Shifters Hallows Eve

by Lori King

  "Don't forget you're twenty-three, Victoria. It's past time you chose a mate and settled down. All of my friends with daughters your age are already grandmothers."

  "Mom, this isn't a date! Dad, will you please?"

  "Now, Katherine. It's only their second date. Give them a chance to get to know each other before you start planning the handfasting."

  Katherine snorted. "At this point, I'm ready to skip the formalities. Sylvie promised to teach me to knit as soon as there's a baby on the way. Victoria's next heat is this January so the timing is perfect..."

  The tenor of the engine changed, slowing, and Daniel cranked down the volume of the music. "Why are you growling?"

  Startled, Victoria muted her snarl and ducked her head, all too aware her cheeks were hot enough to fry eggs. Thankfully, the fading light provided some camouflage. "Nothing, sorry—"

  "I'm stopping for gas," he said, and she nodded.

  Daniel pulled off onto an unmarked dirt side road that looked like nothing more than an ATV trail. Around them, the landscape remained high desert—brush and thorny bushes. As they continued to ascend in elevation, the rolling hills would give away to more rugged and mountainous terrain.

  Proceeding at no more than five miles per hour, he followed it for a quarter mile or so, around a bend. Lo and behold, a small gas station was tucked behind a rocky hill, hidden from view of the main road. He pulled beside a pair of old-fashioned pumps covered in cracked and peeling yellow paint. The place looked like it dated to the same era as the Chevelle.

  While they parked, Victoria craned her neck, surveying their surroundings. No one else was around, though she detected movement within the lit interior of the small convenience store. "How on earth did you find this place?"

  "Dad owns it. He has a few dozen places like this around the Southwest. You know, so we have guaranteed access to fuel when the world ends." Daniel said it like it was meant to be a joke but the underlying seriousness of his tone gave her pause.

  "It'd figure your father would be a doomsayer," Victoria quipped, her tone light and quick. "Why—"

  He grimaced. "I need to check in with Jaycee. Give me a sec."

  "Sure." She really wanted to ask who Jaycee was but practiced restraint. She didn't need to know all the hunter's secrets. In just a couple short hours, she'd already learned more than she wanted—and that was good enough for her.

  While he disappeared inside the small building, Victoria got out and paced around the Chevelle, stretching her legs. Normally, Daniel kept the vehicle's bright red exterior washed and waxed to gleaming. Two black racing stripes ran down the front hood. However, the front grille and windshield already bore a layer of bug splatter—a hazard of desert driving.

  After a cursory inspection, Victoria set about cleaning the glass with the Windex and squeegee she found beside the pump. Reaching all the way across required her to lean over the hood, which was still pretty hot.

  "Man, the view out here is spectacular!"

  Victoria paused in the act of drawing back the squeegee and glanced over her shoulder. Daniel wasn't staring at the landscape. She harrumphed and grinned, but completed her task. She leaned against the driver side fender and watched while he gassed the car.

  Daniel set the arm of the pump to autofill and faced her. He propped himself on his arm and tilted so his angle mirrored hers. He stretched his arms overhead, working out kinks in his neck and shoulders. The fabric of his shirt strained over thick, hard muscles.

  "So, tell me what we're up against." Victoria forced her attention away from the male eye candy and back onto business. They weren't on a date; the matter of Mac Guffin's disappearance demanded their utmost consideration.

  He nodded. "Okay, sure. I'll start with Macan. You know he's interested in his family history, right?"

  Victoria scoffed. "Interested is a bit of an understatement."

  Whenever she ran into the Scotsman, he talked her ear off. The last time she'd seen Guffin, he'd come into the ER to have his forearm set and regaled her with his notable ancestry. Macan boasted of his genealogy, "I'm the bastard son of a bastard son going all the way back to William Wallace."

  "You're a bastard something. That's for sure," Victoria quipped while wrapping his arm in the cast.

  "Oh, you're a mean one, Lassie." He offered her a shameless grin, naming her after a Border Collie without a hint of irony or fear for his life. "Why is it you're not married?"

  "Because I've been waiting for you to ask me, you old coot."

