Noticing for the first time that my bag is still clutched, I give myself the pep talk. Just walk to Walmart, Becker—just stride on over to cheapskate central. They're about the only twenty-four-hour store around.
Without looking left or right, I walk straight to Louise Avenue, traipsing across the landscaping, and weave between bushes. Taking a hard right on the sidewalk, I vaguely make out the blue Walmart sign shining ahead of me like water in a desert mirage. I'll just leave the Mutable bodies back there to get scraped off Culver's floor by police. I won't stick around to get acquainted with bigfoot.
I will... where will I go? Tears burn my eyes, making my vision blur. I'm so tired hunger's taken a backseat to my fight or flight instinct. I really don't have time to worry about the case of feels I'm getting right now.
Angrily, I swipe at the wetness, ignoring how adrift I am. Thank God I'm not some young thing that just floats from one disaster to the next without thinking things through.
My steps falter. Wait a second. That's exactly what I'm doing. I sure don't have a lot of other options. Maybe it has nothing to do with age—and everything to do with circumstance.
Each step brings me nearer to the Walmart goal when suddenly, a big figure moves in front of me.
It's him. The bigfoot guy.
My fingertips tingle as my eyes sweep his body, which is huge—well over two meters tall.
I remember my sensei's other favorite mantra, the bigger they are, the harder they fall. A term used so much there's probably nobody alive who hasn't heard the cliché.
Heaving a sigh of regret, I recount the past three hours in a matter of seconds.
“Sorry,” I say then kick him in the nuts.
Down he goes.
Cautiously skating around him, I'm almost free when he does a corpse-grab at my ankle.
I go down.
But before I can hit the concrete with my nose, he swivels my body mid-fall. I land on the upward slope of the landscaped grass with a wind-robbing thud.
Shit. I twist, trying to GI crawl away. Can't breathe.
A groan sounds behind me.
I keep heaving myself up the tiny embankment, visions of severed arms used as clubs a big motivator.
White lights flash in my vision, and I stop my forward progress. Have to.
Rolling over onto my back at the highest point of the gentle slope, I understand there's no moving for me until I get the wind back into my lungs.
The First Species guy crawls up beside me, eyes tight with clear residual pain. Nice move, Becker—kick the potential assailant in the balls then hang around for him to do you in.
Brilliant.
Nimble fingers encircle my throat, wrapping the circumference easily.
I guess this is where I die. Maybe it'll be quick. I hadn't figured out a way to escape my jerk boss and his buddies anyway. My one regret is the kids. They'll miss me—and I'll miss them. The only family I've ever had.
I close my eyes because I still can't breathe, and at this point, it seems easier not to.
“I smell your distress, female.”
My eyes slam open at the resonant voice so close to my mouth. I can feel the heat of his words bathing my lips.
I wonder how he has good breath after the bloody war a nanosecond before his lips brush mine, neatly wiping all thoughts.
Erotic air seethes between us, lighting my lungs afire.
“Oh,” I groan, gasping against his mouth.
His lips curl sensuously against mine.
Pulling away, he studies my expression as my breaths labor inside my starved lungs.
When a full minute of breathing equalizes, I do have a question. Probably the answer is obvious, but I want to clarify things Camille Becker-style. “Are you planning to kill me?”
With a loud guffaw, the First Species guy rolls off his position of semi-lying on me and flops onto his back.
I sit up on my elbow, glaring down at him. “What? I think it's a fair question after seeing you beating the hell out of everyone at Culver's.” Killing them, my mind instantly corrects. If I sound indignant, it's because I am. Sitting up quickly, I flatten a palm on the grass, steadying myself, and slit my eyes at him. “Listen here, bigfoot.”
His eyes narrow into slowly revolving amber iris switchblades.
Okay, so my delivery leaves something to be desired. I shove back my messed up bun and stab it again with the hair stick, silently daring him to say something.
Which he does, “I could have killed you fifty-two different ways, female, if that were my wish.” He cocks a brow, his speech the cadence of another era.
“I'm sorry I kicked you, but it's been a bad night of circus freaks coming at me,” I blurt, flipping my palms over, my eyes hot with tears for the second time.
Looking away, I'm suddenly embarrassed by my own frailty.
Those emotions are for other women. No—I won't give myself a break for these bizarre circumstances.
He's quiet so long I turn back again.
“My name is Kiel—I am the male sent to protect you.”
Key-ayl. “What?” I say, spreading my hands wide. “I only found out five hours ago I'm some kind of hybrid. The PA didn't even know what. How is it that everyone is suddenly getting the pulse memo about it? I thought only Final Enforcement is supposed to be aware? Where the hell is my mental cushion so I can get used to this new thing—my—whatever's wrong with me?” I theatrically wave a palm around above my head.
My spirit is crushed. I feel violated. Hungry. Mad. Tired as fuck. In fact, I should be scared of this guy. I guess I'm just too exhausted to care.
Kiel's eyes fill with mirth, and I want to punch him. “I will concede it is an imperfect system. There are those who are clever and well-versed at stealing information. In fact, they're working ceaselessly to infiltrate the system and find a female first, before the legitimate group has an opportunity.”
