Outfoxed: A Zodiac Shifters Paranormal Romance: Gemini

by Melissa Snark

  "Everything. I never should've left you. I've made a big fucking mess of my life. Now, I'm just desperate to fix this. Please, Nick, sweetie, buy me some time with Balthazar. He trusts you. He'll listen. I promised, once Nana is home and this is over, we can talk about us."

  "Us?"

  "About getting back together again, Nick. Of course, that is if you still want me..." She coached her manner to sweetness and uncertainty even though it was shit in her mouth.

  Nick stayed silent for a long time while Hannah balanced on the razor's edge. She broke out in a cold sweat. She'd overplayed her hand. He hadn't bought her lies. No way he was that vain or stupid or monumentally egotistical—

  "Okay," Nick said, obviously reluctant. "For the record, I'm not happy about this, but I'll talk to Balthazar and buy you until sundown. We have a few hours till he wakes up anyway"

  "Oh thank you, thank you, thank you." Hannah squealed and jumped up and down in a demonstration worthy of a cheerleader.

  "I might be convinced to take you back... if you beg really pretty." Oozing with smug satisfaction, Nick listed an address for the meeting which he made her repeat three times. He set the appointment at eight p.m. and then he hung up.

  As soon as the call ended, Hannah doubled over and puked up her guts on the floor of the bus stop. Her skin crawled at having been violated again, voluntarily this time, and she would never come clean.

  Chapter Twelve

  Atop the single-story building, the red neon sign depicted an overly muscular man who gripped jail cell bars and read "Grimm's Bail Bonds". It buzzed steadily, low and deep, a perfectly pitched mid-G note. The business was located in a rundown Los Angeles strip mall, squashed between a dry cleaner and a Chinese restaurant. Despite the hour, a quarter till four a.m., the sign in the front window proclaimed it was "Open 24/7".

  In an awkward bid at chivalry, Silver shot ahead of Hannah, intending to hold the swinging door open for her. To his dismay, there was an inch-wide bullet hole in the glass pane. A spider web of cracks radiated from the center. He pressed his lips together. Gretchen still hadn't fixed that—he hoped she hadn't left it there on purpose to serve as a reminder of a certain unfortunate incident.

  "This is a mistake." Hannah hung back, refusing to enter. "There are already too many strangers mixed up in my business and you want to bring in more..."

  "I'm not a stranger." He cultivated an injured tone and swung out, stretching to hook his hand behind Hannah. He caught the middle of her back, urging her closer, but he was met with stubborn resistance.

  With a thin sigh, he stopped trying, but he missed the spontaneous and passionate Hannah who'd kissed him silly a few hours before. Hannah returned from her "walk" sullen and withdrawn, smelling of tears and sickness. She announced the time and location of the meeting with Balthazar, but said little else. His attempts to find out what was wrong were politely but firmly rebuffed.

  "Why are we here again?" Hannah asked.

  "We do need these guys. Right now the bad guys have us outnumbered and outgunned. We need muscle if this is going to work." Pointedly, he yanked the door open and gestured her through.

  "I don't like the idea of bringing more guns into it. Someone's going to get hurt." With a grimace, Hannah advanced, dragging her feet every step of the way. It took her twice as long as it should have to cross the threshold.

  "More guns will make it less likely that someone starts shooting." Silver followed fast on her tail because he didn't want to leave her facing the employees or clientele alone. Come to think of it, the truly chivalrous thing to do would've been for him to enter first. He winced, rushed his pace, only to discover the fox had halted.

  Silver ran straight into Hannah's back and knocked her off balance. She produced a startled squeak and tipped over. Scrambling, he grabbed for her just as she twisted around and reached for him. She stepped on his foot and he tripped. Their legs tangled and they stumbled across the floor in a vigorous freestyle take on Dance Twister. Luckily, the wall was there to stop them.

  "Oomph." Silver's shoulder and back took the brunt of the impact. He wrapped his arms around Hannah, sheltering her, and used her to remain upright.

  "Stop clowning around." Hannah jabbed her elbow into his ribcage hard enough to leave him winded. He bent, clutching his side, and she struggled free.

