Shift Work (Carus #4)

by J. C. McKenzie

  “No. But seeing you splayed on my bed, as I have so many times in my dreams, may be the inspirational spark I need to become one.”

  I groaned.

  He smiled.

  “Come here, then.” I crooked a finger at him. “And ‘give me my sin again.’”

  “That’s my line.” Tristan pulled his shirt off and crawled on top of me. His weight sank me into the mattress, cocooning me in his scent and soft bedding. His mouth moved wickedly over my body as fire licked my skin and fed the rising need within.

  Want, my mountain lion crooned. Want mate.

  Soon, I told her. Soon.

  Her swirling energy nudging for the bond, abated, receding until it became imperceptible. Tristan removed my clothes with slow finesse. His gaze glinting when he discovered my underwear choice.

  Staking my claim had never felt so good.

  ****

  I bolted upright in bed. Tristan’s muscled arm weighed heavy across my abdomen, and the slow steadiness of his breathing calmed my fast racing heart. Why the hell had I woken? Must’ve been another bad—

  Come to me, Carus. A smooth voice slithered into my heart and cooled the fast pumping blood in my veins.

  Come to me.

  Another fera? Really? I’d taken two new animal familiars in the last year already. Three at fourteen and nothing for almost sixty-six years. Now they bombarded me. What the hell was going on?

  My eightieth birthday approached soon. Did that have some sort of significance to Shifters or the Carus specifically? I’d spoken about my abilities to an old coyote Shifter handler at the SRD many times. Donny never mentioned anything. Not even an ominous warning, or vague threat of imminent danger, and he loved giving those.

  Come to me, Carus, the unknown fera called out again. My blood thrummed with the sound, pulsating, nudging me to fling back the sheets and go to this new animal.

  No, I answered back, not knowing for sure whether she could hear me. I’m tired.

  A half-truth. I didn’t know if I had it in me to accept and dispel another fera so close to my latest heartache. I’d cast out my wolf to numb the pain of losing Wick. Could I accept another fera, one cold and strange, to take her place? Even if it was temporary before dispelling?

  A tear escaped and trickled down my face.

  No, I repeated, not caring if anyone heard. I’m too tired, and I’m not ready for you.

  Soon, she hissed, repeating the very word I’d told my mountain lion about mating earlier tonight.

  The unknown fera continued to hiss the word like a skipping record from the past until her voice slowly faded into silence. Or maybe I drifted back to sleep. Either way, she left me alone, and slumber enveloped my tired body once again.

  Chapter Ten

  “If A equals success, then the formula is A equals X plus Y and Z, with X being work, Y being play and Z keeping your mouth shut.”

  ~Albert Einstein

  The heavy bass vibrated the air and rocked my heart. After all these years of scoping out and preying on targets in establishments like this one, I’d learned my lesson and used earplugs. It still did little to dull the overwhelming effect of music cranked too high and drunk people yelling.

  “Thank you for coming with me.” Stan leaned in.

  It had only been a week since Loretta’s murder. I’d attended her grim funeral two days ago, and watched my friend publicly sob over her open grave. Stan shouldn’t be here, dressed like a civilian and trying to play undercover cop. Despite my strongly worded attempts for him to stay out of the investigation, he’d insisted and pulled the “I’ll do it with or without you” line.

  Well, damn. That had lit a torch under my ass. Stan needed me by his side. One, he should be mourning; two, he sucked at discreet. He’d never gone undercover in his career. His shoulders back with rigid spine posture screamed career cop and for a man his age in a downtown Vancouver club, he was entirely too clean. The only men above forty frequenting these kinds of places, chock full of drunk under-aged girls looking to make bad decisions, resembled slimy reptiles more than decent human beings.

  Stan didn’t fit in.

  If people didn’t peg him for a cop, they’d peg him for a dad out looking for his wayward daughter.

  I couldn’t talk him out of it though, so I found myself leather-clad and by his side on my Saturday night. No way would I let Stan do this alone.

  The smell of sweat and booze clung to my nose.

