by Lane, Jessie
“Did she offer to boink like bunnies before or after you promised her the exclusive, Kent?” Choked laughs sounded at her exasperated outburst. Kent’s continued silence was answer enough. “Despicable. Just slutty. You’re a man-whore of the highest order. I hope you catch the demonic version of the clap.”
Crooning words filled her ear from the other end of the line. “Well you could come over here and change my mind. Protect me from these reporters that are all but holding me down to a bed so that they can bounce on the latest local hero’s impressively large love pole.”
Adam’s responding growl didn’t just vibrate through the room, it vibrated through her. Messing with body parts that had absolutely no business jumping up and down in glee over the possessive behavior he was exhibiting. Jenna ignored it as she calmly crossed her legs in feigned indifference. “Are they serving popsicles in hell yet? Because the day that happens, is the day I jump into bed with your skanky butt, but forget about that. Besides, it’s probably more likely that the reporter is bouncing on a teeny tiny pogo stick than that overly exaggerated love pole you claim to have. But that’s not why I called. Can you get me and my Uncle into the morgue? I haven’t been there yet so I’m not an authorized occupant yet.”
“You’re pulling me away from double D’s to go look at dead people? Are you crazy?”
Jenna sighed in annoyance, “Fine. Go pump your little Mike & Ike into the nosey reporter who is probably going to be the first human in the history of the Other community to give a demon an STD, and then take us to the morgue. Really, it should only take you like, what, five or ten minutes? It’ll take me longer than that to meet you wherever we have to go anyways.”
Wounded male pride sputtered from the other end of the phone, “Ten minutes! Mike & Ike? Screw you, O’Conner. You can find another way to get into the damn morgue.”
Jenna glanced to Uncle Owen. He seemed to know the question before she answered because he gave an almost imperceptible nod. “What if I told you that it would be doing Alpha Owen Davies a favor.”
Kent blew out a stunned breath. “As in, Pack Master Davies?”
“As in the Pack Master Davies.”
He whistled in appreciation. “Then I’d say meet me in two hours.”
*****
The New Hanover County Medical Examiner’s Office was set up just several streets away from the Wilmington Police Department Headquarters. This was why, when Kent had given Jenna the address, he was confident she would be able to find it even though she was new to town. Which, at the moment she was damn grateful for the building being easy to find because if the situation had been different, and Kent would have given Jenna directions, she wasn’t entirely sure she could have remembered them after Adam grabbed the back of her neck and laid a blistering kiss on her lips before she was able to drive away. A kiss she was still debating on whether she should kick him in the nads for because he’d done it right in front of her brother and uncle, or tackle him to the nearest bed and have her wicked way with him.
Her brain said to kick him in the nads.
Her body was telling her brain to shut the hell up, rather loudly. They would need those nads when she tackled him to the nearest bed and did their best impersonation of what women's Viagra looked like.
Stupid body.
She parked her truck in front of an old brick building that's architectural design looked as if it had been built around the early 1900’s. One would expect that with that kind of age, for the building to look rundown, but that assumption would be decidedly wrong. One of the things Jenna had always liked on her numerous trips to Wilmington, was the opportunity to look at the historic buildings that riddled the city. They were well maintained and helped convey stories of earlier times when horse drawn carriages were sharing street space with the first automobiles. In her opinion, it was neat that the buildings left standing were not only restored but beautiful to look at as well.
In her peripheral vision, Jenna watched as her uncle’s GMC Yukon pulled up next to her and rolled her eyes. Men and their toys. They always had to have the biggest one with the most buttons to push and the shiniest metal. It wouldn’t matter if they were five with their Hot Wheels cars, or fifty-five with their big boy trucks in the driveway, all men were the same. It was an extension of their egos, or a compensation for what they lacked. In her Uncle’s case, she would guess it was the ego.
