Shift Work (Carus #4)

by J. C. McKenzie

  My lips flattened. Had Christine been behind the mercenary attack? Had she literally become a pain in my ass? My butt cheek throbbed in answer. Or had the attack come from another direction? Lucien-lovers retaliating? The KK drug dealers trying to take out another of Stan’s support pillars?

  I sighed. I had too many enemies to definitively say who was behind the attack, but I’d find out.

  My beast roared approval.

  “Watch your back,” Mel said. Her voice interrupted my mental plans to visit the hospital, then Christine.

  I could always corner Christine for a little one-on-one girl chat.

  With some even breaths, I managed to calm my racing heart and heated blood racing through my veins. The beast roared at me to “shank the bitch,” and sent images of stabbing stick insects, but I ignored her. In the short time she’d become more vocal, she’d easily surpassed my other feras for saying ridiculous things.

  If I took out Christine, it would be with my teeth and claws, not some handmade budget weapon. Sheesh. Beast needed to get with the Team Andy Program.

  “You could’ve told me this on the phone,” I muttered into my coffee lid.

  “True, but then I wouldn’t get to see my friend.”

  “And nag me about my skin care regimen?”

  “Please, I gave you up as a hopeless cause long ago.” She reached out and grabbed my hand. “No, I wanted to see my friend, talk to my friend, and let my friend know I’m here for her. No text can say that.”

  Part of me wanted to correct her. Technically, a text could say all that, but the swelling in my chest blocked the air flow to my voice box and prevented speech. I squeezed Mel’s hand back instead.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “No man is worth your tears, but once you find one that is, he won’t make you cry.”

  ~Dwight D. Eisenhower.

  Left alone to my thoughts made the world spin and enhanced my need to scream. I hadn’t heard from Tristan and after multiple checks of my phone, I’d come to the sad realization nothing was wrong with it. Battery at fifty percent and full signal. Tristan was avoiding me.

  I’d been shot in the ass, again. If anything warranted a call, or a pity-text, bloodshed would be it. I could only play the cool and relaxed girlfriend so long.

  My beast growled with approval.

  Taking a detour on my way home from my coffee date with Mel found me pulling the car into the driveway of Tristan’s upscale Port Moody home.

  Time to boil some bunnies and demand answers. Getting out of the car sent bolts of pain down my leg and fed my anger.

  Well, try to keep calm, I told myself. There might be a reasonable explanation for this.

  All sense of being reasonable and calm flew out my mind when the front door opened to reveal Angie scantily clad in only a short, pink satin robe. She held it loosely closed around her moist skin, and made no effort to hide her ample cleavage or smug expression.

  Red stained my vision. My gums ached as canines threatened to elongate.

  Bite her face, my mountain lion hissed.

  The beast rumbled.

  My falcon screeched, Peck, peck, peck, over and over again.

  I surged forward, beast strong, clutched her neck and slammed her back into the wall. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t struggle. My face contorted, stinging in a pre-shift phase as I fought to prevent a shift. If my gaze was capable of shooting laser beams, Angie’s face would’ve melted off. Instead, she dropped her gaze. My pumping heart slowed a little. Angie finally conceded my dominance to hers in the pride hierarchy.

  Destroy, my beast whispered.

  I took in a deep breath. The one long drag of air sent soothing waves down my limbs. She didn’t smell like Tristan. She smelled of moisturizing body wash and burnt sugar from unrequited longing. Despite how it looked, she hadn’t been in contact with Tristan. Not in that way.

  Another deep breath.

  Tristan hadn’t been home in a while. His delicious scent ran stale and faint. My heart picked up. What if something had happened to him? And all this time instead of helping him, I’d been cursing his name and calling him a rat-bag?

  “Where’s Tristan?” I demanded, releasing Angie’s neck.

  “Not here.” Angie didn’t miss a beat. She straightened her robe and brushed back stray wisps of hair.

  “Is he in trouble?”

  “Hardly. He’s away on…business. Phoned about half an hour ago to say he’d be home in a couple of days.”

  I sputtered. He phoned her? Not me? Rat-bag!

