by Rosanna Leo
August Crane used to smell the same way when he hit her.
See? Crane’s ghost taunted her. You piss people off. You brought this on yourself.
Jani strode into her bedroom, confident no confrontation was imminent. As much as they recognized the stench of the shifters who’d destroyed her things, they could also tell the shifters had vacated the premises some time before the two of them arrived.
“Fleur. Look.”
She followed him into the other room. Her bedroom wasn’t even recognizable. Her bedspread had been shredded. The pillows, too. Fleur didn’t own a lot of jewelry, and what she had was fake, but it had all been crushed under someone’s heavy boot. Little rhinestones and mother of pearl fragments shone out of the weave of the old rug.
Worst of all, a warning message had been scrawled on her mirror in a sticky red substance. Her best lipstick, the one she wore when she went out for a drink.
You shouldn’t have fucked with Wilf’s property, bitch.
Wilf’s property. Her mother.
Something had told her everything had been a little too easy.
“Bastards.” Jani clenched his fists.
Fleur didn’t know where to look. She wasn’t concerned about her belongings. When she’d packed to go to Gemini Island with Jani, she’d grabbed her best clothes and favorite toiletries anyway. She wasn’t a hoarder of knickknacks, never having had any treasured mementos.
There was one thing, though.
She set her bud vase on the one table that had escaped the devastation and rushed to the closet. The contents had been upended. Even the wire hangers had been bent. She dropped to her knees and rummaged in the pile of rags at the bottom of the closet. Her old Nikon camera, a gift from her grandmother Annie, lay crushed in the corner.
In one fell swoop, her dreams extinguished.
August Crane presented himself again, leaning up against the side of the closet. Did you honestly think you could make a career out of taking cute little pictures for that bear shifter miscreant? No one in their right mind would ever hire you, dog. You’re nothing. No one. As meaningful and memorable as dust.
A mournful rumble originated in the pit of Fleur’s stomach, racing up her gullet, emerging as a war cry. She rose to her feet and threw herself at her invisible tormentor, trying to throttle him.
“Fuck you! I hate you, Crane. I hate you!”
She must have wrapped her fingers around the closet doorjamb, thinking it was Crane’s throat. Prying at the wood with all her might, she ended up with splinters under her fingernails.
Hands appeared at her shoulders, in an attempt to soothe her. “He’s not here, Fleur, sweetheart. Crane can’t hurt you anymore.”
But he did, and on an almost-constant basis. It was as if Crane had squatted in a corner of her brain, barricading himself there, watching her every move. She’d started out infuriated at Breckenridge, but somehow in her frazzled brain, he and Crane had become one. Tears blurred her vision and she let them, wishing she could erase the image of the former cult leader.
“I want him gone.”
“I know.” Jani pulled her into a tight embrace. “I’ll do all I can to help you get rid of him.”
His arms made her feel safe. They were the best sanctuary, the only refuge she’d ever known.
“Their scent,” he said. “It’s fresh, Fleur, fresh enough for someone like me to track. I want you to return to the island. I’m going after them.”
Her wolf barked in alarm. “No. Not without me.”
Jani’s jaw tightened. “I can identify four unique scents. We’d be outnumbered. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“You’ll be less outnumbered if I come.”
“Fleur…”
“Jani, they called my mother Breckenridge’s property, and they broke my camera. You’d better believe I’m going after those shitheads.”
“Look, I realize you and I fight well together.”
“We do.”
“But things are different now.”
“They are,” she agreed. “Which is why I won’t leave you alone. I can make out their scents, too, and I can tell Breckenridge was never here. I know his scent and he never set foot in this place. He got his thugs to do this. Together, you and I can take out a few idiot minions. We’ll send a message to Wilfey-boy.”
“Are you sure you don’t recognize his scent here?”
“I’m sure, but there is a familiar scent. Whoever did this knew me, at least one of them did.” She breathed in a few times, searching her memory bank for any indication of who might have trashed her place, but couldn’t place the smell. “Let’s go before they fade.”