  "I'm not clowning. You're the one who stopped without warning." Silver opened his arms, releasing her. He propped himself against the wall while he checked his dignity for injuries. He was pretty sure he'd just suffered a lethal wound. Also, his boots were untied... further victims of the vixen's clodhoppers.

  "Uh, Silver?" Hannah backed into him.

  "Yeah?" He bent to tie his laces, but her elbow caught him square on the chin, smashing his jaw shut. Pain roared through his head, followed by a wave of dizziness. He saw stars.

  "Look." Hannah caught Silver's head. She stopped him from spinning, but the stars continued at light speed, leaving long warp trails across his vision.

  "That hurt." Silver's stomach gurgled, roiling like the noxious brew in a witch's cauldron, and he feared he would be sick. The noxious second-hand cigarette smog in the air wasn't helping.

  "Look." She turned his face, directing his gaze.

  A dozen scruffy, scary-looking mercenaries surrounded a large round table that was piled high with beer bottles, shot glasses, poker chips, and overflowing ashtrays. Hunters: their number consisted of nine men and three women. A few stood with rifles or shotguns aimed at the intruders; the rest remained seated, still gripping playing cards or lit cigarettes... and in a few cases, knives or pistols. All attention riveted on Hannah and Silver, and it was quiet enough to scare any smart man witless.

  Gretchen Grimm removed a smoldering cigar from between her teeth and snuffed it out in the ashtray to the side of her whisky. She pushed out her chair and its legs shouted as they scraped across the floor. The wiry woman grasped the rifle that doubled as her cane, and circled the table. Despite favoring her left leg, she was deadly fast and aggressive; her three-legged walk a military march. The woman was lean, tough, and sinewy with an aged copper complexion and snow-white hair. Reputedly, she was old, though no one seemed to know how old exactly. In spite of her age, her face was smooth and tight, crisscrossed with faded scars and her dark eyes burned with ferocious verve.

  Silence screamed. Beside him, Hannah tensed, teetering on the primal edge of fight or flight. Wordlessly, he gave her props, praising her courage.

  "Silver. I might've known..." Gretchen rested, leaning against the rifle, and pinned him with a glare. The hunter's true intimidation derived from the powerful magic she commanded.

  "Gretchen, it's a pleasure to see you again." Silver rolled his hand and bowed in courtly fashion.

  "The last time we spoke, I warned you to keep off my property," Gretchen said with a bullish huff.

  "That's true, but I wrote a song for you. ‘The Huntress’. If I were to do as you said and stayed away, you would never hear it." He laid on the charm. While his smile turned heads, it was his voice that had literally saved his life. So he summoned song to spoken word and kept talking. "I couldn't live with that..."

  "So you prefer not to live?" The Grimm Reaper asked with a grin.

  He almost flinched. A twitch in the corner of his eye betrayed him, but otherwise he held steadfast. Remarkably, Hannah stepped forward instead of back. She assumed a guard position at his side, her head low to defend against threats. Silver's heart soared on the epiphany that Hannah cared for him. His fear vanished. For all her posturing, Gretchen Grimm was too essentially good to murder a bumbling coyote and an innocent fox for trespassing. He had this.

  "Music is life." Silver smiled and spread his hands—C'est la vie. Live by the song, die by the song.

  "All right, you called my bluff. You're fortunate to be blessed with that beautiful face and that divine voice, or I'd have shot you ages ago." Gretchen chuckled and the other hunters picked up their leader's laughter. Around the
room, voices rose as conversations resumed and weapons lowered.

  "You know you love me." Silver spread his arms, offering a hug. Gretchen had threatened to kill him on the day they'd met, and every occasion that they chanced to meet since. He'd come to expect it; the hunter's contrary way of saying she cared.

  Gretchen lay an icy hand on his arm. Her fingers dug hard enough to hurt—a warning. In a low voice, she said, "There'd better not be a dragon on your tail."

  "There's not." Silver flashed a sheepish smile.

  "Or a trollop of trolls—"

  "No trolls. Promise," he said, raising one hand in pledge. He snaked his arm out to encircle Hannah's waist and tucked her against his side.

  "I knew it. You're a troublemaker," Hannah hissed into his ear.

  "The worst sort of troublemaker, too." Gretchen's dark eyes twinkled. "Silver, are you going to introduce me to your lover?"