  "Well, I hate to break your heart, darling, but I'm a lifelong bachelor. Committed to my calling."

  "Committed to the bottle is more like." She smacked Mac on the shoulder.

  "Oh, now, there you go—mean." Together, they shared a good laugh before he took his broken arm and headed home to whatever adventure—or bottle—awaited him next.

  Frowning, Victoria forced her attention back to the present. It made her ill to think that the hospital visit might be the last time she'd ever see the hunter. Determination filled her. She swore it wouldn't be so, and added a prayer for good measure. She and Daniel were unified in their purpose.

  "Macan's father passed away about six months ago," Daniel said. "He inherited a whole bunch of boxes. I imagine it took him a while to work through the contents but eventually he found his great-grandfather's journals."

  "He must've been thrilled."

  "Heh. That's one way to describe it." He flashed a ready grin. "The final journal entry supposedly went right up to the day before Patrick Guffin disappeared."

  "Patrick was his great-grandfather?"

  "Yeah. He went missing when his kids were young. After an exhaustive search, he was presumed killed in action."

  "Patrick was a hunter?"

  "Yes. Macan's grandfather refused the calling but his father took up hunting in the seventies." He waved his hand. "This was all before my time so my facts may be a bit off, but it's what I recall."

  "I understand. What year did Patrick vanish?"

  He frowned, thinking. "1945? '46? I'd have to check the logs again."

  "And what was he hunting?"

  "He wasn't hunting so much as investigating—a haunting." The fuel pump clicked full. Daniel put the arm back into its holster and screwed the cap back on the tank.

  Victoria nodded. The haunting accounted for her presence. "And the first hunter? You said three men had disappeared."

  "His name was Joseph Briggs. He vanished in 1927."

  Daniel advanced toward her. Victoria held her ground until he leaned into the vehicle and popped the hood. Then, she edged out of the way, retreating to the front end. Her experience with older cars was rudimentary, but her father had taught her how to check the oil, so she understood what he was doing.

  "Do you know the purpose behind Joseph's visit to Granite Creek or...?" She hesitated. Her assumptions were big and blaring. The man may very well have lived in the town for all she knew.

  "Officially, he was on his honeymoon." Daniel had strong, steady hands as he went about working on the innards of the Chevelle. For all the classic muscle car's flashiness, it handled like a land boat and guzzled gas like nobody's business. She had to give him credit for his devotion to the clunker, though. She admired loyalty.

  "Unofficially?" Daniel tilted his face toward her and winked. "Dad says the guy was an incurable treasure hunter. Any chance he had to combine a hunt for gold with an investigation..."

  "Sounds like your father knew him."

  "Not personally. Dad is old—" His face pinched and his scent altered in a way that usually indicated deception but could also simply indicate emotional turbulence.

  "So, why hasn't your father dealt with this?" She didn't mean the question as an insult. She asked because it was logical to do so. If a long-term threat existed to the hunters, especially in their own backyard, Jake Barrett would respond. Not only investigate, but track down and obliterate anyone who'd dared harm one of his people.

  Daniel grun
ted. "He has—a couple times. He didn't find anything. My theory is that the thing—whatever it is—is afraid of him."

  "Okay, so it's smart, too." She nodded, thinking. Not many spirits possessed the good sense and the agency to be wary of a man like the Hunter King. Few barely had the self-awareness necessary to even understand that they were dead. So this hypothetical ghost—if it existed at all—was uncommon.

  "You think my father is scary?"

  Victoria focused and found him staring at her with unusual intensity. The lines and planes of his face were rigid as though sculpted from stone.

  "Hell, yeah! Your father is fucking terrifying." What else did you call a man who couldn't be killed?

  "Are you afraid of me?" Daniel's tone was harsh.

  "No." Victoria answered fast and without thinking.

  "I see." He flushed. Chagrin soured his basal scent.

  Oh, oops! Crap! She'd been careless with his delicate male ego. No man wanted to think of himself as thoroughly unintimidating. On the other hand, his ability to deal with teasing would prove a good test of his character.

