radar now—even if they didn’t have the evidence to back up suspicions. He should have known better than to think legitimacy could protect him. He probably did, but that didn’t stop him from pretending just the same. He knew if the paranormal council wanted his ass on a silver platter, they would get it. So Esteban lived in fear the council would expel him from his post. Or worse, bring him up on charges. Maybe even, as he truly feared, force him to his knees and execute him.
For small matters, the council deigned to let the human world handle the infractions, but for something of this magnitude…Medea loved danger and intrigue, but she thought distancing herself after this assignment might be a prudent course.
She was also seriously considering getting another lover. One she could respect. Esteban had been disappointing her lately.
She continued down the street, passing some sort of private club called Clandestine, a couple of women’s shops, a dance studio.
A dance studio. So very human. It belonged to Esteban’s daughter, and Medea was entirely tired of hearing about Rosa Santos Jackson. How on earth did a serpent-shifter live in this cheery, pretty town? It made Medea sick.
She hated that the shifters in this town had harnessed and restrained their natural instincts. They lived in public like humans. Like Esteban did. Cowardly.
She didn
’t subscribe to Esteban’s view of a shifter-human balance. He felt the animal within should remain quietly in its human body, emerging only when absolutely necessary to perform needed tasks, handle annoying problems, or at his personal command. He liked keeping the shifter population a huge secret because it made it far easier for him to run numerous underground, and completely illegal, operations. Each shifter brought a different skill set to the party, and Esteban knew how to exploit all of them. Human interference—and consequently government interference—could result in shifters being regulated, studied, possibly even subjugated, which would put a damper on his businesses and lifestyle. So he didn’t want anyone in the human community knowing what he was, what he could do, and how he used those abilities to further his own endeavors.
Most of those humans aware of the shifter population held the same view. Keep it under wraps. Keep it in control. Keep it for personal gain. There was a sick, twisted symbiotic relationship between those with the knowledge, a sort of perverted “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy. Anyone promoting a disclosure policy was dealt with quickly and efficiently. The trail of bodies verified that.
Fuck that attitude. A shifter was so much more powerful than a human could ever be. Medea saw no reason to hide what they were.
Diego Garcia was about as soulless as a man or shifter could get and an even bigger thug. Though Garcia was nothing but a schoolyard bully dressed in an anaconda skin, Medea understood where he was coming from with his view of shifter policy. Like Garcia, Medea would welcome the day the world knew what they were and an all-out war exploded between the norms and the paranormals. She knew shifters would kick the collective human ass, and the world would be theirs. Shifters would have no trouble controlling the human population. Now that sounded like a good plan to her.