  Angie’s lip curled up. “Something wrong?”

  I growled, and her mouth slackened. “He’s not returning my calls. Do you know why?”

  “I told you he would hurt you in the end.”

  Truth, but it didn’t stop me from wanting to rip out her eyes with my claws. “He’s not cheating on me.”

  Angie tsked. “I said he’d hurt you. I never said how.”

  “Do I need to punch the truth out of your mouth?”

  She frowned. “He’ll be back soon enough to tell you himself. Don’t expect him today. He’ll be running the new moon by himself. He called to tell me to take lead with the pride tonight.”

  Well, damn. He had wanted to talk to me the other day, but I’d jumped him instead. Hard to have a conversation when you’re busy having multiple orgasms, and I don’t think either of us were capable of speech after. I should’ve let him talk. Heck, he should’ve insisted I let him talk.

  Be fair, Andy. You can’t put that on Tristan.

  Images from that night flashed through my memory. Ones of us naked, with sweaty limbs entangled, breathing in unison as we moved together.

  My heart started to beat faster, and my body flushed with warmth.

  Angie cleared her throat.

  “I’ll wait to talk to him,” I mumbled.

  “Good idea.”

  ****

  At home and miserable, I sat on the couch with an icepack under my ass and flicked through the television channels. I missed Tristan. Yeah, I was super pissed at him, but I wanted to know what was going on. I wanted his citrus and sunshine scent stuck to my skin and his warm body curled up next to mine.

  Instead, I had the equivalent of radio silence.

  B&B sessions with Stan were out, and there’d be no karaoke therapy to make me feel better either. The Witches were still not back, and I could’ve used a Ben pep talk right now. Nothing like belting out lyrics to 80s classics to work out my angst.

  My pocket vibrated as the small phone shook with vigor. Tristan? Ben? I turned off the television and slouched in the sofa to slide the device out of my pocket. The screen flashed Stan’s name. My heart sank a little, quickly followed with a pang of guilt. My life woes had nothing on Stan’s. I tapped the phone to pick up the call. “Yell-oh!”

  A pause. “Yellow?” Stan’s voice crackled.

  “Uh, sure.”

  “That’s no way to answer a phone,” he said.

  “Whatever.” I sat up. Stan’s voice carried something different in its tone, something I hadn’t heard since Loretta’s death. “What’s up?”

  “The techies broke into Lo…into the phone.”

  “Hot damn! We got something?”

  “We got something. I think we found the killer. There’s a voicemail.”

  I fist pumped the air. “And?”

  “Listen for yourself.” Something shuffled in the background and a static voice carried over the line, presumably from the recording. “I’d like to discuss your research some more. I think you’re onto something. Let’s meet at the warehouse near Main and Powell. Tomorrow. Noon.” The oddly familiar voice clicked off, followed shortly by an automated woman saying the date and time—the message had been left a few days before Loretta’s death.

  “Bingo!” I said. My heart raced. The recorded voice sounded familiar. Not familiar enough to be someone close to me, but definitely someone I’d met. Something about the cadence and slight lilt of the words.
And the meeting place. The street intersection bounced around on the inside of my skull. I knew that warehouse. I used it as a remote location to meet my handler back in my SRD assassin days. Crap! Was there a connection somehow?

  Stan cleared his throat.

  “Can they trace the call?” I asked.

  “Yes. Burn phone. Dead end.”

  “Well, that sucks.”

  “We have a location of the killer and your nose. The location is an abandoned building in Gastown. There shouldn’t be anything else there.”

  “Except the homeless and a lot of waste from bodily functions. I know that building. I met my handler there, back in the day.”

  Another pause. “Think there’s a connection?”

  “Doubt it. We weren’t the only ones to use the building, and it’s been more than half a year since I used it for that purpose.” Had it been only half a year? So much had happened since my botched assassination on Clint. Too much.

  “When can you meet us?”

