Shifter Crown: Valley of Truth and Denial (The Shifter Crown Series Book 1)

by Desni Dantone

  Another thud squeezes a yelp out of me. I jump to my feet when another noise quickly follows, combined with the sound of glass cracking.

  I tiptoe around my bed, angling toward the window. I am a few steps away when a bird crashes into it. Not a normal bird either. I’m talking a massive, dinosaur-looking thing with a long, pointy beak and razor-sharp talons. Its beady eyes fixate on me as it makes a high-pitched squawking noise, then rams the glass over and over and over.

  I don’t speak bird, but its intentions are clear.

  “Not again,” I mutter as I backpedal across the room.

  The back of my knees hit the bed as the bird strikes the window again. Its beak cracks the glass and gets trapped in a narrow hole. As it struggles to free itself, thin fracture lines snake outward from the puncture in the center. The glass groans. Tiny shards fall to the floor.

  I bolt for the door. As I pull it shut behind me, the window shatters. I keep my hand on the knob as the giant bird rams the door from inside my room. It squawks loudly as it hits again. And again.

  I release my grip and back away from the door with a shake of my head.

  This isn’t normal. Birds don’t act like this. Birds don’t look like this. At least, no birds that I am familiar with.

  I reach for the phone in my pocket before I realize it’s not there. It’s on the bed. In my room. With the mutant bird.

  Not that I have anyone to call to help me with this predicament. The only one who would believe me is Luca, and I don’t have his number. Vienna would laugh and find a way to get me to come to the party. Jill is worthless, and Dad doesn’t need to know about this.

  I’m on my own.

  I start down the stairs at a run. I have no plan, but I know I have to do something before that thing destroys my room. My books. My pictures.

  I grimace. “Bird poop everywhere.”

  In the kitchen, I stop and look for a weapon. I eye the set of steak knives on the counter, and then the cast-iron skillet.

  I pick up the skillet, feeling its weight in my hands. “Good enough.”

  I start toward the stairs when a thump from the front of the house draws me into the living room. I face the front door, listen, and wait.

  Something smacks into the window beside me. I jump and turn with a scream that surprises even me. Out of the darkness, a white, feathered beast rams the glass. Not the same bird that broke my bedroom window, but another one.

  From the kitchen, another thud. At the front door, another.

  Squawks and high-pitched cries surround me. The sheer frequency and number of thumps against the house alarm me. There has to be at least a dozen of them.

  As I listen, the noise from the birds is joined by a familiar, hollow sound that penetrates the walls of the house and sends a shiver down my spine. A wolf. Its howl alerts me, and anyone within earshot, to its arrival.

  I dash to the window in time to see a streak of silver dart by. The giant bird that, moments ago, tried to claw its way into the living room, soars into the air. I press my nose to the glass to watch as it makes a nosedive back to the ground—right at the wolf.

  “My wolf,” I whisper. My breath fogs up the glass, and I wipe it away with a trembling hand.

  The bird slams into the wolf, catapulting it halfway across the side yard. The wolf jumps to its feet as the bird dives again, and its massive jaws snap down on a skinny leg. I glance away when the wolf shakes its head, sending a cloud of feathers into the air.

  One bird down.

  A swarm of half a dozen giant mutant birds swoop in and surround the wolf. I see nothing but a blur of beaks and talons and feathers, and an occasional glimpse of silver fur, rolling across my yard.

  The wolf is going to get hurt.

  My wolf. It’s my damn wolf, and I’m not about to let harm come to it. Not because of me.

  I race to the door with the skillet. There is no doubt, no hesitation, when I whip it open and run outside. My concern is for the wolf—my wolf.

  A bird dives at my head the instant I step onto the porch. I swing the skillet like it’s a baseball bat, slamming it against the bird’s head. The creature drops to the ground at my feet, squawking like its rabid.

  “Ew.” I bend at the waist to peer down at it as it flops around on the porch. I don’t consider myself a bird expert by any means, but this thing doesn’t look like it belongs in the Pacific Northwest, let alone this planet.