  "Would you like me to tell you how terrifying and manly you are?" Victoria coached her tone, deliberately tongue-in-cheek. She fluttered her eyelashes in an outrageous flirtation and adopted the worst Southern belle accent in the history of the world. "Why, Daniel Barrett—I do swear. You send shivers down my spine and quivers through my thighs."

  "Uh." His handsome face skewed like an agitated llama about to spit. He pressed his hands to his sides and shook—struggling against the laughter that got him in the end. Finally, he wiped tears from his eyes. "Okay, I guess I had that coming."

  "Yes, you did." She looked him straight in the eyes. "I'm sorry, you just don't scare me."

  "It's okay. I think I'll survive." He flashed a big, toothy grin. He caught the back of her head with his hand in a secure grip. Her breath hitched when he leaned in to kiss her. Their mouths touched—his lips were firm and demanding against her own.

  Victoria tilted toward him, welcoming his warmth. His amazing vitality. She raised her hands and pressed her fingers to his chest, digging into the firm wall of muscle beneath the soft cotton. He tasted earthy and spicy, like paprika and pepper. And hot like the desert wind on her face. Her insides melted.

  He didn't scare her. It was okay—the man still sent shivers down her spine and quivers through her thighs.

  3

  No matter how fast he drove, Daniel Barrett always seemed to have things under control. The contrary part of her wanted to suggest he probably wasn't going fast enough because she longed to see him challenged, but she refrained from telling him. The man didn't need any encouragement.

  Just prior to seven in the evening, they rolled into downtown Granite Creek, a small town on the outlying edge of the Prescott Metropolitan Area. The speed limit underwent a precipitous drop, and Daniel developed a sudden remarkable respect for the posted limits.

  Sitting tall, Victoria peered out at the passing downtown which was mostly composed of red brick buildings with bright green awnings. American flags were proudly displayed every fifty feet. The courthouse square had old shade trees and statuary, and the Longhorn Saloon occupied a center spot in the historic Whiskey Row. Amid the overdone Americana, Halloween decorations added conspicuous splashes of orange and black.

  They pulled into a slanted parking space in front of a four-story building built from red brick with white trim. A vertical, neon light mounted to the side declared it to be the Hermosa Inn. At ground level, a row of tall windows ran the length of the hotel. Above it, shorter rectangular windows formed neat columns for at least another couple stories. The most striking feature—a tower sporting a conical roof over the lobby entrance.

  "This is short-term parking," Victoria said, even though it was unlikely that Daniel had missed the sign.

  "I'll move the car after we check in." He shot her a significant look—it wasn't hard to suss out his intent. The man was a hunter—he must have something conspicuous hidden in the trunk he preferred not to carry through the lobby.

  "All right," Victoria released her seat belt and tilted her head back to stare up at the architectural oddity. "That's the bell tower."

  "Pretty cool, huh?" Daniel set about putting up the Chevelle's top.

  "It's unusual." She didn't actually care for the red brick architectural style that was so common in older Arizona towns. From the outside, the building was blocky. Mundane. However, Victoria supposed she could be charitable. Thanks to the tower, it did possess a certain stately elegance and certainly fit with the surrounding structures in the downtown district.

  "Wait until you see the inside. It's cool." He reached into the backseat and snagged his bag—and hers.

  Victoria flushed. She strove to smooth her expression even though it was probably too late. Damn, this was embarrassing, but this wasn't how wolves courted. A male werewolf never would've challenged her competence by implying her incapable of lifting a twenty-pound bag. And as a shifter, her strength was superior to any human's, including Daniel's. But, still... She had to be polite.

  "Thank you. I've been on my feet all day."

  His eyes narrowed. "Am I breaking some seldom-stated werewolf etiquette?"

  Damn, he was astute. Her face heated more. "No, of course not. I'm being silly."

  "Man, you're a terrible liar." He laughed, and she blushed harder.

  The entrance had white trim and arched entryway. An engraved metal plaque read: Hermosa Inn—Designed by El Paso architect Henry Trost—Opened April 1927. Daniel held the door for her. Together, they entered the lobby. Victoria stepped onto tan subway tiles, traveled about a yard, but then stopped to stare.

  "Okay, this is pretty cool," she said.

