Through Storm and Night (The Shape Shifter Chronicles Book 2)

by Lauren Jankowski

  “You are despicable,” Electra spoke shakily.

  “Well those shoes make your ankles look fat, but I’m too much of a gentleman to say anything,” he shot back.

  Electra turned away from him. “I hope you drink yourself to death!”

  “That makes two of us!” Jensen yelled just before she disappeared. He turned his attention back to the whiskey, tossing the full bottle over his shoulder with a frustrated scowl. He heard the bottle shatter against the hardwood floor with an echoing crash. The whole room seemed to be spinning as the alcohol he had already consumed snuck up on him. Before he knew it, Jensen flopped on his side on the couch. He was soon in a deep sleep, lost to the world. The protector had always been a heavy sleeper, even when he wasn’t blackout drunk. Jensen was oblivious to everything around him, including the windows, one of which slowly slid up as a shadow entered the apartment.

  Coop’s feet touched the hardwood floor, his sharp glowing eyes scanning the apartment to make sure it was empty. He carefully made his way over to the sleeping man, pausing when Jensen mumbled nonsense in his sleep. Coop tilted his head, making note of Jensen’s breathing pattern. His heightened senses told Coop the protector was fast asleep and unlikely to wake up any time soon. He made his way over to the glass coffee table, reaching into one of his pockets to retrieve an item.

  A jolt of electricity shot through his body causing Coop to gasp in pain. The charge was so high it would’ve killed an ordinary shape shifter on the spot. Coop crumpled to the ground, twitching and writhing as he panted for breath. Jensen muttered in his sleep and turned over onto his other side.

  “Too much time in the outside world has made you rusty, Coop,” a familiar taunting voice stated from somewhere just outside his line of vision. Coop tried to crawl away from his attacker. The shadow loomed over him, barely distinguishable in the murky night.

  “You’re an asshole, Dane,” Coop snarled, frowning at the way his words slurred. Great, I’m not going to be able to walk straight for at least twenty-four hours, he thought grimly.

  Above him, Dane shrugged. “Maybe, but I’m an asshole with a taser.”

  Coop stopped crawling and launched himself to his knees. In a movement faster than the eye could see, he snatched a lamp from the nearby table and hurled it at Dane. Dane, also moving with a supernatural speed not even shape shifters were able to match, dodged out of the way. Coop had anticipated this and so had thrown the lamp at a slight angle. When Dane ducked out of the way, the lamp still struck his shoulder, shattering and causing the man to curse out loud and drop the taser.

  Coop wasted no time, moving as fast as he was able to in the direction of the kitchen in the hopes of grabbing a knife or some other weapon. A charge that high would mess with his shape shifting abilities, but he could still put up a good fight. Dane launched himself at the other man, tackling him around the middle and sending them both careening to the floor in an undignified tangle of limbs. The two of them struggled to untangle themselves while also trying to land punches. Dane managed to punch Coop in the face, snapping his head back so that it bounced off the side of the cabinet. Coop easily shook off the dazed feeling, deflected the second punch and lashed out with his foot, catching Dane on the side of the head and knocking him backward. The two men struggled to their feet, breathing heavily, their eyes never moving from each other.

  “Why are you doing this?” Coop asked.

  “The Corporation is tired of your meddling,” Dane answered in his nonchalant way. “And I was feeling rather bored, needed some practice.”

  “The Corporation is now into taser manufacturing?”

  “Whatever gets the job done. Inanimate weapons do have their uses.”

  Suddenly, Coop ran for the front room where Jensen still slept in peaceful oblivion. He dove for the taser, which lay forgotten near the shards of the lamp. Dane reached it first, kicking it away and following through by striking Coop in the mouth with his heel. Coop winced, but maneuvered out of the way to avoid getting kicked in the face again. He spun his body around, lashing out with one leg and catching Dane in the back of the knees. Dane swore as he hit the hardwood floor.

  “You still got it, Coop. I’ll be damned,” he laughed.