Speaking of compensation, one of Wilmington’s finest was waiting on the top step, arms crossed over his broad chest, and leaning against the faded brick wall. “Took you long enough, O’Connor.” Gruffness coated Kent’s voice. He was still annoyed with her; maybe offering him some of her Mike & Ike’s wouldn’t be a brilliant idea at the moment. Nonchalantly, she shoved the small box of candy into her back pocket. Unfortunately, the gesture didn’t go unnoticed. Kent glared at her and she had to suppress the giggles that were trying to erupt from her throat. Logan seemed to be having the same problem.
Ah, men and their poor egos.
“Kent, I’d like you to meet my uncle Owen Davies and my brother, Logan.” Chin lifts were exchanged between the men. “Lead the way Kent; I know you want to get back to having that reporter bounce on your pogo stick.”
The annoyance melted away from Kent’s face before he pasted on a cocky grin. “Whatever, O’Connor. I know you’re jealous because you would rather see my pogo stick than to have the lovely Lana bouncing on it.”
He winked before turning away and walking towards the door. When Kent pulled it open the stale smell of death wafted over them. Its lingering presence was unwelcome, and made her nostrils flare in annoyance.
The tile floor seemed to keep the coldness hovering over it; with the temperature dropping the farther they got from the main exit. She assumed they kept the big freezers in the back. After her and Kent flashed their badges and signed in they headed for the back, towards the arctic-feeling death keepers. By the time they reached the double doors leading to the main examination room, her breath was visible and her nose was burning from the stench of dead shifters. Male wolf shifters always smelled downright nasty after they died. Not sure why, but these guys, ugh they smelled like rotten eggs. Jenna was guessing it was the lovely aroma of their last meal wafting out. Kind of like when egg salad goes sour. Kent looked at her questionably, as if silently asking if she was okay with seeing day old dead bodies that she’d helped to make that way. Had she ever had to kill an armed suspect before? Unfortunately, yes. So that wouldn’t haunt her. It came down to the idea of it was either them or her surviving the situation, and in that case, she would always choose herself. No, the only time dead bodies haunted her was when they were the innocent victims. Not that she’d seen many of those in a small town, but she had regrettably seen a couple of them, and those were the ones that gave her nightmares. Not that she’d admit that to Kent. She just rolled her eyes and pushed through the doors to the coldest damn room she had ever been in.
“Shit, it’s freezing in here,” Logan whispered, as he went crossed eyed watching his own breath escape his mouth.
Retard. She couldn’t help but shake her head at him while barely refraining from face palming herself. Thank God she wasn’t that stupid. The doors swished closed behind them and the white tile was replaced with smooth concrete and eight drains in the shape of a square. Some were still wet, and the sound of the water dripping down the pipes was the only thing they heard until Kent opened one of the twenty 3 x 4ft stainless steel hatches that lined the entire left wall. Gray, everything was gray, or silver. No color whatsoever graced this room. The definition of drab and dreary. The constant impression of death was everywhere. Steel tables. Steel shelves. Steel bars on the windows. Steel surgical tools.
Screech.
Uncle Owen was already at Kent’s side unzipping the black heavy duty body bag of the first shifter and pushing its sides open. The dead man’s vacant eyes were still open, and his chest was marred by an ‘X’. Silver staples made his skin look like the pucker of a cr
ust of pie.
“Damn.” Uncle Owen cursed under his breath.
Shaking his head, Kent proceeded to open the other freezer hatches and slide out the other seven ‘John Does’. Logan ripped the zipper back on the next one as Kent got to the last while Jenna just stood there, trying to determine what would make her Uncle scowl at the dead shifters that way.
Shit, at least they were dead and not trying to rip their heads off.
Calmly walking over to him, she noticed all three were staring at tattoos visible on six of the eight dead bodies. They were placed on arms, chests, even necks, of the men. Each of the six tattoos were different in design, but seemed to carry the same theme. They all had a black raven and the letter C. Definitely not your run-of-the-mill flash art.
Nodding her head to the bodies, she asked no one in particular, “What’s up with the tats?”