  “Why don’t you wait here?” I said. “Work the front of the club. I’ll go to the back and see what I can find out.”

  Stan nodded and ran his finger along the neckline of his shirt to loosen it. His gaze shifted around, and his muscles tensed.

  “Just sit at the bar and order something hard to drink,” I said.

  He nodded and made a robot turn for the bar.

  “And Stan?” I called out.

  “Yeah?”

  “Uh…try to look more…er…less like you.” I reached out, yanked his shirt out of his pants and ruffled his hair. Before he had a chance to reprimand me, I swiveled and sauntered to the back of the club.

  The gyrating throngs of humans bounced, undulated and rubbed against me as I weaved through the crowd. The farther in I got, the more the smells and sounds intensified.

  The bar, illuminated by mirrors and black-lights, materialized like an oasis for drunks, and I sauntered up the two steps to enter the VIP lounge. The bouncer glanced at me and leaned in to cut me off. I slid my hand up his chest and smiled, letting my animal magnetism curl around him and overwhelm his norm senses. His eyes glazed a little, and he nodded before taking a step back.

  Perfect.

  This area of the club smelled and sounded better. Set up in lounge style and illuminated by neon-blue lighting, various people sat in black leather booths. They glanced up as I approached. The not-so famous arched their brows and gave snotty are-you-going-to-recognize-me glowers, while the men and women who probably were famous, continued on with their business. I didn’t care who they were.

  The man at the bar with his back to me didn’t even move. His broad shoulders remained folded inward, and his head stayed bowed over what I presumed was a drink. I couldn’t see what he held, not with his ridiculous shoulders…

  No.

  It couldn’t be.

  “Clint?” I asked. My voice drifted forward, and the man’s shoulders tensed. Then his back straightened.

  “No fucking way.” I walked up and sat beside him.

  With slicked hair the same deep sable as mine, Clint Behnsen had broad shoulders that made girls want to beg for a piggyback ride. Not me. I wanted to tackle and hog tie him for the market. Clint Behnsen might be a handsome man in his prime, but he was more likely to break the cow than buy one. He also happened to be the human servant to the previous Master Vampire of the Lower Mainland. He should have died with Lucien.

  Should have.

  When we’d first met, I’d torn his neck out with my mountain lion teeth on what I thought were SRD orders. Clint survived my attack, and a vicious sword stabbing later on by Tristan’s old master. He should’ve died those two times as well. Normally fastidious in his appearance, Clint looked rough. His hair disheveled, with random strands out of place, his shirt untucked and his trousers wrinkled.

  The smell of alcohol wafted off his breath and out of his pores.

  “How are you here?” I asked.

  “Taxi.” He didn’t look up; instead, he kept his head bowed and stared into the amber fluid in front of him.

  “How are you alive?”

  Clint smirked and finally glanced up. His gaze was empty and unseeing. His eyes bloodshot, his lips flat. He looked like crap after a stampede.

  I sucked in my breath.

  “I take it you heard?” he asked.

  “Allan phoned me with the news,” I said.

  “You didn’t do it?” he asked, his voice hollow.

  “The thought crossed my mind,” I said. “But, no. Not my credit
to take.”

  Clint smirked again, but in a sad way, like his lip couldn’t expend the necessary energy to scowl. He returned his gaze to his drink.

  “How’d it happen?” I asked.

  “Not sure, exactly. They chose a time when Lucien gave me a reprieve, and Allan was away on business. We returned to find his remains. The donors and other Vampires who’d been with him were also dead.”

  “So, you were down the road banging as many bottle blondes as possible while Allan got off on torturing a few random people?”

  “You shouldn’t judge others, Carus.”

  I sighed and slouched a little. “Look, I’m sorry for your…loss. Lucien was…well, he was a dick. He treated me poorly and threatened those I lo…cared about. I don’t forgive easily. But what I can say is he treated those loyal to him well. Very well.”

  Clint hesitated. “I think he sent me away on purpose. Like he knew what was to come.”

  “Did he say anything to you before you left?”

