20 Shades of Shifters: A Paranormal Romance Collection

by Demelza Carlton

  He turned and strode through the long grass and into the trees. The shadows curled around him until he was a blotch of darkness, until he was a swish of leaves in the distance.

  Camila stared after him.

  What the hell had just happened?

  She watched John stare toward the wooded path were Nomad had disappeared. John’s face was twisted into a look of torment. Camila put a hand delicately on his arm. He jumped at the touch, his eyes finding hers, his face melting into a look of dejection. She withdrew her hand and tugged on her shirt instead.

  She sighed. “You were on another planet for a minute there.”

  John stiffened, then let out a nervous laugh. Then his face fell. His eyes tracked to the woods that had swallowed Nomad up.

  Good riddance to bad rubbish was all she could think.

  “You really want to come back here and talk to him, don’t you?” Camila asked.

  He didn’t answer.

  Jealousy stole over her. She didn’t trust that smug idiot one bit. She looked up at John. He started towards the gravel path, then stopped and doubled back for her as if she were an afterthought. She clenched her fists, but forced a smile when he looked at her.

  “I’ll walk you home,” John said, sounding far away.

  Camila nodded. They were about a half mile from her trailer. The gravel on the shoulder crunched under her flip-flops. She stepped over a shard of brown glass and tried to think. What did Nomad say? Something was hunting the people of this town? Did that mean it was an animal and not a human? Well, that made sense, but she wasn’t willing to believe a word that came out of that guy’s mouth. From the look on John's face, he was willing to believe every word.

  Whether Nomad was crazy or not, it would get very dark, very fast. Suddenly the fear she had suppressed all day reared its head. She wanted away from here. Now.

  He’ll never know what he is or where he came from. Those were Nomad’s words. Camila let her eyes slip toward John shuffling quietly beside her, his head down, his mouth quirked to the side, his hands stuffed in his pockets. From here she could see his fists were clenched like he was holding onto something.

  He’s holding onto himself. He's holding on because a storm is coming, and he’ll be swept up with it.

  Wasn’t she just projecting? Wasn’t that how she felt all the time?

  They reached her trailer park much sooner than she’d expected. The homes were eerily quiet. Each squat little breadbox of a house had the door shut, the windows closed on such a warm July night. Was Mama still sleeping? Camila would find out soon enough.

  She faced John, who stood stoop-shouldered, his face dark. He lifted a smile when their eyes met, but the worry still hung on his face.

  Camila gnawed on her lip. “So…” She blew out a breath. “You gonna go back?”

  John shrugged his big shoulders. His eyes tracked back toward the water tower. She could just see the rounded top beyond the tree line.

  “You are, huh?” she said, wrapping her arms around herself.

  John scratched a hand behind his neck. “Yeah.” He wouldn’t meet her eyes.

  Camila shrugged. “You’re a big boy. I can’t tell you what to do.”

  John shook his head. “I need to know.”

  “He seems like he may be a few sandwiches short of a full picnic, John. Do you really think you can trust that guy?”

  John shrugged. “I dunno, but I gotta see. What if he knows about me? What if he knows what I am?” He pressed a hand to his chest.

  She locked eyes with him, taking a step forward until she was an arm's length away. “What you are, John, is a nice guy who deserves more than he was handed. You don’t need that guy,” she thumbed back to the direction of the water tower, “to tell you that.”

  John took a step back and swallowed hard. “Camila, what you don’t understand—”

  “No, I understand. You want to know. You think some part of you is waiting under that water tower, but I don’t trust that guy.” She pressed a finger into his chest. Then she lifted her eyes to his face. “He didn’t even call you by the right name. There’s something not right about him. I can feel it.”

  John shook his head slowly back and forth. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

  “Camila!” a voice yelled from down the street.

  Standing in the road with no shoes, her skirt askew and her hair curling in every direction, Mama waved to her. Somehow Camila’s heart rose and sank at the same time: Mama was safe; Mama was manic.

  Camila waved back and mimed just a minute. She turned back to John. “I gotta go.” She couldn’t look at him. He shifted beside her, feet scuffing the pavement. Would he change his mind?