No one answered, but Uncle Owen walked over to the body closest to her, the one without a visible tattoo on the front of it, and wrapped his hand around the back of the corpse’s neck before lifting him up into a sitting position. The tattoo mystery only seemed to deepen as they all got a close look at a gigantic raven tattooed across the upper back of the dead shifter’s body. Its wings were spread in flight across his shoulders, and in one claw dangled a skull while the other claw grasped the plume of a helmet that had letter C decorating the side. Uncle Owen laid the body back down as Logan lifted the other seemingly un-tattooed shifter into a sitting position to expose a bare back.
No tattoo.
Logan looked over at the others to make sure that they’d all seen the empty skin before he laid the corpse back down. He then rubbed the back of his neck as he looked back to Uncle Owen. “What are the chances that he put the tattoo somewhere else on his body?”
All three men cringed. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that the only other places left on the body to check was the back of the corpse’s legs, backside, and man bits. Three sets of male eyes stared at her.
Cocking a hip and crossing her arms over her chest, she challenged, “What are you looking at me for?”
Kent scoffed. “Well, I sure as hell don’t want to look at his ass. Not to mention I already did you the favor of getting you in here, so I’m not checking. Besides, the three of you are shifters. Y’all are supposed to be comfortable with nudity, right? So check him yourselves.”
Logan held his hands up in a pose of surrender. “Just cause we have to get naked often doesn’t mean we want to get near another guy’s junk.”
Rolling her eyes, she stepped towards the corpse and rolled the dead weight of the body onto its side so that it was facing away from her. Scanning the length of the body, she caught the black ink on the back of one of the shifter’s calves. Sure enough, a raven was depicted with a C. Dropping the body on its back, she turned to her Uncle. “So what’s with all the tattoos?”
Logan shook his head in frustration, planting hands on his trim hips. Dropping his head forward, he analyzed his booted feet but not before Jenna noticed that his even, white teeth were biting into his lower lip. A second passed before he snorted, then muttered, “Worst case scenario, those tattoos means we’re fucked, an intercontinental clan war is the best case scenario.”
“Don’t be so dramatic yet, pup.” Uncle Owen waved his hand in the direction of the dead bodies. “What those tattoos mean is that all of these men belong to the Corvus Pack. The raven you see pictured is in honor of Marcus Valerius Corvus’ raven emblem from his Vexillum, or what you might think of as a flag, that he used as a general for the Roman Army. In fact, Marcus was gifted with the agnomen, or nickname, of Corvus because legend says he battled a gigantic Gallic warrior in single combat, and a raven settled on his helmet as the two combatants approached each other to fight. The raven then flew off his helmet, distracting the Gaul and allowing Marcus to deal a killing blow. Corvus literally means raven.” Turning his head back to stare at one of the bodies, he pursed his lips in contemplation before he continued, “Anyways, the Corvus Pack is one of the oldest, strongest, and most ruthless packs among our kind. It also means that if these men were behind your little hostage situation last night, to downplay what Logan just said, we have trouble. The kind of trouble that should not be discussed out in the open. Let’s head to your place, Jenna, to finish this.”
She followed her Uncle and brother back outside, with Kent following closely on her heels. When they reached their vehicles, Uncle Owen turned to face Kent. “You won’t be needed, Demon. Return to your little reporter if you like, let us handle it from here.”
Kent snorted in disgust, “Right. Cause the consummate all-knowing Pack Master Davies doesn’t need menial demons around to bother him. I’m sure you know who to contact around here about questionable movement within the Others community in Wilmington, or North Carolina for that matter. You know, with you living around here and all. Hell, you can probably walk into any place you want and get that kind of information. Right?”
Jenna’s eyes practically popped out of her head at her partner’s scathing, condescending tone. She glared, looking rather bug eyed at Kent, whom she was suddenly sure was a perfect candidate for the phrase ‘the lights on, but nobody’s home’. Then glancing over to her Uncle whom she was doubly sure was about to rip Kent’s head from his body and play with it as if it was a basketball. Hell, the vein running across his forehead was pulsing so hard and fast that it could practically be the beat for a salsa dance. If Kent wasn’t careful, Uncle Owen was going to do the Cha Cha on his broken body. It only seemed to get worse as the seconds ticked by. His eyes started morphing from their normal grass green color to the vivid, glowing amber that his wolf wore. She held her breath. Body tense and ready for the moment that was sure to come, the moment where her Uncle would let his predatory nature out of its cage, showing Kent exactly what happened when you pissed off the animal inside the man.