  "Told you." The man wasn't smug at all—oh, no.

  The interior had a decidedly Art Deco feel: red oriental rugs, curved archways, and wrought iron chandeliers. Furnishings consisted of patterned wing chairs with ball feet and end tables supporting brass table lamps. A glossy, brown leather couch was situated in front of a massive fireplace that was six grates wide, surrounded by a red tile hearth. An original telephone machine was on display.

  They headed toward the front desk. Halfway there, Daniel stopped. He shoved his hand into the front pocket of his jeans, fumbling a bit. "Shoot," he said with a grimace. "I almost forgot."

  "Forgot what?" Victoria hesitated, glancing over in question. Well, she'd be damned! Mr. Cool's cheeks had a ruddy hue visible against his tanned complexion. Embarrassment on him smelled like a toasty cinnamon stick.

  "When I called, I requested a specific room but it was already booked. So I fabricated a cover story to get the other party moved." He fished a plastic baggie from his front pocket. Drawn in by irresistible curiosity, she bent closer. He shook the contents into his palm—a pair of plain gold rings, a man's and a woman's.

  Wedding rings.

  "You told them we're married?" Victoria vacillated, torn between amusement and disbelief. On the one hand, she found it oddly flattering the guy was willing to work so hard. On the other, he couldn't possibly think this would help him score points... Could he?

  "I wanted the room. It's supposed to be haunted." He shoved the man's band on his left hand. It fit.

  "Okay." That made more sense, or so she surmised. "You know most haunted hotels are tourist traps, right?"

  "Yeah, well most mediums are charlatans. I'll leave the ghostbusting to you."

  "Is this the room Macan was staying in?"

  "No, it's a different room." He caught her left wrist and lifted her arm, touching her with the deft attentiveness he showed his car.

  Victoria grinned, wondering whether he brought the same concentration to his guns, and pretty much bit the insides of her cheeks to keep from asking.

  "Oookay... Where did you get these from? It's more than a little creepy that you've got a matched set of wedding rings, by the way." She didn't want to make a scene, but she couldn't resist giving him a ha
rd time. He wasn't getting off easy.

  "I have a stash of props for undercover work." Daniel's face and throat glowed but he persisted, undeterred from his task. He placed the ring onto her finger—and it was about two sizes too big. "Shoot. Your hands are a lot smaller than Cali's."

  That name sounded familiar. Victoria pondered, and the vision of a brunette woman in her early thirties sprang to mind.

  "Crazy Cali Kinkaid?" The woman had a reputation for being as insane as she was dangerous. Jake Barrett ran an egalitarian organization. Female hunters weren't as common as their male counterparts, but they existed.

  "Yeah, we worked a case together last month—" Daniel bit off the explanation. His mouth contorted as though the recollection left a bad taste in his mouth. "Anyway, the hotel has us down as newlyweds. You're just so excited by the possibility of seeing a ghost."

  "Oh, boy, talk about irony..." She dragged a hand over her face. If she and everyone else in say, all of Arizona, were lined up in a row in order of eagerness to come face-to-face with a restless spirit, odds were good she'd be dead last.

  "Thanks for being such a good sport." Daniel smiled, turning on the boyish charm. For love's sake, the blasted man had a dimple on his cheek.

  "Yeah, sure." She rolled her eyes and cultivated a sourpuss tone even though she was sure A) her panties had just melted, and B) she was being played.

  They approached the front desk where a fresh-faced young man greeted them with a professional-polite smile. His nametag read: Sam Sanders. While he and Daniel exchanged information, Victoria did her level best to pantomime a vacuous bride with an interest in the supernatural. She ended up staring up, out of uncertainty at first, but then admiration. The hotel's ceilings were gorgeous—exposed wooden beams that had been hand-painted in delicate motifs.

  Daniel's elbow jostled her. "I said—isn't that right, sweetie?"

  Startled, Victoria latched onto his arm with the tenacity of a determined bulldog. She had no idea what she intended to say, but when she opened her mouth, words burst out. "OH. MY. GOD. That's so totally right, my Danny-Man. I'm just like—sooooo excited. Aren't we excited, sugar bum?"