by Cait Miller
She steadfastly refused to recall any of the eerie stories from her father and walked quickly on towards the water. Still, her heart was pounding and she nearly leapt onto the narrow pebbly beach. She chuckled and cursed herself for being ridiculous and letting her imagination run away with her. The windows of the house were still visible through breaks in the trees and if anything, that was the most likely source for the feeling. Hands in her coat pockets she walked to the edge of the loch letting the tiny waves lap at the toes of her shoes. It was small, small enough for a decent swimmer to cross it and the dark gray-blue of its center suggested depth. She could see now that the woods circled it and stretched much further on the other side, following the incline of a large hill. No doubt they were the same trees which bordered the road they had entered Cameron Murray’s property on. She wondered idly how much of this he owned.
The mist was thicker now, making it look as though the clouds were caught on the steepled tops of the pines. I am going to be soaked. She closed her eyes and let the breeze blow moisture against her face, thankful that it wasn’t cold. Her jacket was waterproof but it was summer weight and wouldn’t provide much protection. In a few months when there would be snow coating the ground and frosting the branches it would be beautiful. Maybe she and Jack could come back then. Jack. It was inevitable, she knew, that her thoughts would lead her back to him. She doubted that even this serenity could calm her thoughts under these circumstances.
He was asking her to give up part of her humanity and form a connection with him that would last a lifetime whether she spent that time with him or not. The lure of experiencing life as a cat was tempting though she wasn’t sure the pain he seemed to suffer with the transformation was worth it. As to the telepathy thing. Well, there must be someway to get around it or live comfortably with it. What had his parents done all this time? I don’t care how much you love someone, you still need your privacy sometimes. He said the ability was intermittent, but would it get stronger if she was like him? Megan suspected it might and part of her was excited about that. The bottom line was that she loved him, but just how much was she willing to risk for that love when it might not be returned?
Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t hear the shifting of the stones behind her until her face was covered by damp fabric. Something wrapped around her chest pinning her arms to her sides. She drew in a breath to scream and choked on the sickly, sweet odor. Coughing, she dug her nails into a dark nylon-clad arm, trying to push the cloth from her face and kicked back with her heel. Her captor grunted when she connected with his leg but her rush of satisfaction was short-lived. The world began to spin around her, her limbs felt like lead and her vision grayed. Megan’s last thought as she slid into the darkness was that it was her own damn fault.
Chapter Eleven
Conscious of time running out, the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall mocked Jack. He stalked past it and into the sitting room and threw himself down onto the hunter green leather sofa. A couple of sheets of A4 paper on the coffee table caught his eye. There was a sticky yellow note on top with his name printed in Cam’s bold handwriting. He must have left them here rather than interrupt the discussion in the kitchen. It was a printout of names, a few of which sounded familiar. He noted that a small percentage of them seemed to be related, whether they were married couples or family members. Near the bottom of the first page he came to “Nick Douglass” and his heart nearly stopped in his chest. These had to be names of missing people. The terse handwritten statement at the bottom of the following page confirmed it.
“These are names of known shapeshifters who have disappeared or been killed in accidents or under unsolved murders in the last two years.”
There had to be close to sixty names on the pages. How had this gone unnoticed? Papers clutched in his fist he raced to the second floor and Cam’s office where his friend sat in his accustomed place in front of his computer. “How many of these deaths can we be reasonably sure were genuine accidents?”
Cam swiveled around in his chair, turning his back on the information scrolling down the screen and folded his hands behind his head. He nodded his head towards more printouts on the desk. “I eliminated the ones I don’t believe are connected to this. That is the twelve that are left, six couples.” Jack picked up the list, scanning it while Cam talked. “All but one couple died in what looked like accidents but police were suspicious enough to keep the cases open. On the surface they are all different, the only similarity is that they all occurred in the UK. Unless you know that at least one half of the pair was a shapeshifter and the other carried the cat paw birthmark. Since they also occurred sporadically over the course of two years, no one has connected them.”