  That’s right. I’d told Stan I couldn’t meet tonight for work because of “New Moon Supernatural Stuff.” I was so full of it. He’d grumbled, but he seemed to buy it at the time, or at least not care enough to push it. But that was earlier today when we didn’t have any leads. My chest tightened and pain sprang up at the back of my throat. If I didn’t have this personal Demon shit to attend to, I could help Stan sooner than later. Bring him closure sooner than later. If I hadn’t been compromised by a lecherous Seducer Demon and a now-deceased douchebag Vampire. Goddammit!

  “Andy?” Stan asked, some of his excitement draining from his voice.

  “Tomorrow. Two hours after sunrise,” I said. May as well forgo sleep.

  “Perfect. Meet there?”

  “You bet.”

  Stan didn’t bother with an elaborate goodbye. He grunted and hung up on me, leaving me to twist in my own self-loathing.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “A woman brought you into this world, so you have no right to disrespect one.”

  ~Tupac Shakur

  The sun set with a beautiful cascade of red and orange light. A cornucopia of scents drifted through the open window, and flooded my senses—mint, oregano, ginger, and pumpkin spice—as if each household delved into creating comfort food.

  I certainly had. Two banana nut loaves and a bunch of cupcakes cooled on my stove top. If I survived this night, I wanted to gorge on food I loved. Napping had alluded me. If I survived this night, I’d have to meet Stan without a wink of sleep.

  Was I really worried Sid would harm me? Not really. He seemed attached to the idea of having an anchor on a permanent basis. No. If harm came to me tonight it would come from stopping Sid doing something stupid.

  Just enjoy the moment. I watched the horizon. If only the sun wasn’t setting on my freedom as I knew it. If only it didn’t signal the beginning of my own personal hell.

  I sat on the sofa, curled up in a fuzzy gray-blue blanket and watched the dying light of day fade into the peaceful abyss of night. If Tristan’s strong arms held me, maybe this desolation wouldn’t hit me so hard.

  I sighed.

  Who was I kidding?

  Even if he’d returned my calls, or tonight wasn’t a new moon where Tristan ran around as a leopard, no way would I allow Tristan here tonight. His Alpha nature and dominant leopard wouldn’t tolerate Sid’s use of me, and after our failed attempt to take down Bola, I doubted Tristan and all his awesomeness could match Satan’s Assistant.

  When the last rays of day disappeared, my core clenched. As if someone lassoed my uterus and started yanking, intense abdominal pain radiated from my trunk outward, down my limbs to the tips of my fingers and toes. Like menstrual cramps, but a bajillion times worse.

  What the fuck?

  My nails elongated and sank into the couch cushions. I ground my teeth together and snarled. If I had to birth Sid into this world, I’d gut him right away. To hell with the repercussions. No one played with my lady bits without permission.

  The tugging continued, hard and relentless; pain shot through my body. My limbs curled and coiled under the onslaught, and I slid from the couch and crumbled to the floor. Not even the fetal position provided a reprieve.

  My mind floated up and out of my consciousness. I looked down at my writhing body as my essence distanced itself from the pain. I’d done this before. Many times during the Dylan abuse years, and once when Lucien almost took my life to blood bond me.

  This time it wasn’t so bad. My feras still paced in my head, waiting, wanting out. The beast remained tethered. My heartbeat pounded heavy in my chest, echoing in the living room. My body snapped back, like a victim of tetanus. With a gaping wide mouth, an unearthly scream ripped from my throat, spewing a milky white cloud. It spiralled with force out of my body like a mushroom plume from a volcano. When it cleared, a naked Sid stood over my crumpled and prone body, hands on hips, lips twisted up in a smug smile.

  Sid slowly surveyed the room until his gaze fixated on where my essence hovered. “Nice trick, Carus. I’m glad you can dissociate. Though it shouldn’t hurt as much, I suggest not waiting so long next time.”

  Fuck that. There’d never be a next time.

  “You can come back now. We have much to discuss.” Sid stepped away from my prone body.

  I drifted in the space above my body and focused on it. My awareness gathered like pooling heat above a bathtub before it dove back into my crumpled body in circling tidal-pools.

  My eyelids popped open. Pain emanated from behind my eyes, my limbs lay limp and heavy, the floor uncomfortable against my bruised flesh. Surprisingly, the ache from the bullet wound had disappeared.