“Fine,” Jani said in a grumble. “But I’ve already called in a reinforcement.” He stroked her cheek. “There’s no way I’ll allow you to be hurt.”
“Anton?”
He nodded. Because Jani was related to Anton by blood, they were connected by telepathy. He’d probably sent a mental plea for help the moment he saw the condition of her apartment.
She could live with Anton helping them. She’d underestimated Wilf’s attachment to her mother, sick as it was. Perhaps it was best she and Jani didn’t charge after the perpetrators on their own. They had no idea what awaited them. She may have made a mistake in assuming Wilf would forget about her mother, but she sure as hell would ensure they didn’t underestimate him again.
* * * *
“Green tea. Yes, a green tea would be lovely right now.” Wilf Breckenridge stood in front of his open kitchen cupboards, hands on the granite countertop. He scanned the cupboard but couldn’t see the box of his favorite organic green tea. Surely Jolanda hadn’t forgotten to pick some up on her last shopping trip. That wouldn’t do.
He’d have to speak to the woman. She’d already forgotten to stock the tea last month twice, despite him having reminded her.
He now understood why people complained about good help being so hard to find.
Thirsty and annoyed, Wilf strode into his living room and over to the sound system that covered the length of one wall. Flipping through his CDs, he chose one and inserted it into the CD player. Closing his eyes as the soothing strains of Debussy wafted around him, he tried to control his brewing anger.
He wasn’t really upset with Jolanda. He understood that much. It was all Barbi’s fault. “Ungrateful woman.”
She’d left him and he’d been in a tizzy ever since. Wilf hated being in a tizzy. Checking his Rolex once more for the time, he paced. He knew full well if he paced any more, he’d wear a hole in the penthouse floor.
In truth, it wasn’t even Barbi’s fault. Fleur was the one who’d absconded with her mother. He’d caught her green apple scent on the air when he went to retrieve Barbi from Tooley Street.
He hated leaving her in that filthy house but he’d made it clear she couldn’t use Spider in his penthouse. He might sell the stuff but he didn’t appreciate the erratic side effects. Besides, he’d worked hard to obtain the penthouse in his condo. He wasn’t about to welcome thieves and drug addicts into his sanctuary. What if someone vomited on his Persian rug?
His associates would find Barbi soon enough. Now they’d left a message for Fleur, he expected the younger Bissette woman to crack and offer up her pretty mother. After all, there was no love lost between the two of them. Why would Fleur be so keen to help her mother anyway? She’d never helped her before.
Wilf meandered over to the window. A thin film of dust lay on the sill. He dragged his finger through it and grimaced. He wiped his hand on his Brooks Brothers trousers. “That Jolanda. She’s quite beyond hope.”
Glaring through the window, he willed Barbi to appear. He couldn’t help himself. The minx had charmed him ever since they went to high school together. He’d vowed, then and there, to possess her body and soul.
He hadn’t always been a sophisticate. In truth, when he was younger, he’d been awkward and hesitant, a target for the bigger boys. But
years later when those same boys groveled before Wilf for a hit of Spider, he’d gotten his revenge.
It wasn’t easy to get a shifter high. Their systems were naturally more tolerant, less susceptible. However, when Wilf had formulated Spider, making it the hottest drug on the streets, shifters of all sizes had tumbled before him.
Including pretty Miss Barbi.
He remembered the first time he’d seen her at school. Her boyfriend Terry, the oaf who would become her mate, had taken Wilf behind the school and punched him until Wilf saw blood. At first, Barbi had laughed along with Terry, but her laughter had quickly turned to concern.
“Terry, stop,” she’d urged. “You’ll kill him.”
Terry had promptly turned and hit Barbi instead. To the best of Wilf’s knowledge, she never questioned the brute again.
In that moment, Wilf had decided Barbi would be his.