He didn’t question how the man had got his information. He had yet to come across anyone who had as much talent with computers as Cameron Murray, and working in the computer industry he had met his fair share. “What about the other couple?”
“Two years ago, Paul Spencer and his new bride drank champagne laced with enough sedative to drop an elephant and were shot and killed in their honeymoon suite. The couple obviously assumed the bottle was complimentary, the champagne left in the room before their arrival. No one was seen entering or leaving the suite. No one was ever arrested for the murder. Whoever killed them knew enough to use a powerful drug that was odorless and sweet enough to be disguised by the champagne. They were both shot repeatedly in the head, leaving no chance of survival. Had they been human, a single shot to the chest would have done the job if the sedative hadn’t already. I think this murder started it all. Whoever killed them knew what they were. What all those couples were. That first one was personal, he just doesn’t like to get his hands dirty anymore.”
Jack tossed the list back onto the table. “So find out who murdered Mr. and Mrs. Spencer and we find out who is after us.” He paused, his brother’s name had been on that list too. “Do you think the missing people on the list could be connected?”
“I don’t know, Jack, my head says no. Our species isn’t always as sociable as you and I.” He smiled wryly, “We do have a tendency to live in isolated areas, given our nature. We can probably also rule out a lot of these as victims of the mating cycle. Anyway, Nick and two other men are the only ones to disappear here in Britain.” He shrugged and rubbed his eyes. “I just don’t like loose ends.”
Although Jack was aware that Cameron was still talking to him, he was no longer listening. Since she left him in the kitchen Megan had been a steady and reassuring presence in the back of his mind. Now as if someone had flipped a switch, that link had suddenly vanished. He had been aware of a powerful wash of anger and fear and now, nothing.
“Megan!” Jack raced for the door, cursing himself for not paying closer attention to her. Instead, he had given her the privacy she feared she would lose. Torn between needing and not wanting to know what her decision might be, he had worried that he would be unable to resist influencing her and deliberately distanced himself. Now terror filled him at the thought that he may have cost his mate her life.
Allowing his senses to guide him he followed her scent from their bedroom, outside and into the light misty rain that already threatened to wipe away the trail. He followed as quickly as he dared. Deep menacing growls rumbled through him by the time he reached the edge of the loch. A dull red haze of fury descended, stealing his control and bringing the beast closer. The scent in the woods had been tinged with fear but here it was stronger. Someone else had been here. There was something odd about the male’s scent, though. Mingling with the odor of chloroform was something unidentifiable that made the hair on Jack’s body stand on end. A hand clamped down hard on his shoulder as he turned back to the woods where the trail continued. Snarling, he faced his attacker only to find Cameron standing behind him, his face carved in grim lines.
“Jack, stop. Think.” Cam’s hand hovered near his arm. “He knows what you are and yet he hasn’t even attempted to cover his tracks!”
&nbs
p; Jack shook his head and forced himself to calm as his friend’s words pierced the fog of murderous rage around him. It was harder than it should have been. The cat wanted to hunt and kill. It had no interest in trying to reason. Cameron was right. Megan’s captor had to know Jack was capable of tracking him. So why had he not at least waded into the water? Instead his scent was blazing strongly through the trees where even the rain would take longer to wash it away.
That someone knew enough about his species to hunt mated couples and have them killed was incomprehensible to Jack. How did he find out? The implications for all shapeshifters should their existence be exposed were horrifying.
“He wants you to follow him, Jack.” Cam dropped his hand to his side satisfied he had Jack’s attention for now. “Otherwise he would have killed her here. He wants both of you.”
Jack shifted his feet, his entire body tensed against the urge to find Megan. His sharp eyes scanned the shoreline and trees around them. “I have to go after her, Cam, he knows that. But he won’t expect both of us. We have to be quick, it won’t be long before I shift again and it will be out of my control.”
