by Laura Taylor
Skip shrugged again. Yeah, she was crazy. But where she came from, that was a compliment. She waited some more.
Miller settled back down, further away than he had been before, probing the wound and then seeing the blood on his fingers as it started bleeding again. “Look, I said I wasn’t going to hurt you, and I meant it. So can we just call a truce? I don’t hurt you, you don’t hurt me, and we both get out of here alive. Okay?”
“Okay,” Skip agreed easily.
“Okay?! So why did you just scratch me?”
“You’ve hurt a lot of my friends. A little retaliation seemed appropriate.” Skip settled back down, feeling more confused than ever. Why hadn’t he hurt her back? He could have hit her, tried to grab the gun to shoot her, slapped her across the face? Why was he refusing to hurt her?!
Miller shuffled around uncomfortably. His head was throbbing again, the ground was cold and hard, and his clothes were clinging to him, damp against his skin. It was going to be a long night, with little expectation of getting any sleep, and he was starting to realise that his problems were far from over. Despite the agreed truce, he didn’t quite believe this girl wasn’t going to do him further harm during the night, and he eyed the gun at her side apprehensively. An hour ago, death had seemed a viable option, but with the girl’s apparent declaration that saving her life was fair payment for his crimes, he’d started to believe he might get out of this mess alive. His life would never be the same, of course. He’d have to leave the country, bribe smugglers to move him across borders, and head for somewhere where the Noturatii didn’t operate. South America, maybe, or Australia. But there was a chance – slim but realistic – that he might be able to get away from his past and start again somewhere new.
Susan was huddled up near the fire, her short hair curling as it dried, and he took the time to look at her more closely. She wore a bright pink t-shirt with a unicorn on the front, a pair of baggy shorts, and trainers covered in glitter.
But her fiery attitude and grim expression contradicted the impression of a young girl, and he reassessed his estimation of her age. Perhaps she wasn’t a teenager after all, but in her twenties. She’d reacted without hesitation after the crash, level-headed enough to steal his gun and get herself out of there without panicking, no screaming, no reaction to her wounds. And he felt a fresh wave of guilt at the thought that she must have been through enough emergencies to have developed the skills to deal with them. She was actually quite beautiful, in a wild sort of way, her pixie-ish face golden in the firelight, her body toned and trim, and despite her odd choice of clothing, the look suited her.
She looked up, caught him staring at her, and her glare returned. “What?” she asked gruffly, and Miller shook his head.
“I’m sorry. I just think you’re…” He had been about to say pretty, but the word didn’t really fit. There was nothing classically ‘pretty’ about the girl. He shrugged. “I think you’re nice to look at.”
Susan looked at him strangely, and he had to admit it must have sounded like an odd sort of compliment, coming from a man who worked for an organisation that had tried to kill her.
“I’m going to get some sleep,” she said, sounding almost petulant. “And don’t try to take my gun,” she added, tucking the weapon beneath her arm as she tugged the backpack over as a makeshift pillow and lay down, making herself as comfortable as possible on the cold ground. ‘Her’ gun now, rather than his.
Miller sighed and set about creating his own makeshift bed – a rough depression in the dusty ground, his arm curled up for a pillow. His body felt odd, tight and tingling, an uncomfortable feeling like he wanted to yawn, but couldn’t quite figure out how. He had the strange sense that there was something he needed to do, but couldn’t think what it could possibly be.
It was likely just the stress of the car crash, he told himself, closing his eyes. He didn’t expect to sleep, but was determined to try. And then after the crash, he’d nearly been struck by lightning. It was only to be expected that he was feeling rather on edge. His legs felt odd, like they were too long, like his feet worked the wrong way. And his mouth felt strange, like his tongue was too big. Go to sleep, he told himself firmly. It was just stress, adrenaline, his imagination playing up over a day of too much excitement. He just needed to get a little sleep, and then it would all look better in the morning.
It was dark when Skip woke up, still the middle of the night, but the sky had cleared and the moon was bright, shimmering beneath faint wisps of cloud. The fire had gone out, but Skip’s night vision was excellent – a benefit of her wolf side – and she immediately remembered where she was, and with whom.
Her first thought was to check the gun… yep, still there, beneath her arm. And then she glanced over at Miller… and choked back a startled cry before it could escape.
He was… holy fuck… how the hell…??
Instead of sharing a cave with a dangerous, confusing man, Skip felt a rush of disbelief as she looked over to the other side of the fireplace and saw a large, black wolf, sound asleep on the ground.
A wolf?! What the hell?
Miller wasn’t a shifter. Couldn’t be. He worked for the Noturatii! If they’d known he was a shifter, they would have killed him. Or tortured him. They would certainly never have let him wander around the countryside on his own.
But as she shuffled around in the dark, trying to stay as quiet as possible, Skip felt the sting of the cuts on her hands, and looked down at her palms in consternation.
No. It wasn’t possible…
But there was no other explanation. Miller had the same cuts on his own hands. In the storm, he’d grabbed her hand to pull her up the rocks, both of them bleeding, and then the lightning had struck, a stone’s throw from where they were standing.