  “Get up, sunshine.” Sid shuffled his bare feet from where he stood beside me, only a couple feet away.

  All seven feet of naked flesh.

  I squeezed my eyes shut. Not a view I wanted. At all. “There’s spare extra-large jogging pants in my closet. Go put something on.”

  “You sure?”

  “Absolutely. No one should have to see that.”

  “A lot of ladies love it.”

  “A lot of ladies also love Cool James, but you don’t see him prancing around naked.”

  “Who?”

  “Never mind. Just go put something on.”

  When I heard his bare feet pad along the wood flooring and hit the cushioned carpet in the bedroom, I opened my eyes up again and got up.

  Or at least tried.

  My limbs flopped around, heavy and boneless.

  Well, this sucks.

  I smacked at my sofa and hauled my useless body onto the soft cushions. The muscles of my arms shook with fatigue.

  Sid sauntered back into my living room, wearing jogging pants that made it to his mid-calf. No shirt. His chiseled eight-pack gleamed across the room at me.

  “See anything you like?” Sid raised a dark eyebrow and brushed his hand along his olive-toned abs.

  “There is nothing to like about this situation.” I glared at him. I would’ve waved at my useless body, but my arms defied the message and lay limp and useless beside me.

  “Oh. That.” Sid frowned.

  “Yeah. That. Why the heck am I so useless?”

  “Being a portal to a Demon requires intense energy consumption. Most norms would die from the transfer. Supes, too. Your semi-divinity allows this to work.”

  “It sucks.”

  “It will get better.”

  That’s what that loser, Caden, had said after he took my virginity, too. Liar. A wave of nausea wracked my body as my toes regained feeling. Well, Caden hadn’t lied completely. It did get better, just not with him. “How long will it take to regain my faculties?”

  “Not long. Your bond with me will help accelerate the process.”

  “Hoooo-ray.”

  Sid tilted his head. “I sense sarcasm.”

  “You sense correctly.”

  Sid pursed his lips and glanced around my room again. His body twitched and a loud rumble
erupted from his perfect washboard stomach. He clutched his stomach and turned back to me. “Have anything to eat?”

  “What the hell does a Demon eat?” Didn’t these guys leech emotions? Never thought to see one chow down a cheeseburger.

  Sid shrugged. “I don’t know. I feed off sexual energy.” He paused and looked at me again. “Not going to get that from you, am I?”

  “You sense correctly, again.”

  “But that’s in hell or when summoned in a circle, which is different. I’m not sure what I can or cannot eat.” He eyed my kitchen.

  “Don’t even think about it.”

  He cast me a wicked grin over his shoulder as he strutted toward the cupcake riddled kitchen; his lips twisted up. “Try and stop me.”

  ****

  Motherfucker ate all my cupcakes. If I’d been capable of moving, I would’ve done some damage. Serious damage. Punching him in the junk multiple times would’ve been appropriate. Everyone knew not to eat a woman’s chocolate with vanilla icing comfort cupcakes. Did they teach these Demons nothing in hell?

  I lay on my couch, as useful as a glass hammer, and watched the Seducer Demon hoover my food.

  When he finished the last of my cupcakes, he moved to the banana nut bread. My limbs tingled, and I wiggled my toes. They moved. I tested my arms next, swinging them off the couch as if I could fly away.

  Sid glanced at me before popping half a loaf into his mouth. Crumbs fell down his face, bounced off his chest and clung to his sweats; some pooled at his feet with bits of chocolatey goodness and vanilla icing.

  With a breath sucked in, I wrenched my knee up. It worked. It drove up into the cushion and sent my body flying off the edge of the couch. My body smacked against the hard floor and sucker punched the breath out of my chest.

  Sid barked laughter from the kitchen. Before I could tell him where to shove his nether bits, his laughter broke off in a strangled gasp.

  I pushed off the floor and used the couch to pull myself up into a semi-respectable position. What the hell was that noise? Like a cow trying to crow.

  Sid thrashed around frantically in the kitchen. Face red, arms flailing around. He turned to me with bulging eyes and panicked eyebrows.