  It’s big, unblinking eyes are on me as it tries to scramble to its feet. One black wing hangs limply at its side as it flails and rolls and smears its blood all over my porch. I’m not wearing shoes, or I would boot it into the yard. Instead, I position the skillet like a golf club and launch it into the night.

  I brace for another one, but nothing comes at me. The growls and squawks coming from the side of the house let me know the rest of them have their sights set on the wolf.

  My eyes narrow. “My wolf.”

  I run down the stairs and start across the yard when a medium-sized dog with shaggy gray fur darts by me, nearly cutting my legs out from under me. It dives into the fray with an assertive bark.

  I stand at the corner of the house, one hand holding the skillet at my side and the other gripping onto the side of the porch for balance, as I watch the most bizarre animal fight ever witnessed. National Geographic doesn’t have shit on this.

  Feathers litter my yard along with half a dozen dead and dying mutant birds. The silver wolf snags another by its neck, shakes it, and tosses it aside. Two more fly into him, talons first. He growls and twists, jaws open wide in search of a bird appendage to grab a hold of. He finds a wing and flings the bird off of him. The dog barks at the wolf’s feet.

  Thank God I live in the country, and my closest neighbor is an elderly woman with hearing loss. Because I doubt the police would believe the truth, and I certainly can’t afford to pay a fine for disturbing the peace.

  Then, suddenly, it’s over. Four giant birds fly away and vanish into the night. Twice that many lay dead, or dying, in the yard. It’s just me, a wolf, and a shaggy mutt.

  My grip on the skillet tightens when the wolf howls. One long note morphs into two, then three, and it’s both the most terrifying and amazing song I’ve ever heard. My fingers dig into the porch railing for support, because my legs are useless from the dizzying effects of the howling and rush of adrenaline.

  The wolf finishes with a snap of its jaw and a grunt. The dog turns and wisely runs into the woods behind the house. I should follow its lead, and get the hell out of there. I know it. Yet, I don’t move. I watch the wolf with curious eyes.

  I’m not afraid when it turns its head and looks at me. I don’t flinch when it starts in my direction. I lose myself in its blue-eyed gaze.

  It pauses briefly, mere steps from me, and sniffs. Then it brushes by me.

  I turn to watch as it limps around the corner of the house, up the porch steps . . . and right through the open front door.

  “Oh, shit!”

  I’m now that girl who runs after a wolf after letting it in the house.

  How did I get here? Where did I take a wrong turn to find myself on this path?

  I’m surrounded by mayhem no matter what I do or where I go. A quiet night of reading has transformed into a nightmare involving mutant birds, broken windows, carnage . . . and a wolf running loose in my house.

  Dad is going to kill me when he gets home.

  I walk through the front door slowly, carefully, with the skillet clutched tightly in my hands. A soft thump through the ceiling confirms the worst. The wolf is upstairs.

  I hold my weapon up, ready to swing at the first sign of trouble, as I tiptoe up the stairs. I can hear water running from the bathroom, though I am positive Jill isn’t home.

  No one is home. It’s just me . . . and a wolf.

  Halfway up the stairs, I spot a drop of blood. Two steps later, another drop. I follow the trail all the way to my bedroom door. The sound of running water is louder now. It’s definit
ely coming from my bathroom.

  I toe the bedroom door all the way open and readjust my grip on the skillet before I enter. Sweat dampens my hands, making it nearly impossible to hold now. I don’t know why I bother. It’s not like this thing—as heavy as it is—will keep me out of the jaws of that massive wolf.

  But I hear splashing now, from my sink, in my bathroom, and I need to know. I need to see what is in there with my own eyes.

  The bathroom door is half ajar. I approach it slowly, on my toes. My arm trembles as I extend the skillet and use it to push the door the rest of the way open.

  The makeshift weapon drops to the floor with a loud thud, fortunately missing my feet. Even if I had taken a direct hit, I doubt I would have noticed. Not when I see what is in my bathroom.

  Leaning over the sink, his head lowered between his shoulders as blood drips from his mouth, is Luca. He’s naked, aside from the over-sized pink towel wrapped around his waist. The chain I always see hanging from his neck is attached to a small pendant that dangles above the sink.