It wasn’t possible…
“Oh, Sirius, what have you done this time?” she breathed, her words barely audible. A Noturatii man had just been converted into a shape shifter.
And aside from the staggering irony, Skip felt a jolt of fear as she realised the dire situation she was in. He couldn’t be allowed to leave. If he actually was a spy, unlikely though that seemed, then he could take their secrets straight back to the Noturatii, giving them even more fuel with which to fight this hideous war.
But even if everything he’d said was true, and he really was intending to leave the organisation, Skip still couldn’t let him walk away. A stray shifter on the loose could expose their species to the public, put the whole of Il Trosa at risk.
Bloody hell. She considered shooting him… but despite her concerns, she knew she would never be able to do it. He had saved her life, after all, had helped her survive the storm, had sat with her all evening without once trying to harm her. Killing him would only make her a murderer.
But there was only one alternative, and that was to somehow convince him to follow her back to the Den, where he could be assessed properly, to see if he could merge with his wolf, to see if he really was breaking off his loyalties to the Noturatii.
Baron would have a fit. Silas would likely shoot him on sight. Tank… God, she dreaded to think how Tank would react, given what he’d been through that time he was captured and held in a Noturatii lab.
Did Miller even know he was a shifter? He hadn’t seemed to, all that time they were sitting in the cave. Did he know now? The wolf was asleep, and it wasn’t uncommon for a shift to occur while someone was sleeping. Maybe he’d just shifted in his sleep, and was completely unaware of the extra passenger he was now carrying.
Skip shook her head, abandoning any thoughts of more sleep tonight. She would have to keep an eye on her strange companion, make sure he didn’t try to sneak away in the morning without her noticing.
And somehow she had to come up with a plan that would make sure he followed her home, and at the same time, convince Baron not to just shoot him when they arrived. The world had just got a little more crazy than usual.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
When Mil
ler woke up in the morning, Susan was already awake. She was sitting huddled up beside the long-dead fire, staring at him with an odd look of contemplation.
“Morning,” he said shortly, sitting up and trying to stretch his stiff muscles in the small space. He was surprised at how well he’d slept, not stirring from the time he’d lain down to just now.
The rain had stopped, leaving the sky grey and cloudy, and he wished they had something to eat. He hadn’t had dinner the night before, and all indications were that he wasn’t going to get breakfast either. He idly wondered how much money he had on him, knowing that now he was on the run, making use of his credit card was out of the question.
“I’ve been thinking,” Susan said suddenly, not taking her eyes off him. “You said you want to leave the Noturatii. And that means you think the shifters aren’t evil incarnate any more, right?”
“Right,” Miller confirmed.
“Which also probably means you think the Noturatii are pretty shit, am I right?”
That one was a harder question to answer. “I’m certainly against what they’re doing, and I have no intention of helping them any more. But I’ve got a few friends working for them as well. Good people. Just maybe misguided, like I was.” Susan didn’t look impressed with that, so he went on, “We get lied to a lot. There’s a lot of propaganda, a lot of the higher-ups running around making sure everyone believes the right story. I’m not saying I agree with any of it, but when you’re at the bottom of the ladder, it can be hard to tell the truth from the lies.”
Susan thought about that. “Makes sense,” she conceded after a moment. “But there’s still a lot going on in the upper levels that you don’t like, right?”
“Right.”
“So I have an idea.” She peered up at him, giving him a hopeful, speculative look. “You should come home with me.”
It took Miller only half a second to catch onto her plan. “You want me to play informant. To give the shifters the information I have on the Noturatii’s operations.”
“Right,” Susan said, sounding almost cheerful about the idea. “You said you were sorry for what happened in Scotland. This would be a perfect way for you to make up for that.”
Miller let out a laugh in disbelief. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said wryly. “The instant I set foot on shifter territory, there are half a dozen people who would shoot me on sight.”
“Not necessarily,” Susan insisted. “Not if you’re with me. Not if I tell them not to. They’d probably rough you up a bit, yeah,” she admitted with a grimace. “But they’re not going to do too much damage if they know you have some good information for us. Besides,” she went on quickly, “where else are you going to go? Your escape seems fairly spontaneous, so I doubt you have a big pile of cash on you. And you can’t access your bank account without letting the Noturatii track you. We know people who know people. If you want to skip the country at some point, we can point you in the right direction.”
Miller narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “You’re offering to help me escape from the Noturatii?”
Susan snorted. “No. I’m trying to get you to come with me so we can tap your brain for useful intel. But the fact remains, we know people who deal in various illegal trades, so once you’re done helping us, we might decide to scratch your back in return. I’m not doing this as an exercise in altruism. I don’t owe you anything. But unlike you know who, we don’t tend to stab people in the back after they help us.”
Miller thought about the idea. On the one hand, it was crazy. Regardless of what Susan said, there was a high chance the shifters would take one look at him and put a bullet in his skull. But on the other hand, he was rather short on options. As she’d pointed out, he had little money on him – certainly not enough to bribe people smugglers. And while he knew a few people with interests in that area, they were all linked to the Noturatii in one way or another. Not a great plan, when he was doing his best to play dead and not get caught.