  Clint turned to me again. He leaned forward with pinched brows and a tense mouth. His lips parted to speak. He tensed. His gaze darted to the side, and we both turned to watch Stan stalk toward us. His shirt now sported a large dark patch on the chest. Stan flicked liquid off his hands.

  “Why’s your shirt wet?” I asked.

  “Fucking chicks. Like I’d hit on any of the hot messes in this place. Like I’d…” His voice cut off with a strangled noise. The glimmer in his gaze spoke of Loretta. My heart clenched and I wanted to reach out and comfort him, but he wouldn’t want me to. Not here. Stan met Clint’s piercing gaze and nodded before turning back to me. His eyes steeled over, and his body straightened. Back to police business. “I saw one of the known dealers in the area go to the back of the club near the stairs.”

  “You want to follow him into the bathroom?” I’d seen the signs. “There’s less intrusive ways to discover whether he’s a lefty.”

  Stan glowered. “Do you have any better ideas?”

  I bit back a snarky response. Stan didn’t deserve my sass. I held up a finger to Stan and turned to Clint. “Do you know anything about King’s Krank?”

  “It’s a new street drug.”

  Not the informative answer I’d hoped for. I pursed my lips and looked around. More than one girl showcased jiggling breasts in low cut tops while prancing around.

  “Why did you come to this bar?”

  “Closest place to drink where I’m left relatively alone.” His massive shoulders shrugged.

  “Could drink at home.”

  “That’s just sad and there’s no tits and ass to look at there.”

  “Well, uh. See you later.” God that sounded lame. Did I even care if I talked to this douchebag again, ever, in my life? The man grated my nerves and had some serious perversions, namely breaking women as a hobby.

  Clint smirked again and went back to contemplating life on the surface of his premium whiskey. Stan tugged on my arm, and I walked away from the sad, former human servant.

  “What was that about?” Stan asked.

  “Nothing. What’s the dealer’s name?” I asked Stan as we walked out of the VIP area and rounded the corner to the back of the club.

  “Aahil.”

  “East Indian?”

  “I guess.” Stan shrugged and then peered over the side to view the landing. When he looked back his mouth twisted down. “What?”

  “You’re a cop in Vancouver—one of the most multicultural cities in existence, or at least in Canada. How do you not know?”

  Stan sighed. “Because we honestly don’t know. We have no background on this guy, and it’s not like he wears a sign around his fucking neck stating his ethnic background, or his affiliations. It is Vancouver. That means there’s so many options to choose from, and with only a street name and physical appearance to go on, it makes his ethnicity near impossible to determine. Besides, Aahil is a Muslim name, which doesn’t pinpoint a geographical area so much as his faith.”

  I opened a mouth, but stopped when Stan held his hand out.

  “And before you ask, no. He doesn’t hang with a certain crowd, and his English is fluent without accent. And even if we pinpointed his ethnicity, what the fuck would it matter? It doesn’t change his actions. God, you’re so annoying sometimes.” He glanced around, but we stood alone at the top of the stairs. The nearest couple appeared too busy dry humping to pay us any attention. “Let’s go.”

  I nodded and followed him down the stairs. Sometimes, my best behaviour involved keeping my mouth shut. When we reached the landing, the place opened up to a small lounge with bench seats, a small bar and a hallway leading to the bathrooms, and what I assumed was the emergency exit.

  One sniff of the air nearly had me whimpering on the ground. The smell of urine, fecal matter, and alcohol-laced vomit permeated the air, so strong I wanted to puke.

  A group of men wearing more bling than the entire female population in the club turned at our approach. Black hair, dark brown eyes, various skin tones ranging from light cream to dark beige. They appeared almost like clones, all stood around six feet tall with massive necks, shoulders, and arms. Obviously, they never got the memo about skipping “Leg Day.”

  One of the men stepped away from the group and squared off.

  “Hey handsome,” I crooned. “Could I have a word?”

  He started and then his gaze slid to Stan. “Got no time for cops.”

  What a mistake bringing Stan! I should’ve prepped him better for what was to come. With Stan’s inability to blend, I’d expected the dealer’s response. Only one way around it. Bluff.