  "We're not!" Hannah scowled, protesting a bit too vigorously to be convincing.

  "Please." Gretchen snorted.

  "This is Hannah..." Silver inserted himself into the tangle, smoothing it over with a wink and a smile. He savored Hannah's blush with fiendish delight. "Hannah, this is Gretchen, the Grimm Reaper of Los Angeles."

  "No one calls me that." Gretchen frowned in reprimand.

  "To your face," Silver shot back, tongue-in-cheek.

  "It's a pleasure to meet you." Hannah pressed between them, asserting herself at last. She offered her hand, and Gretchen shook it. The women exchanged neutral niceties.

  The congenial atmosphere was an opportunity. Silver judged the timing couldn't get better. If he waited much longer, Gretchen would condemn him for withholding relevant information.

  "So..." He added emphasis, a high note that captured their attention. Both women looked to him. More quietly, he explained himself. "For the record, we're up against a werewolf gangster, a rival band of coyotes, and a Russian Oligarch bear-shifter... that’s all."

  "Oh, that’s all?" Gretchen's grip gentled, at least, her touch no longer left him in fear for his life. The hunter appraised them coolly, and then she jerked her head toward the back room. "Let's talk where it's quiet."

  Leaning on her rifle, Gretchen plowed through the crowd. She led them toward the back through an office area. Men many times her size scrambled out of her way. Silver snickered, imagining what would happen to anyone foolish enough to body check the hunter.

  When Hannah took his arm, his spirits buoyed but then she sank her fingernails into his skin. He clenched his jaws at the cutting pain.

  "They're hunters." She hissed and her breath tickled the inside of his ear.

  "Yeah, they are," Silver whispered, shooting a wary glance at Gretchen. Despite her advanced age, nothing suggested the hunter's hearing was failing.

  Gretchen gave no indication she'd overheard, however, and turned down a narrow hallway covered in worn gray carpet that might've once been green. A yellow flood lamp hung from a hook in the ceiling, and its yellow extension cord had been stapled to the wall. There were two closed doors to the left, one to the right, and a rear-facing exit that led to the parking lot.

  "Hunters." Hannah dug into his forearm, piercing his skin with her claws. The scent of anger clung to her, a poignant aroma. Her bright green eyes glowed.

  "It's okay. Gretchen is a friend." Taken aback, Silver stopped in his tracks. Until that moment, he hadn't been aware how much the situation had upset her because she hid it so well. He'd known her long enough now that to recognize a pattern: when Hannah got scared, she got mad.

  "Easy for you to say," Hannah said, forgetting herself. "I told you I didn't want to involve anyone else, so what do you do? You bring in hunters."

  "I can hear you. I might be old but I'm not deaf." Gretchen performed a quarter turn and cracked the first door to the left.

  "Sorry." Silver offered a sheepish smile. "I didn't mean any disrespect."

  The old woman eyed him. "You claimed friendship with me. Why would I interpret that as a sign of disrespect?"

  He threw up his hands. "No clue. Truthfully, I'd say anything to stay on your good side. Gretchen, please, cut me some slack. You're truly terrifying. "

  "Never trust a conman who gives lip service to the truth. Sure sign he's lying." Gretchen's regard softened and she smiled. "You're a sweet talker. I'll grant you that. Save the flattery for a woman who's young enough to care."

  "Is your granddaughter around?" Silver asked before he could stop himself. Then he cringed, wishing he'd bitten his tongue.

  "My granddaughter's too good for the likes of you." With a snort, Gretchen waved him off and turned her penetrating regard on Hannah. "No matter what you've heard, hunters don't pursue shifters unless there's good cause. I'm aware of the stories that are told."

  "Are you?" Hannah asked archly.

  "You bet your pretty knickers I'm aware." Gretchen speared Hannah with a glare that chilled blood and bone. She personified death. "Hunters are the fiends that freaks fear. When a monster looks over his shoulder, he's scared he'll find me standing behind him. I love my work, and I've been doing it for longer than anyone else. I was a hunter when Jake Barrett wore diapers. I am the Grimm Reaper."

  The hunter advanced toward them. Stubbornly courageous, Hannah held her ground, but visible tremors shook her in her shoes. He suspected she would stand there while the scythe cut her down rather than run. His protective instincts kicked in, and Silver stepped up, inserting himself between the two women. Physically, he stood about as much chance against the huntress as a picket fence did stopping a locomotive, but none of that mattered.