“Okay,” he said finally. “But you have to promise me you’ll do everything you can to make sure they don’t kill me.”
“You saved my life yesterday,” Susan said firmly. “That’s not something I’m going to forget in a hurry.”
Jacob Green strode into the Noturatii’s main base in London, in a better mood than he’d been in for weeks. “Morning, James,” he greeted one of the guards as he headed for his office. “How’s our new captive this morning?”
The guard looked at him blankly. “Captive, sir?”
“I got a message from Steve last night,” Jacob said, setting his briefcase on the desk. “He said Miller’s team from the Lakes District had captured a shifter girl. They were bringing her in.”
The guard shook his head. “I’m sorry, sir, but I haven’t heard anything about a new captive. Just a moment. I’ll call Science and Research.” A minute later, the man was ending the call and looking baffled. “Sorry sir, but there’s only one shifter in the cages – the one we’ve been experimenting on. No one’s seen Miller since yesterday morning.”
“Hmm.” With a frown, Jacob pulled out his phone and called Miller’s number. It rang out, and then switched to voicemail. He tried again, with the same result. Then he called Steve, and then Daniel, the other man who’d been sent on the assignment. No one answered either phone.
“Excuse me,” he muttered to the guard, hurrying off down the hall to the communications office. “Which car did Miller take yesterday?” he snapped to one of the staff when he arrived. The man in front of the computer sat up straight and set about looking up the logs immediately.
“The blue jeep, sir,” he answered. He brought up the tracking system on the screen. “According to the GPS, it’s stationary.” He pulled up a map and turned the screen so Jacob could see. “Right here, sir. South of Kendal. And according to the logs, it’s been there since yesterday evening.”
Jacob stared at the blinking red dot on the screen, his mind working quickly. Three staff MIA and a car stuck in the middle of nowhere? “Give me a list of who’s rostered on for security this morning. And forensics staff, as well. I want to get a team out there and find out what’s going on.”
Skip thanked the driver of the car she and Miller had hitched a ride in and climbed out. They were in front of a wide driveway leading up to a big old farmhouse – one of the Den’s neighbours – and she shouldered her backpack, waiting until the car drove off.
“So this is home?” Miller asked, looking up the hill towards the farmhouse in surprise.
Skip snorted. “No. Of course not. I’m not going to lead some random stranger right to our door. Geez, you’re not too quick on the uptake, are you?” Miller looked faintly embarrassed. “Come on,” she said, turning left and heading off down the road. “It’s this way.”
They walked along in silence, both of them having a lot on their minds. Skip had been profoundly relieved when Miller had agreed to come with her this morning. When she’d told him her plan, she’d made an effort to make it sound practical, workable, but not overly generous, lest Miller get suspicious about her motives. And his reluctance to join her had only served to convince her even more that he was serious about his decision to leave the Noturatii.
By all indications, he was still unaware that he was a shifter, and that in itself was odd. Usually the wolf made itself known fairly quickly after the conversion, demanding a rapid shift, expressing desires that were at odds with the normal, human way of thinking. But Miller’s wolf seemed strangely quiet, and Skip wondered if it had somehow picked up on the danger he was in, and was biding its time.
Or perhaps it was simply content with his mindset the way it was. Miller was a soldier, after all, a hunter of sorts, with a strong personality and plenty of skills in self defence. Perhaps the wolf recognised that it didn’t need to make any excessive demands about embracing the wilder side of his nature.
But the other thing on her mind was wondering what she was going to say to the others when they arr
ived at the estate. They would be furious at having a Noturatii operative show up at their front door, and despite her assurances to Miller, she wasn’t entirely convinced she could persuade them not to shoot him on sight.
But it was too late to back out now, and in all honesty, she didn’t think there was a viable alternative. She would just have to make the best of it she could.
Twenty minutes later, the estate came into view, and Skip felt her heart kick up a notch as nervousness took over. “Wait,” she said, coming to a stop before they reached the gate. “Do you have any other weapons on you? Because they’re going to search you, and they won’t be happy about finding you armed.”
Without a word, Miller reached down and withdrew a knife strapped to his ankle, handing it to her handle first, and then fished through his pockets. He pulled out a pocket knife, an extra clip of ammunition, and handed them both over. Skip stowed the items in her backpack, then looked Miller over. “Anything else?”
“That’s all.”
“A word of advice? Do whatever they ask. Go wherever they tell you to go. And don’t say anything that’s going to antagonise them. There are going to be plenty of insults coming your way and they won’t be inclined to put up with any backchat.”
“Got it,” Miller said, looking apprehensive. “How much further is it?”
Skip nodded to the gate, just visible at the next bend in the road. “We’re here.”
Miller’s eyebrows rose. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah. Why? What’s the problem?”
“I’ve been here before,” Miller said, a strange kind of awe in his voice. “We received some unusual intel and I came to take a look. The whole place checked out. One thing I’ll say for you; you know how to cover your tracks.”
“You sound surprised,” Skip commented drily, leading the way over to the gate.