  “Okay,” he whispered.

  She looked at him one more time. He had to go back to Nomad or he'd combust. Camila nodded. “See you tomorrow, maybe?”

  A flicker of a smile lit up his face. “I’ll be waiting when you get off.”

  “Please be careful.” She looked up at him. She wanted so much more: to throw her arms around him, smell his scent, kiss his mouth. Instead, she turned walked toward her mother without looking back. When she reached her front door, John was gone.

  Camila walked up to Mama and nodded to the house. “We should go inside. It’s not safe out here.”

  “It’s not?” Mama looked confused. She flicked her wide eyes up and down the quiet street. “What wrong?”

  Camila shook her head and walked toward the door. “I’ll tell you inside.”

  The two entered the house and Camila bolted the door behind them. She stared at the flimsy lock that separated their trailer from the outside world. It wouldn’t stop a normal person, let alone someone that would shred their throats for fun. Then she remembered her bedroom window didn’t even lock. It had busted three years ago and they’d never bothered to fix it. Camila tucked the worry aside and turned toward Mama. As she did, her eyes trailed over their little dinette. A checkered tablecloth was draped on the table. It was set with matching clean plates and silverware. In the center was a white Pyrex dish curling with steam, a delicious aroma wafting from it.

  “What’s this?” she asked, walking toward the table.

  “Humitas,” Mama said proudly, peering over the casserole dish. “I haven’t made them in a while.” Her eyes lit up as she breathed in the smell of them.

  Camila realized how hungry she was. She leaned over the dish and took a big whiff. “Mama, these look delicious.”

  Mama drew back a chair for her. “Go ahead. They’re for you.”

  Camila sat, picked out one of the cornhusk packages from the dish and dropped it on her plate. She unwrapped the husk to reveal the yellow corn center. She dug in, savoring the steaming mixture, the taste of mashed corn, both salty and sweet on her tongue. “Mama, this is awesome.”

  Mama nodded, sitting opposite Camila. Her eyes were still too wide, her lipstick smeared, but Mama was smiling, eating hungrily with both hands. “So, your job, how it goes?”

  Camila nodded, chewing. “Okay. It’s a job. Fer’s there.”

  “And that guy?” Mama lifted her eyes coyly to Camila’s. “Does he work there?”

  Camila shook her head, feeling the heat flare up her cheeks. “No, John doesn’t work there.”

  “John?” Mama trilled the word. “He’s so handsome, mi amor. Where did you meet him?”

  Camila gulped down a hunk of corn. “He was just hanging around the ice cream shop. I sort of bumped into him.”

  Mama nodded, leaning forward. One black and gray curl bobbed in the middle of her forehead. “So, he is your boyfriend?”

  Camila shifted her eyes. She had no idea how to answer that question. As she pondered, her eye lit on Mama’s pink tank top. It revealed far too much cleavage. “Mama, do you have to wear my shirts? You’ll stretch them out.”

  “Camila, don’t change the subject.” Mama pushed an unruly curl out of her eyes. “Tell me about the guy. I need details.”

  “The guy
is just a guy. We just met. He’s very nice, but I don't think he knows what he wants right now.”

  Mama leaned back, clearly disappointed, but she nodded her head. “Just like your father.”

  Camila dropped her fork and leaned forward. “What about my father?” Maybe she could finally get to the bottom of this.

  In the background a merengue beat had picked up on the tiny kitchen stereo. Mama ignored the question and, instead, flounced up from her chair and cranked the volume up. Then she bopped over to Camila, swaying her hips and clapping.

  “Darling, come dance with me.” Mama’s hips swayed in her purple A-line skirt. Her feet shuffled lithely on the linoleum.

  Camila shook her head. “Oh no. No merengue. You were going to tell me about my father?”

  Mama shuffled over and tugged at Camila’s hands. “Yes, yes. Dance! Dance with me.” Mama swirled around the table as the Latin beat blasted from the stereo. The horns blared, the drums pounded. Mama pulled Camila from her chair.

  “Mama, no.”

  “Si,” Mama said, taking Camila’s hand and wrapping one arm around her back. She began to sway them back and forth.