The only problem with that decision was Barbi’s penchant for Terry. Barbi still looked down on Wilf, treating him with contempt at the best of times. However, he persisted, insinuating himself into her life in ways she didn’t even realize. Wilf began to talk to her more, sidling up to her when Terry wasn’t looking. When he first offered her drugs, she’d refused, but her curiosity won out in the end. Before long, Wilf had her hooked.
Even after mating with Terry and breeding his spawn, she still belonged to Wilf on a level Terry would never understand.
When he’d arranged for Terry to shuffle off this mortal coil, she hadn’t even questioned him.
He could have other women, and he had, but Barbi remained special. She’d been one of the popular girls in high school, as beautiful as a pageant queen. He’d been a nobody. Now, he got a perverse pleasure out of seeing her debased on Spider, shackled to him. Sure, she’d lose her looks eventually, but he’d move on. He had options and boundless potential.
In the meantime, Wilf wanted to wring every last drop of life out of her soul.
He did want her back. Barbi’s body was so curvy it put Brigitte Bardot’s to shame. He wasn’t done enjoying it.
The door to the penthouse opened. Jolanda entered, carrying several shopping bags.
Wilf inhaled, searching for the scent of green tea. He sighed in disappointment. “Jolanda, did you forget something?”
The woman paled. “Your tea. I’m so sorry, Mr. Breckenridge. I’ll run right back out again.”
Wilf smiled and helped her set her bags down on the counter. “No, you won’t.”
Forgetting about his expensive trousers, Wilf shifted into his wolf and remnants of his clothing scattered to the floor. Enraged, he slashed at the woman’s neck until her blood spurted.
He shifted back into human form and shook his head at the mess. So much blood. Thank goodness he’d had the presence of mind to kill her in the kitchen. He nudged her body with his foot so her blood would remain on the tiles and not seep toward the Persian rug at the edge of the next room.
* * * *
Fleur and her tiger companions traced the shifter scents into town, right to a house on the outskirts of Lake Gemini. The two-story dwelling looked lonely, surrounded only by meadows. Several motorcycles were parked outside. Not long ago, they’d been running. Fleur still smelled fresh fumes. “This is it.”
Jani turned to her, his eyes bright even in the dark. “Are you sure you want to go in?”
“I need to do this. You can’t stop me.”
His lips tugged into a half grin. “I could sooner stop a hurricane.”
Anton elbowed Jani. “Maybe you guys could gaze into each other’s eyes later?” He motioned toward the porch.
One of the bikers came outside, laughing at something someone said inside the house. The man walked to the edge of the porch, pulled down his zipper, and pissed into the bushes at the side of the house.
“Charming,” whispered Jani.
“I think that’s our cue.” Anton stripped quickly out of his clothes.
Fleur and Jani followed suit, stowing their clothes at the edge of the meadow. Under cover of darkness, they all shifted into their animal counterparts. The two tigers flanked her wolf, and Fleur felt safe and ready to battle. She’d counted five motorcycles outside the house, but it didn’t mean other shifters didn’t loiter inside. Despite being outnumbered, she wasn’t afraid. They weren’t here to kill. After all, they just wanted answers. It didn’t mean they wouldn’t defend themselves, though. She knew for a fact Breckenridge didn’t hang out with nice people. Trashing her home had been meant as a threat, one she didn’t take to kindly. He wanted her mother back and she’d do everything in her power to make sure his wishes were never granted.
Keeping low to the ground, they moved swiftly through the meadow on the east side of the house, approaching the pissing man from behind. If she’d been in human form, the long, scratchy grasses would have irritated her skin. While she was clothed as her wolf, the weed stalks merely brushed against her fur. It was almost pleasant.
They reached the porch and Jani shifted into his human guise. Still far stealthier than a human man could ever be, he vaulted onto the porch and glided toward the biker.
Still peeing, the man sang snatches from an Ozzy Osbourne song, the same music that blared from the house. The guy had to be drunk. Any sober shifter might have sensed Jani’s approach. To say nothing of the fact his stream of urine seemed endless. When he finally tucked his dick back into his jeans, Jani clamped one hand over his mouth. With his other hand, he seized the man’s crotch and squeezed.