  He rolls his head to look at me, and I see the full extent of his injuries. Not only is his lip cut open, but there is a large gash above his left eye. His back, shoulders, and what I can see of his chest are covered in scratches and fresh marks.

  “Are you alright?” he asks me.

  “Am I alright? What . . .” I stare at him, afraid to ask what happened to him.

  I don’t want to hear the answer I know he will give me. Deep down, I already know, but I refuse to give up the thin sliver of sanity I am still clinging to.

  I swallow. “Where is it? The wolf? Where did it go?”

  Luca holds my gaze for a long moment before he turns to spit a mouthful of blood into my sink. He runs the water, washing it down the drain.

  I stagger backward, suddenly dizzy. The back of my knees collide with the corner of my bed, and I collapse onto it. I sit there, silently freaking out, as I listen to Luca in my bathroom.

  Spit. Splash. Groan. Repeat.

  I have no idea how much time passes before he walks out of the bathroom. He stands across the room from me, quietly watching me.

  Breathe in. Breathe out. The more I attempt to control the pace, the faster and harder the breaths come. The pressure on my chest grows heavier. My spot-filled vision worsens. The room and everything in it disappears into a blurry void. All I see is that ridiculous pink towel around Luca’s waist when he steps closer.

  He crouches down in front of me, but I can’t meet his gaze. Not yet.

  “This isn’t what I had in mind when I said I would find another way to prove it to you,” he says softly.

  “I don’t . . .” I finally look up and meet his gaze. “I don’t understand what’s happening. How did you get here? Where is the wolf? I followed a wolf up here, Luca. Where is it?”

  He places a hand to his battered chest. “I’m right here, Sav.”

  Chapter 12

  I can’t breathe. The oxygen has been vacuumed from the room through the broken window, and I am suffocating to death while sitting on my bed with a half-naked Luca crouched in front of me. Wearing Jill’s stupid pink towel.

  Suddenly, I am on my feet and being jerked around the room by a powerful force. I end up standing beside my bed, facing the wall of pictures, none of which I can see with my blurred vision. I’m vaguely aware of my limp arms being maneuvered into a position above my head before being placed into a trap.

  That doesn’t sound right.

  I roll my head back to get a better look. Not a trap. Luca’s hands.

  He holds my arms up in the air while saying something about calming down.

  I can’t. No matter how hard I try, I can’t stop freaking out.

  “Breathe, Sav,” he coaches me softly. “Nice and steady.”

  I try to inhale, but it sounds like a dying pig taking its last breath.

  He shifts his body, bringing us closer. My nose buries in the curve of his warm neck, and his stubble-covered jaw scrapes my forehead as I stare down at the pendant dangling in front of me. It looks like . . .

  Is that a wolf fang?

  A single giggle bubbles up. Then a bunch more. I can’t stop them. I sound like a maniac, laughing uncontrollably and unable to stop. Between bursts of laughter, I gasp for the air that I can’t seem to get enough of.

  Luca moves both of my arms into one of his huge hands so that his other hand can cup my chin. He tips my head back. “Look at me, Sav. Focus on me and breathe.”

  His tone is a demanding one—impossible to ignore. Or disobey.

  My laughter fades when my gaze meets his. Then my eyes wander down, over the full lips mere inches above mine and along the curve of his rough jaw, to the wide expanse of chest I’m pressed against. I gulp, but not from panic. Not anymore. I’ve found something else to freak out over now.

  “Umm . . . I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I stammer.

  “Why?”

  “You’re . . . naked.” I glance up at his face in time to glimpse a fleeting grin.

  His shoulders move, drawing my attention to the cords of muscle that wrap his arms. “I have a towel on.”

  “You need to take that towel off.”

  He inhales sharply. Neither of us seem capable of breathing now, and I don’t dare move as I hit rewind to review my poor choice of words.

  “That’s not . . .” I grimace. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Okay,” Luca drawls slowly. His heavy breath fans the hair tucked behind my ear, and his grip tightens.