The violence didn’t come though.
Instead, she watched fascinated as the vein that had been throbbing like a jackhammer across his forehead slowed down. His eye color phased back to green, and Jenna sighed in relief. To all the world, he looked perfectly calm now but Jenna knew he was still agitated when his left eye gave an involuntary twitch before speaking.
“Come along then, Demon. Let’s see if you can pull your weight. I suspect that rather large ego of yours is exceptionally heavy though.”
Kent quipped, “It’s not my ego that is exceptionally large and heavy.”
Everyone climbed into their respective vehicles to follow Jenna to her house. She should have been worried about Kent’s lack of intelligence at smarting off to the most powerful wolf shifter in the United States, but she wasn’t.
She should have been worried about whether her Uncle Owen would snap her partner’s neck for getting into a pissing match with him in a public place. But she wasn’t.
She should have been worried about whatever the reasons were for having members of a slightly psychotic wolf pack running amuck in the new city she called home. But she wasn’t.
No, suddenly Jenna was panicked about two things.
One, did she have enough food in her house to feed two overgrown shifter males and a large sneaky demon? Because she knew shifter appetites bordered on ridiculousness that could empty a small grocery store once a week, and that was in a word - scary. But she also had no idea if demons carried the same kind of appetite, and if they did, then she was in another word - screwed. Somehow she didn’t think her meager stash of pepperoni slices, cheese and crackers would go real far.
And two; she really, really hoped that she had managed to pick up her dirty clothing from around the house. She had a terrible habit of stripping off offending clothing the moment she walked through the door. So it wasn’t unusual to see her bra lying on the living room floor as she made her way to the shower after getting off a shift from work. She also was not the tidiest person on the planet. In fact, her Mama had repeatedly called her a hopeless slob of epic proportions
if not kept in check. The absolute horror of her little brother, whom she didn’t even know existed until this morning, seeing her bras or panties was enough to terrify her and humiliate her beyond words.
Because she was quickly discovering that the possibility of little brothers, even if they appeared to be over the age of eighteen, seeing your undergarments equaled two words.
Total mortification.
*****
The house had seemed so much bigger to her before she parked two shifters and a demon in the living room. Now with the three large-bodied men huddled in the room, she felt damn near claustrophobic. Her Uncle and brother were smashed next to each other on her small dove gray loveseat while Kent occupied her only other sitting option in the room, a vibrant suede purple tufted armchair. The look of barely suppressed disgust on his face at having to sit in what he had announced was “a girly monstrosity that no man should ever have to suffer, in the house of his newest partner who he expected to have better taste no less.” At least that was the reason he would give his therapist for the nightmares he was sure to endure.
Jenna just thought the whole damn thing was hysterical. In the chair that her Mama had gifted her sat a five foot eleven inch, two hundred pound, leanly muscled, smooth talking, lady killer with a easy confidence that landed him firmly in the egotistical category. But at the moment, a lady killer that would probably rather abstain from sex for an entire month than sit in Jenna’s girly chair. She could tell that the only thing that equaled Kent’s repulsion for her chair was his surprise that she would even own the chair. Sure, she liked being a cop and generally did mental happy dances whenever she was able to outperform her testosterone-laden coworkers who presumed she was going to be more of a hindrance than a help because of her carrying reproductive organs. She also liked to play with guns, and could shoot almost any gun she could get her hands on at an expert level, when most women would rather get a pedicure than pick up a handgun. But all of that didn’t mean that she didn’t enjoy some of the feminine ideals of life. Such as pretty furniture that was also super comfortable. You’d never catch her with anything pink in her house, but that purple chair with its lush velvet fabric was her favorite piece of furniture to curl up in after a long day at work. The fact that it made her partner uncomfortable to sit in, as if the level of girliness would rub off on him, was a bonus. He was acting like it was only a matter of time before someone would walk into the living room and demand his man card back.