* * * * *
Consciousness leaked back slowly. The first thing Megan became aware of was the pounding in her head. It felt like someone was ramming ice picks into her brain. Not that she’d ever actually had an ice pick rammed into her brain… She was lying on her side and her hands and feet were tightly bound. Memory flooded her and she blinked blurry eyes until her surroundings came into focus. Careful to move as little as possible, she let her gaze roam around her. It looked like an abandoned house. She faced an open door leading into another dim room and the floor beneath her was wood covered by a thin layer of dirt. Piles of leaves had gathered in the corners.
A spider scurried across the floor in front of her and she tried not to think about her unbound hair and what might crawl into it. Wallpaper was peeling from the walls in damp strips and the one window she could see was cracked and dirty. The battery-operated lantern on the floor next to a rolled-up sleeping bag and a backpack near the fireplace told her she was not alone. Nausea rose, thick and oily in her stomach and she fought it back. Was her kidnapper the person who had tried to kill them? She suspected she was about to find out as footsteps echoed through the doorway.
When he entered the room, Megan realized he had made no effort to conceal his appearance and he wasn’t what she expected. Medium height and rail-thin, he looked around sixty years old with short steel-gray hair surrounding a bald patch on the crown of his head. He was dressed in new-looking jeans and boots and a black nylon windbreaker, and looked like he could be someone’s grandfather. Until she saw his eyes. A dark muddy brown, they were filled with such malice she instinctively shrank back against the concrete behind her.
“Ah, I see you are awake.” His voice was frighteningly calm and there was something familiar about the cadence of his voice. “I am sure we won’t be here long, your mate will be here soon.” He took a gun from his pocket and sat it on the floor by the lantern. He was right, Jack would come after her and he would be walking straight into a trap. “Who are you?” she demanded, struggling up into a sitting position against the wall. “Tell me what you want with us!”
He didn’t react to her questions, just continued talking in that soft tone. “Such a shame really, you were very young. A pretty young girl just like…” He paused and looked away, taking a seat on the top of his sleeping bag. “Well, they usually are, that’s why I have to stop it.” He fixed his eerie eyes on her again, peering at her with unnerving intensity before quickly shifting his gaze to a point just above her head.
“How much of your humanity is left, I wonder? He hasn’t finished with you yet or you would not have succumbed so quickly to the chloroform.” Suddenly Megan realized why his tone was so odd. He was talking to her like she was an animal! Somehow he knew about Jack. “Let me go!” She struggled against her restraints twisting her wrists and pulling against the coarse rope until her flesh burned but there was no give. All the while the old man continued murmuring at her. Infuriated, she shouted, “I’m not an animal, God dammit! Let me go!”
He was on his feet in an instant, towering over her. His face scarlet, eyes bulging from their sockets, he drew back a hand and hit her, knocking her to the floor. Spittle flew from his lips and his eyes glowing with madness, he roared, “Do not take the Lord’s name in vain! You are an abomination! Not fit to speak His name to me!”
He began to pace agitatedly. “I will succeed, Lord. You showed my path when the Demon took my daughter. I will see the souls these creatures pollute freed.”
Megan struggled upright once more and watched, terrified. Tears streamed unchecked from her eyes and her face throbbed where the blow had landed and a trickle of blood ran from the corner of her mouth. “Bastard!” she spat at him.
He crouched next to the rucksack and extracted a capped syringe from a zipped pocket before walking purposefully back towards her. “He will be here soon, the trail was clear enough for him to follow. It’s time.” His calm was restored as if the outburst had never occurred. “I see now that once again He wishes His act of mercy to be carried out by my own hand.” He smiled gently. “I’m going to send you home. The good Lord will cleanse your soul.”
He’s going to kill me.