  I need him to let me go. I can’t think clearly, let alone speak, with his body pressed up against mine. I wiggle my fingers, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

  “That’s Jill’s towel,” I manage to explain. “It’s pink.”

  “So it is.” Luca dips his head to look down at the towel, bringing his mouth shockingly close to mine in the process.

  I feel his breath on my neck, hot and fast. A shiver races through me, but I’m not cold. I’m far from it. My skin is on fire, and an unfamiliar tingle settles low in my gut. He invades my senses. I’m acutely aware of everything, from his woodsy, masculine scent to his big, strong hand enclosed around mine.

  Then he lifts his head again, and our gazes lock. Time stops.

  I’m drowning in his eyes with no chance of rescue. There is no coming back from this . . . whatever this is that is happening. All I know is that it’s something. Cupid must have shot an arrow in my butt cheek because fireworks are popping off like crazy.

  Luca’s gaze finally breaks away from mine, but only to travel across my face and down to my mouth. He pauses there to flick his tongue over his lips.

  He’s going to kiss me. I know it, and I’m pretty sure I want it.

  Correction. I definitely want it.

  My lips part in invitation and I do “the lean” that is the universal go-ahead-and-kiss-me sign. The gap between us melts away. Inches become centimeters. Millimeters. I close my eyes and wait for the big explosion that I know is about to rock my world.

  Suddenly, my hands are free. My arms drop to my sides as Luca practically shoves me aside. He paces halfway to the bathroom door before he stops. His back is to me when he inhales deeply.

  “You good now?” His voice sounds off. Not smooth like usual.

  My stomach clenches. Embarrassment and disappointment take their turns at slicing through me, both equally painful. I don’t dare open my mouth to speak, so I nod. Since he still hasn’t turned to face me, he doesn’t see it.

  “Sav?” He finally glances over his shoulder.

  “I’m good,” I manage.

  His eyes narrow suspiciously. “You sure?”

  He starts toward me, and I hold a hand up to stop him. “Don’t. Please.”

  The concern in his eyes turns to sadness. Maybe regret. It’s the last thing I want to see after what almost happened between us—or what I thought was going to happen.

  How could I have misread the situation so wrongly? It’s
clear he had no intention of kissing me—and probably never will. Not after I freaked the guy out by coming on to him seconds after suffering a panic attack.

  Stupid hormones. I blame them for my naivety.

  “Sav . . .” The softness in his voice when he says my name only twists the knot in my stomach tighter.

  “Just . . . give me a minute, okay?” I turn away from him to pull myself together. There are issues to contend with that are far more important than my wounded ego. Like, for instance, what happened here tonight before I made an ass of myself.

  It’s all a bit much to wrap my head around—nothing more so than the revelation that Luca actually is a shifter. I don’t want to believe it, but I can’t deny what I saw.

  “You were telling me the truth,” I conclude.

  “Yes.” He sighs long and hard. “I didn’t want it to happen like this. I’m sorry.”

  I turn around to face him. “I just want to . . . understand.”

  “We’ll talk about it tomorrow. I’ll answer whatever questions you have then.” Luca picks a feather off the floor, then looks at what is left of my window. “And I’ll help you clean up this mess.”

  “Tomorrow?” I gape at him. “Oh, no. No, no, no. I want answers now, and I’m not leaving that window uncovered all night.”

  “Leave it, Sav,” he murmurs tiredly. “I don’t have it in me right now. I have about five minutes of consciousness left. I’ll be better by morning.”

  I watch curiously as he walks toward my bed. He picks up my worn copy of Little Women and shoots me an “ah-ha” expression.

  “It’s not Bronte,” I inform him.

  “Close enough.” He places the book on the table beside my phone and the lamp. Then he pulls the bed sheets down and turns the light off.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Sleeping,” he says simply. “I need rest to heal.”

  “Here?” I squeak.

  “I’ll never make it back to my place, or the campground,” he tells me. “Besides that, I’m not leaving you here alone. Even wounded, I’m better than a frying pan if those shifters come back.”

  I eye the cast iron skillet where it still lies on the floor, covered in feathers and blood. “Those birds? They were shifters?”