  “Who, this guy?” I jerked my thumb at Stan and snorted. “He’s not a cop! Runs security at the nearby shopping centre.” I walked a little closer and watched the man’s shoulders drop. The action so minute, I might’ve missed it. With all the muscle this guy packed, his relaxed stance almost mirrored his tense one.

  “A mall cop?” The man squinted Stan.

  “Yeah.”

  Stan’s outrage rolled off him in waves of burnt cinnamon, but I didn’t care; at least he went along with it. With a room full of norms, they’d have no way to detect our lies with their noses.

  Some cops were so snobby when it came to security guards. Never understood why. Half of them started in the profession before joining the force.

  “Why’d you bring him?”

  I shrugged and closed the distance. “I like ’em old and vanilla. More fun to break. But…”

  “But?”

  I trailed a finger along the dealer’s chest, and released the magnetism. “But if you’re offering something more…intriguing…”

  The dealer peered down at me. The hardness of his eyes softened as my scent coiled around him and my animalistic mojo magic did its thing. His lips widened to show off his gold grill.

  “Johnny!” One of the other dealers barked.

  The dealer straightened and took a step back. “Yeah?” he asked over his shoulders.

  “What does she want?”

  Johnny turned back to me. “What do you want?”

  Not you. Not this entire situation. And certainly not the sweaty ass these leather pants gave me. “I heard you’re the guys to speak to if I wanted something new and hot.”

  Vaguely aware Stan shuffled up behind me, I kept my body loose and went for the seduction face I used on targets when I was an SRD assassin. When my energy coiled around the other dealer, though, the one who’d barked, his expression remained unfazed. Huh. Normally, my magnetism was enough to rope in the norms.

  Another man, most likely the thug-on-call, stepped forward at my approach, but the Barker held his hand out to stop him. My gaze flicked briefly to Barker’s beefy arms. He had full tattoo sleeves with intricate line work. Below the Egyptian hieroglyph on the inside of his wrist, he wore a number of leather cuffs and bracelets. My eyes narrowed as I stepped in close, only a few feet from him. Wafts of vanilla and honey spiraled from his wrist.

  Wit
ch charm.

  Well, fuck me sideways. This operation just got more difficult. I might be pretty, but no way could my looks seduce this man alone, not with Stan giving them all the stink eye behind my back. I should’ve left him upstairs.

  The Barker narrowed his eyes at me. “It’s not going to work.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I hadn’t realized the VPD had grown desperate enough to hire call girls for their dirty work. You’re not my type, lady.” His gaze flicked to my chest before he sneered. “Go back to the vamp bar and suck some dead wood.”

  The beds of my fingernails stung as my nails shifted to claws. I clenched my jaw and squeezed my fists to hide the partial change. This guy had already pegged Stan and nothing I said or did would convince him otherwise. Worse, he knew my face now, so I couldn’t come back later.

  “I think it’s time you and your stiff cop left.” The Barker’s face transformed as he flashed even, sparkling white teeth at me.

  I could knock a few of those veneers out of his mouth.

  Where would that get us?

  “Your loss,” I said and stepped back. I didn’t like the expression on the guy’s face. It had changed from disgusted to thoughtful. Nope, never liked that look on the opposition.

  “No sweetheart, it’s yours.” He snapped his fingers.

  My eyes narrowed, and I sensed more than saw two more beefcake thugs move to block our exit up the stairs.

  “I wanted to have a word with the VPD.” He turned to Stan. “Did you think I wouldn’t recognize you, Stevens? Your ugly mug’s been plastered on the front page for weeks now. First, to take on the…how’d you put it? The scum of Vancouver. And then because someone killed your pretty, li—”

  Barker didn’t finish his words. A high-pitched wail emitted from Stan before he dove at the group of dealers, fists flying. One of the other meatheads stepped forward and attempted to intercept Stan, but the career cop had a few moves left in him. He stepped to the side like a professional rugby player and weaved around the other man. Stan threw a massive clobber fist at the back of the guy’s head and knocked him to the ground.