The shifter’s eyes bulged.
“Now, now, friend,” Jani purred. “I don’t want to kill you. All I want to know is where Wilf Breckenridge lives. Will you tell me?”
The man shook his head.
“Ah, that’s a pity.” Jani squeezed the shifter’s family jewels until the man dropped in his arms. He laid him on the porch and made sure he was dead to the world. Jani nodded at Fleur and Anton.
As planned, Anton’s tiger raced toward the back of the house. Fleur joined Jani at the front.
She shifted back into her womanly form for a second. “That was a neat trick.”
“One I don’t plan on teaching you.” He grinned and shifted, and she followed suit.
On Jani’s telepathic count, he and Anton crashed through opposite windows of the house and located the other shifters in the front room. Fleur dashed in behind Jani. They’d managed to startle the other shifters, who’d also been drinking. Two of them pulled out guns, but Jani and Anton’s tigers chomped down on the men’s hands and the guns fell to the floor. Fleur kicked at the weapons with her hind legs, tossing them into a corner.
A large man, some other kind of great cat, began to shift but she bit his leg before the transformation could occur. He yelped and she threw herself on top of him. Sniffing madly, she tried to determine if his was the familiar scent she’d detected earlier, but he was a stranger to her. Even still, that scent haunted her, clinging to the upholstery in the house.
The man took a swing at her so Fleur bit down on his shoulder hard enough to break a sufficient amount of skin. His eyes rolled back into his head and he whimpered.
A couple of bikers had managed to shift in the melee. A grizzly and a polar bear lumbered toward Jani and Anton’s tigers. Fleur jumped off her opponent and snapped at the polar bear’s knees, damaging his ligaments. The big mammal went down, but he went down snarling and clawing. The polar reached for her, its mouth open with a deafening roar. She dashed behind the couch, but it managed to pull itself up and cornered her there. She put her ears back and growled.
Jani slashed at his adversary’s neck and the grizzly went down. He aimed his murderous gaze in the direction of the polar and leaped. The two great bodies hammered each other, colliding with such a force even the big pieces of furniture rattled.
Anton set his sights on another shifter man who’d joined the fray, a jaguar. Although Anton’s tiger was larger, the jaguar put up a good fight. The two grea
t cats tackled each other and they rolled.
Fleur quickly surveyed the space. One man shifted into a wolf and crashed through the front door. She let him go. She’d never catch up to him. One wolf remained, its gaze pinned on her, its lips curled in a snarl. As a female wolf shifter, she might be bigger than a regular wolf, but this male shifter was bulkier and furious. He growled in warning, circling her, his tail raised in arrogance.
Too bad she never listened to warnings.
She lunged, aiming for his thick neck, and latched onto the skin underneath his coat of fur. The canine barked and angled its body away so it could snap at her. She released her hold, determined to take another piece out of him. Rallying, the bigger wolf attacked and they hit the floor, tumbling and bouncing between two tables. The shifter’s vile breath washed over her, making her want to puke, but Fleur rolled with him and tried to get the upper hand.
The familiar scent grew closer all the while.
The other wolf bit her above the chest and she whimpered.
Jani roared, still battling the enormous polar. Out of the corner of her eye, Fleur noticed the jaguar lunge toward Anton, but Anton whipped around and finished him off with a slash to the neck. The jaguar hit the floor like a spotted rug someone had discarded.
Despite the pain in her chest, Fleur focused on her opponent and surrendered to the anger that had fueled her for so many years. The same anger August Crane had noticed and encouraged. She’d held it back ever since knowing Jani and it raged out of her now. She was furious at her father and her mother, and ticked off at Breckenridge. And she wished she could murder Crane.
August’s ghost appeared behind the enemy wolf, waving. You’ll never get rid of me.
With a howl of rage, she catapulted herself at the other shifter and ripped out his throat. The dog twitched and fell still.