  Coop saw a brief shadow of movement and grabbed the glass coffee table, raising it up like a shield. Dane’s powerful roundhouse kick shattered it. Coop quickly turned his face away from the shards, shielding his eyes from the sharp projectiles. When he turned back, Dane had grabbed the frame of the coffee table. Before Coop had a chance to react, he found himself hurled backward into the screen of the television set, shattering it. Coop fell down in a rain of dark glass, dazed. He grabbed one of the larger shards, wrapping his fingers around the sharp edge, which cut into his skin, then struggled to his feet again. He saw a flash of silver come up a few feet away from him. Dane had a combat knife trained on him.

  The two stood in silence for a moment, locked in a silent battle of wills. Each mirrored the other’s position: weapon held at the ready, one hand slightly lower to deflect any strikes. Granted, Coop’s position was not as steady as Dane’s, but he was still a dangerous enough opponent that Dane wouldn’t take his glowing brown eyes off him. Had Jensen awoken, all he would’ve seen were two sets of unnaturally luminous eyes in the dark. He remained lost in a dreamless sleep.

  “Dane,” Coop began, unable to keep the pleading tone out of his voice.

  “For christsakes,” Dane grumbled, rolling his eyes. “You know, Coop, if there’s one thing more annoying than your wide-eyed idealism … no, there’s nothing. That is by far the most irritating thing about you.”

  “For once, would you just listen to me?” Coop snapped. “The Corporation murdered my entire family. My wife, my daughter, my granddaughter — they’re all gone now.”

  Dane raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t expect that to happen? Hell, Grenich kills hundreds of shape shifters in a week and most of those have had billions invested in them.”

  “Yes, and now I’m going to help destroy the whole cursed place. The experiments will be free and we will stop the higher ups. You just have to turn around and walk away.”

  Dane let out a bark of laughter and shook his head, sheathing his combat knife again. He knew Coop had a strange sense of honor now and wouldn’t stab him unless in self-defense.

  “You are a fucking idiot, Coop. I don’t tell you that enough,” Dane scoffed bitterly before returning to his normal emotionless demeanor. “We don’t want to be free. We can’t be.”

  “What are you talking about?” Coop asked, lowering his weapon. He was surprised Dane had put his knife away.

  “Just because it worked for you doesn’t mean that it would work for all of us,” Dane responded. “You had a life before the Corporation and you had the doctor once you got out, but that’s not true for all experiments. That place is all we know. In your little revenge temper tantrum, you would just be releasing us into a whole other prison.”

  “That’s not true,” Coop protested.

  “Do you even remember your family or your life as Mark Waterson before Grenich?”

  Coop hesitated. “A little, enough to know that I was loved and I loved—”

  “Right, so in other words, no. Even if you did, do you honestly think it would be the same for all of us? You really think we’d just be accepted into the world? That those of us with families would be welcomed back with open arms? Look at us Coop, we’re freaks. Monsters. Killers. And we’re the successful experimentations. None of us fit into this world, not really. Oh sure, we can blend in, but we will never entirely fit in.”

  Coop shook his head. “Don’t you see, Dane? That’s what they want you to think, what he wants you to think.”

  “Really? Okay, if that’s not the truth, why do you wear sunglasses almost round the clock? What about the contact lenses that the good doctor whips up especially for you?”

  “That’s different—”

  “Is it, Coop? Is it really? You keep saying
that we live in a prison, but the way I see it, you live in one too. And yours is just as bad, whether or not you’re willing to admit it.”

  “At least I have freedom,” Coop said after a pause. “Dane, I really don’t give a shit how you view the outside world. What they’re doing in the laboratory and training fields and simulations is wrong. What they’re doing to this world is wrong. It has to stop. Kill me if you want, but someone will just take my place.”

  “Oh my god,” Dane laughed bitterly and rubbed his eyes, shaking his head. Coop swallowed, watching the other experiment. He wished he could give Dane hope, something to show him the world was not a lost cause.

  “You’ve already lost this war. Why don’t you see that? Are you really that delusional?” Dane said dully, glancing at his watch. “I have another hour before I have to go back to the barracks. Is there any other nauseating argument about there being goodness in the world that you would like to make?”

  “I haven’t lost yet,” Coop whispered, though some part of him wondered if there might be some truth to Dane’s pessimistic words. He had already lost so much in the endless war and Coop could feel his hope waver a little.