Adrenaline flooded her system and her brain screamed at her. Escape! She started to shuffle away from him and he grabbed her with the same wiry strength he had subdued her with before. Megan screamed and cursed him with the fury of someone who was possessed. Avoiding her bound feet when she tried to kick at him, he rolled her onto her stomach and held her with his knee. The fight drained out of her when she felt the sharp sting of the needle as it pierced the flesh of her upper arm. Panting, she lay face down on the dirty floor, her arm stinging. His weight lifted from her and he hauled her roughly back to sit against the wall. She glared at him through the tangled, dirty strands of her hair. Her body ached with a new collection of bruises and her throat was raw but she didn’t feel anything else. Yet. “What did you do to me?” she hissed.
He too was breathing hard when he sat back down. He ignored the question, picking up the gun instead and fixing his attention on the door. It didn’t really matter. From his ranting she thought that whatever it was, he probably meant it to kill her. I’m going to die. Her thoughts went to Jack, and letting her head fall forward she closed her eyes and concentrated. He had said that picking up her thoughts was like listening to a badly tuned radio. With that in mind, she focused her thoughts and made sure her signal was as clear as possible. Trap. Gun. Trap. Gun. Trap. Gun… Over and over she repeated the words in her mind in the hopes that Jack would pick up one or both and be warned.
Jack studied the derelict cottage through a screen of ferns and brambles. What had once been a cleared garden was now being gradually reclaimed by the woodland and Jack was confident that he couldn’t be seen crouched in the tree line. He and Cameron had delayed long enough to collect waterproof jackets and a small safety rucksack Cam kept packed for when he hiked. It contained a first aid kit, torch, matches and a few other bits and pieces that came in handy in emergencies. The comforting weight of the handgun under his jacket was something else he had his friend to thank for. Jack had been grateful, but unsurprised when Cam had appeared carrying it and a hunting rifle for himself.
They had easily tracked Megan and her kidnapper around the loch and up the hill to the house, leaving no doubt in either of their minds that it was deliberate. As they had approached she had nearly knocked him on his ass with a forceful mental warning. It had still taken his friend’s cool head to convince him not to charge ahead and into the house when they had gotten close enough. The relief of feeling her alive was shadowed by the knowledge that she was terrified and hurting. He swore to himself it wouldn’t be for much longer.
Since only one of the rooms had four walls and a roof, they had decided this was the most likely place for him to be holding her. Cam was maneu
vering into a spot where he could see into the room with the riflescope. Jack gave him a few minutes head start and drew his gun before approaching the building, staying clear of the cracked window.
The disturbing scent of the kidnapper was strong here and beneath it he felt Megan’s fear and a trace of her blood. Sweat broke out on his brow as he fought for control and looked into the room. She was leaning against the wall, knees drawn up and shoulders hunched as though trying to make as small a target as possible. As if she sensed his regard, her head lifted and she looked at him with frightened blue eyes. Tears had made tracks through the dirt on her bruised face and dried blood marked the corner of her mouth. Jack’s hold on the cat slipped and he growled deep in his throat. Megan glanced to the other side of the room and back to him in a clear signal, confirming what his nose had already told him. He stepped across the threshold and looked into the eyes of a madman.
This, Jack realized, was what tainted the old man’s scent and caused such a primal reaction in him. Megan was silent, her mind filled now with a jumble of images, her concentration broken. Reluctantly he closed her out and focused his attention on the man before him. The kidnapper stood easily showing none of the weaknesses his appearance suggested. His voice and face were emotionless when he spoke, “Drop the weapon.”
Jack eyed the gun pointed at him and did as he was told, sliding his own weapon across the floor towards the door. He didn’t need it, anyway. Moving slowly, he approached the fireplace, drawing attention away from his mate and snarled, “Why are you doing this?”
The blank expression cleared from the man’s face and was replaced by determination. The gun twitched in his hand and he moved away from the wall in order to keep Jack in his sights. “The Lord has charged me with delivering you back to hell. I will not fail Him.”