  He'd die for his fox.

  Gretchen's eyes turned pitch black. His heart stopped. For a frozen moment, Silver expected to die. Hell, maybe he was already dead. Ironically, at the hand of the woman he'd sought out for help. A little voice in the back of his head mocked him. It sang, "See what happens when you stick your neck out for someone else? You get it chopped off."

  "Come tell me your troubles." Light returned to Gretchen's gaze. A fond smile curved her lips. Her fingers brushed the back of his hand, delivering a reassuring pat. Somehow, she made him feel like a beloved pet.

  With a gust, Silver resumed living.

  Reaching around the jamb, Gretchen hit the wall switch, flooding the area with light. The small office was packed wall-to-wall with battered cabinets. With the exception of the leather executive chair, every piece of furniture looked like it'd been rescued from dumpsters or acquired at yard sales. The beaten metal desk was barren of all but a cigar humidor and an old black rotary phone; a thinline Bible kept the front leg level. Silver had quipped about it once. Gretchen gave him the stink eye and said, "Can you think of a better use for a Bible?"

  When Gretchen entered the office, he seized the opportunity to compose himself. He glanced back, more than half expecting to find Hannah long gone, but was pleased to find her still standing there. The fox pressed against his back, almost but not quite touching him, close enough that he definitely should've sensed her.

  "Would you like to wait outside? I can handle this." He indicated the rear entrance. No one stood between them and freedom. She had a clear shot at escape.

  She drew herself upright. "No, I'll stay."

  "That's my girl." He flashed an easy smile, fronting more confidence than he owned, and stepped into the hunter's domain.

  "Have a seat." Gretchen assumed the executive chair, flicking her hand toward the matched guest chairs across from her. Like the outer rooms, the scent of tobacco flavored the atmosphere, except here it was more potent. Gretchen preferred expensive hand-rolled cigars to cigarettes.

  Hannah took one of the tremendously uncomfortable chairs, and Silver dropped into the other. The cushions were paper-thin and the perfectly straight back forced him to sit erect. He suspected the antisocial hunter kept the torture devices to discourage visitors from staying too long. For a long time, he'd wondered why she didn't just get rid of them altogether and force callers to sta
nd. He didn't suggest it for fear Gretchen would leap on the idea.

  "All right. Let's hear it." Leather creaked as Gretchen rocked back with her rifle across her lap. She raised her hand, fingers closed about an invisible cigar. For reasons Silver had never quite figured out, the hunter never smoked in his presence. Maybe it was out of courtesy, maybe she wanted to leave her hands free in case she finally changed her mind about killing him.

  He glanced over to Hannah, and arched his brow in a silent question. The fox-shifter hesitated, pursing her lips, and then nodded for him to go ahead. Silver took a deep breath and laid it all out: a quick but detailed summary of their situation. Both women listened without interruption.

  Afterward, Gretchen scrutinized him. "That's everything."

  "That's everything, I swear." Silver held up his hand, Boy Scout pledge.

  "No lies of omission or otherwise?" Gretchen asked.

  "Gretchen, I know better than to lie to you."

  Hannah flinched, a slight motion. Silver ignored it, pretending he hadn't noticed, but the sinking sensation in the pit of his gut wasn't good. He hadn't lied but he sensed Hannah was hiding things. When Gretchen inevitably found out—and she would because that's how these things always ended—the hunter would hold him responsible.

  Gretchen didn't move a muscle, but her face changed. It got harder, sharper, darker... a polished stone mask. Silver's worry escalated to an outright certainty of his own doom. Never mind: she already knew. Yeah, he was screwed. Fear flashed—crackling energy that set him on fire. He needed to leap to his feet and shout. Staying seated, still, constituted torment.

  "What are you asking for?" Gretchen asked.

  "A dozen armed hunters. I need them to show up at an exchange and just stand there looking mean. There won't be any violence." Silver crossed mental fingers since real ones would've been too obvious.

  "We hope," Hannah muttered, a damning indictment of her lack of faith in his plan.

  "There's always a chance the shit will hit the fan," Gretchen said. "You know that."