  “You’re a multi-billion dollar weapon off the assembly line, just like me. You can’t possibly take on the Grenich higher ups, even with the help of the doctor and whomever else you’ve recruited to your cause.”

  “I can’t,” Coop admitted. “But someone can, and I can help them.”

  “Who?”

  Coop chewed his lower lip, hesitating. “I can’t tell you, not unless you come with me.”

  Dane chuckled at the response. “Afraid I’ll spill the beans to Big Brother?”

  Coop didn’t respond but shifted his weight uncomfortably.

  “Yeah, I don’t blame you. No telling what I might say under the influence during the daily interrogations. Hell, I don’t even remember what I say half the time,” Dane said with a grin as he began to move toward the windows they had entered through. “Damn, Coop. I never thought I’d say this, but you almost fit in with the normals.”

  “Where are you going?” Coop asked, confused. Dane paused with one leg on the window sill and shrugged.

  “We worked together in the Corporation, which I guess makes you the closest thing I have to a friend,” he said in that almost carefree tone of his. “Besides, I was only supposed to prevent you from interfering and I did, even if only temporarily. After this, we’re even. You’re on your own because I sure as hell won’t stick my neck out for you. If you get caught, that’s your own damn fault.”

  With that, Dane dropped out of the window, disappearing into the night. Coop sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face, glancing toward the still sleeping Jensen. He placed an envelope among the shards of glass. His body had already healed most of the damage done by Dane.

  Coop made his way to the windows, shutting the open one. He crossed the apartment and moved to the front door, opening it. Softly shutting the door behind him, Coop put his finger against the deadbolt, letting the finger change into the proper key shape. He locked the deadbolt, withdrew his finger, and turned away, walking down the hall.

  *~*~*~*~*

  Tracy smiled as she walked around Steve’s home, cracking her ancient knuckles. The plan had gone off without a hitch, although she would’ve chosen a less messy way to kill off the hybrid. Stabbing, what the hell was that assassin thinking? You could tell them a thousand times and assassins still wouldn’t listen, wretched forms of life that they were.

  The team, of course, had dispersed in order to avoid detection. Come morning they would be richer than they had ever imagined. The Grenich higher ups had been pleased beyond belief at how smoothly their plan had gone. Tracy herself was sticking around to tie up a few loose ends, namely Steve. All she had to do was get him in bed, which wouldn’t be so difficult. She fingered the small glass ball in her hands, filled with powder. It was brown and resembled cinnamon although it was a bit lighter in color. It was her backup plan. Should her spell over Steve not work, the powder would erase his memory of her. She’d be gone before the protectors even had a chance to start looking for her.

  She glanced to her right when she heard footsteps in the hallway, heavier than usual. Tracy smirked and put the ball on the kitchen counter before moving into the hallway to greet her boyfriend. She put on her innocent face, which she had a millennium’s practice to perfect. It was a look that made people fall in love with her and desire her. She was just an innocent school girl who couldn’t harm a fly. Tracy had to prevent herself from smiling at that thought. The locks on the door began turning and she sat on a chair near the door, patiently waiting.

  He came in through the door, looking like a little boy whose puppy had just been smashed by a truck. It was disgusting, but Tracy maintained her innocent persona.

  “Steven?” she asked as she stood up. “What’s wrong?”

  He leapt about a foot in the air when he realized he wasn’t alone. “Tracy? What are you—?”

  “You missed our date last night,” she said. “I was worried about you, so I came here. I hope you don’t mind, but I used your emergency key to let myself in.”

  Another lie, she had used her mind to open the door. It was another power gifted to her by her masters.

  “Oh,” Steve said, running a hand through his soft black hair. “Yeah, I’m sorry.”

  “Steven?” She approached him, running her hands over his chest. “What’s wrong? You look upset.”

  “I – um,” he swallowed thickly, tears springing to his eyes. “It’s Isis. She’s – uh – she’s … dead.”

  He choked on a sob and she was the perfect portrait of horrified disbelief.

  “Guardians have mercy,” she breathed as she wrapped her arms around him, allowing him to sob on her shoulder. “What happened?”