  For a few beats Camila resisted. This was ridiculous, the two of them dancing around their kitchen table, trying to dodge the piles of garbage on the floor. But the beat was in her blood. Her hips swayed. Her feet stepped. She felt a smile curl up her lips as Mama tried to dip her and nearly spilled her on the floor. Camila pressed her hand to her mouth and laughed. Really laughed.

  This is how it used to be with Mama before everything fell apart. Camila remembered Mama taking her to fairs, of riding the tea cups until Mama turned green and vowed never to spin again. A memory flashed before Camila of the two of them dancing at a wedding. She could picture the frilly pink dress she wore. It twirled as Mama spun her around. And Mama had smiled and smiled.

  Like she was smiling now.

  Suddenly there was a rapping on their front door, loud and urgent.

  They stopped and stared at the door. Camila ran over and snapped off the stereo. Mama froze.

  “Open up,” a husky male voice said through the door. “It’s the police.

  John

  Thursday 8:52 p.m.

  John sprinted back to the water tower as fast as his legs would take him. He'd disappointed Camila, but she'd forgive him when he found her tomorrow and told her everything. It was time to share it with her, share it all. He only hoped she would still want to be with him when she knew.

  He scanned the darkened landscape from the base of the tower. Fireflies blinked across the field. Above, the moon was large and round, not a cloud in the sky. He tapped his hand on his thigh and willed Nomad into the clearing. He couldn’t wait a couple of hours to know who he was. What he was. Nomad might have some answers and no matter how strange or elusive he seemed, John had to know. Tonight he would unlock all the secrets inside him and finally feel…What? Whole? Alive? Sane?

  At peace, he thought, finally. I’d feel at peace with myself.

  And then what? Well, then he’d go after the beast and try to kill it if he could or, if he couldn’t, he'd get Camila and her mother far away from here. He could protect them; he knew that now.

  “Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” a voice said from behind him.

  John spun around.

  A shadow stepped out of the darkness. Nomad came into view, his face lifted into his patented smirk, his hands brushing the tops of the grass. He stopped a few feet away, tossed back a lock of curly black hair and regarded John.

  “Look at you. Where’d you get those clothes, Jopari, the bottom of a dump? They don’t even fit you.” Nomad circled, running his eyes up and down.

  John shrugged, feeling a blush rise up his neck. “Where should I have gotten clothes? I woke up naked.”

  Nomad clapped a hand on John’s shoulder. John stiffened at the touch. “Buddy, what’s theirs is ours.” He leaned in close, his breath hissing against John's neck. “You just take.” Nomad dug in his pocket, pulled out a wrapped sandwich, and tossed it to John.

  John caught it and stared. “Are you always eating?”

  Nomad pulled another sandwich from his pocket and began unwrapping it, the paper crinkling beneath his fingers. “Always. It's the best part about this place. They have killer food.” Nomad took a giant bite and a smile stretched across his face. “I put on, like, twenty pounds each time we come here.”

  John stared at the sandwich, the thick-crusted bread, the folds of sliced meat. His stomach growled at the smell, but he hated eating something given to him by this stranger who called him friend.

  “Eat,” Nomad said, bits of lettuce falling from his mouth.

  John couldn't help it; he tore off the paper and took a giant bite. The savory flavor of meat and mayo burst into his mouth. He groaned.

  Nomad squinted at John, studying him. “Please tell me you've been using your powers to help you get food.”

  John nodded. “Some.”

  “Some?” Nomad stepped back, throwing his arms in the air. “Some? You've been using them some? Do you even remember what we can do?” John shrugged. Nomad circled John and swatted at the air. “Jopari, what do you remember?”

  John stepped back. “Stop calling me Jopari. My name is John. And I remember nothing. That’s why I’m here, so stop the buddy-buddy act, and tell me what’s going on.”

  Nomad’s face spread in a slow smile and he nodded slightly. “Okay, big man. At least now you’re sounding a little more like yourself and not some human.”

  “I’m not human?” A jolt of shock rocked up John's spine. There it was, the confirmation of something he'd suspected, but never believed. Not until now.

  Nomad laughed, tossing back his curls. “Oh gods. I’d die if I had to be like them. Can you imagine? Small, miserable, ignorant creatures.” Nomad stared out toward the road. Then he flashed his eyes back to John. “But by Gotharie's spear their food is so much better.”

  “Stop talking about food and tell me who I am.” John fought the urge to shake Nomad. He was on the edge of a cliff and Nomad was nudging him closer.

  Nomad's eyes burned with mischief as he shook his head. “I will. Come on.” With a wink, Nomad turned and rose into the sky. He was hovering ten feet off the ground.

  “How…?” John said, unable to finish. He knew how. He just couldn't get his brain to believe it.

  “John, you are still asking the wrong questions. Not how, little buddy.” Nomad dropped back to the ground. “What. What are we? Ask me that.”

  “What are we?”

  Nomad smiled. “You and I, we're the best of the best.” His eyes glistened with pride. “We are scouts, highly-trained agents, the top of our field.”

  John shook his head. “What do you mean?”

  “Gods, I have to dumb everything down for you.” He bobbed in the air as he blew out a frustrated sigh. “We're not from Earth. We were sent here to scout out conditions.”

  John shook his head. “I…don't know.”

  “Of course you don't know, but what I'm telling you is the truth.” Nomad twitched and his vocal tone changed. “You can’t handle the truth,” he shouted with a strange accent. John backed up, arms tensing. Nomad shook his head and wiggled a finger in his ear. “Sorry. Cheese and crackers, they jam a whole lot of crap in here.” He knocked on his head as if dislodging something.

  John placed a hand to his forehead. “Jammed what in there?”

  Nomad gave his head one more shake and then straightened up. “Before we leave they fill us up with the language, culture and idioms of the life forms we’re checking out. With limited data, loads of it comes from bad movies and TV. I can quote whole Law and Order episodes. It’s messed up.” Nomad caught the questioning look on John’s face. “How do you think you know how to speak their language? Know their customs? Where do you think that sex drive comes from when you get a boner for that hot chick? All stuff they shoved in here the first time we left the ship.”

 
“How many trips have we made to earth?”

  Nomad shrugged. “A dozen over the last year. This is our first time here, but we've been all over. Kansas. Ecuador. Iraq. Didn't like that one. Too dusty. And all the food tasted like dates.”

  John’s head was spinning. Everything he was, every feeling had been pumped into him from some information hose? What about him was real? Anything? And he'd been to other places, other cities just like this one? He staggered back, clutching for the water tower. The concrete was cool beneath his palms. He leaned in and pressed his head to it.

  “Hold on there, man. I know this is a lot to handle.” Nomad's voice came closer. “We have protocol for an addled agent, but not a total tabula rasa. Never happened before. I’d call for backup, but there’s no time.”

  John peeled back from the tower. “What’s the rush?”

  Nomad raised his eyebrows as if he’d revealed too much. He covered it with a false smile. “Nothing, buddy. Let’s not worry about that now. Now we gotta jog that memory of yours, and quick-like.”

  John nodded. “I want to know.”

  “Of course you do. But not here. It’s so…” Nomad waved his hand with a flourish, “uninspiring. Let’s go.”

  Nomad paused for a moment, coiled and then sprung into the air. He hovered effortlessly above the ground. Bathed in moonlight, he was a scene straight out of a comic book.

  “How do I do it?” John asked, looking up.

  Nomad flashed a toothy smile. “Just push off. It’ll be just like learning to ride a bike, if we’d ever had to do that. Hmm, a bike. Maybe I'll get me one to take back. Anyway, come on,” he said, waving John up. Then he soared up into the night sky.

  Sweat broke out across his back as John crouched down. This is stupid, he thought, coiling to spring. It’ll never wor—

  Somehow his muscles knew what to do. His legs coiled and sprang. His toes scraped the dirt as he rose. A strange sensation circled his torso, a tugging in his body, as if all his cells were surging upward. His arms and legs thrashed like he was struggling not to drown. The air swished through his fingers. Somewhere a truck trundled by and he prayed it was dark enough to keep him hidden.