  Steve sniffled and embraced her, tears flowing freely down his face. Tracy whispered soothing words to him, reassuring him it would be all right, her voice beginning to take on a hypnotic quality. Suddenly, his body relaxed and Tracy had to fight not to smile. She had him. She slowly pushed him back, catching his eyes with her own.

  “Steven, I want to take away your pain. Will you let me?” Tracy murmured, maintaining the hypnotic quality in her voice. He nodded, his brown eyes blank as he remained lost in a trance. She grinned and took his hand, leading him toward his bedroom.

  It was almost too easy, but then again, Tracy had millennia of experience under her belt.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Jensen jerked awake from a dreamless sleep. For a moment, he was disoriented. Then it felt like someone hit him in the head with a sack of bricks. He winced and raised a hand to his head, swearing out loud. The hangover hit him without warning or mercy and Jensen soon found himself stumbling toward the bathroom. He cursed even louder when he stepped on something sharp. The nausea that swept over him prevented Jensen from looking around. At the moment, all he could think about was making it to the bathroom before he projectile vomited all over his apartment.

  He made it to the bathroom just in time. Once he was through puking out whatever was left in his stomach, Jensen reached over and turned on the shower, attempting to get into some semblance of his usual morning routine. He refused to let thoughts of the past twenty-four hours, whatever foggy ones remained, enter his mind. At the moment, he was going to take a shower, like he did every day. Jensen scrunched his nose at the sickly sweet smell of vomit and reached over to flush the toilet. Once he did that, he noticed the amount of blood that he had tracked into the bathroom.

  “Fucking hell,” he grumbled as he looked at his wounded right foot. There was a sharp shard of glass sticking to the bottom of it, blood oozing out around it. Jensen winced, saying every colorful word he knew, and pulled it out of his foot before tossing it into the nearby wastebasket. He got up, balancing on his uninjured foot and hopped into the shower.

  Jensen thoroughly cleaned himself, making sure to use up every last drop of steaming hot w
ater. He stepped out of the shower and reached over to the mirror cabinet above the sink, retrieving a first aid kit. Grabbing a roll of gauze out of the small kit, Jensen wrapped his still bleeding foot. Once he was satisfied with that, he wrapped a towel around his waist and retrieved his razor. He shaved his face, making sure to get rid of every last trace of stubble. There wasn’t much, but he preferred feeling freshly shaved in the morning. Jensen dabbed away the few remaining traces of shaving cream with a hand towel and turned his attention to the closed bathroom door. Letting out a heavy sigh and squaring his shoulders, Jensen prepared himself to face the day. When he was ready, he left the bathroom and headed for his bedroom. Jensen went immediately to the closet and grabbed some fresh clothing. Once he had changed and put on his shoes, he left his room and stepped out into the main part of the apartment. Jensen had only taken a couple steps when he froze in shock.

  “What the hell?”

  He felt his jaw drop open when he saw the destruction that lay before him. His TV was shattered, as was his coffee table. There had obviously been some kind of fight in his home. Jensen ran a hand through his damp short hair, confusion dancing across his face. How drunk had he been last night? Did I really trash my place? Jensen wondered as he tried to recall the previous night. He vaguely remembered fighting with Electra, but everything after that was blank.

  “Fuck me,” was all he could think to say. Jensen squinted, slowly making his way back to the couch. He made sure to avoid the glass strewn across the floor, which proved to be difficult. There, among the shards surrounding what had once been his coffee table, was a plain envelope. He picked it up and twisted it in his fingers, examining it with keen eyes. After a moment, Jensen ripped off the side of it, blew into the envelope, and looked inside. He cupped his hand and turned it over, allowing the contents to spill out into his waiting palm.

  It was a shamrock necklace, engraved on the back with a date and the word “luck.” Jensen recognized it from somewhere, but his mind was still too hazy to place exactly from where. A small white card, the size of a business card, also fell into his waiting palm. Hastily written across the front, in plain black pen, were two names: Coop and Mark Waterson. Jensen placed the empty envelope on his couch and flipped the card over. On the back was a symbol that caused Jensen to gasp in horror and drop the small card, unconsciously taking a step back. It was a symbol he had seen once before, one he hoped to never see again. It brought back the memory of flames, of the bodies of his parents in the main room of their house, Nat screaming …