Wonderful. “It's no good that I popped up with the unknown status then.” I say mostly to myself.
“On the contrary, it is so much better that you have.”
I snap my face to his. “How is that possible? Every Mutable in the world has tried to tag my ass, and now here you are.” I fold my arms and mutter, “Bigfoot on the spot.”
A ghost of a smile hovers on lips that had just claimed mine, however briefly. Strange. Hot.
I put fingertips to flesh still holding the tingle of his kiss.
“I was assigned by the Alpha of the First Species to find you. One of the Final Enforcement bounties is mated to my Alpha's mate. Because of this, Conrick received a personal pulse transmission and made haste to an approximate of your position. He lifts a dismissive shoulder. “I was dispatched. Of course, I thought I'd get to your domicile or find you before all this.” His attention moves to the Culver's where no one appears to be stirring.
“But you didn't,” I say softly.
Kiel shakes his head. “No. I needed sustenance first. I cannot attempt to defend a female in the ragged shape I was in after travel in First form.”
What? I push a stray hair from my face and think, later. “Now?” Voice small. Contrition is a close companion to shame at the realization he was a protector, not a foe.
A true grin breaks his stoic expression, wheaten hair having come loose and covering one riveting molten eye as he takes me in. “I had five Concrete Mixers—among other fare.” One eyebrow rises. “Are you familiar?”
I'd almost forgotten about his comment of grabbing food before he sought me out. I smile, vaguely relieved by a regular conversation about gut bomb food. “Very.” My stomach lets out a huge roar at that precise moment, reminding me I hadn't eaten since breakfast—never got the food I went into Culver's for in the first place.
Kiel frowns, gingerly standing and bending at the waist so he's closer to me.
I feel like a jerk because I hurt him.
His large hand stretches out.
After a brief pause, I take it.
His palm
engulfs my small one, and Kiel effortlessly lifts me to my feet.
“We can return and go through my leftovers?” His lips twitch at the corners.
Hardy-har-har. I shiver, totally getting the double entendre. “No way.”
With a smirk, he tugs me in the opposite direction of Culver's. It's right then I notice he's not a bigfoot vampire anymore.
But a really hot, built, tall man wearing nothing but shredded black athletic pants.
I decide there might be more problems than just Mutables.
Chapter 11
Paige
S o let me get this straight,” I begin, pulling my thumbnail from between my teeth so I can talk.
Bounty Enforcer Narah Adrienne looks up from her breast, and I have to admit, I'm pretty distracted. Not by her boobs (I have two of my own). But by the nonchalant pumping.
It's just her and me, sitting in what feels like the stereotypical interrogation room from back when the old movies used to play before pulsevision.
She's kicked back against the chair, thickly-treaded soles of combat style boots propped on the table that separates us.
A thing shaped like a humongous suction cup covers most of her enormous boob. She's squeezing a bulb syringe thingie while breastmilk sprays inside a glass bottle.
Wow.
Adrienne tips her head back and lets out a hiss from between clenched lips, petite fangs in full view. “Ahhh,” she groans in relief as the bottle fills.
Huh. I lean to the right, looking around her stacked boots. “I-ah—can you explain some things to me?”
Narah's head levels, golden eyebrows hiking, nearly translucent against the porcelain of her vampire skin. Popping off the suction cup, she covers her nipple with a circular pad, yanks up a bra with a hook on the top and, in a fit of obvious irritation, drops her boots with a resounding thud on the floor. Tearing off the drenched top she's wearing, Narah tosses it on the table where the slick material carries it nearly to the end. My eyes shift from the soaked, black t-shirt to her face.
She's doing the other boob now.
Okay.
Narah's lips twist as her eyes give a brief flick over my expression. “I can't think when my tits are this full of milk. I'm overdue getting to the twins, and I want to tear these annoying suckers off when they're this full. Goddamned bricks,” she mumbles.
“I did hear you say something about ʻengorged melons,ʼ” I add lamely, glancing at my loosely knotted hands. I understand we're supposed to be little baby-making machines right now. Because the earth is actually underpopulated. But right at this moment, after that little milk show, motherhood doesn't seem that glamorous.
Of course, I can't make too many judgments because a bigfoot dude is waiting in the infirmary, getting his arm reattached. “Um... what about that guy?” I loosely hike my thumb in the direction they carted the First Species dude.
Her smile is a slash of teeth.
I shift my weight, narrowing my gaze at the sliver of fangs, and gulp.
“He'll live. Like I mentioned to Casper, I fucked up. Thought he was a clever Mutable.” Her face moves to pensive in an instant. “Now that's a paradox of statement: clever Mutable.” Adrienne snorts.
I'm curious despite myself and don't really notice when she bares her other breast for a moment then caps the bottle, adjusting the bra back into place. “Are they dumb? Mutables, I mean.”
She lifts a narrow shoulder, and I remember how that small body almost tore the First Speciesʼ arm off. How the shoulder was dislocated and what remained of his arm dangled by threads of flesh. I was told that somehow, he still held me in the other.
I swallow.
“They're not the sharpest tools in the shed.”
I frown at the expression.
Narah sighs. “They have a native cunning, but I was initially surprised to think they could shape-change to a FS.” She pauses for a handful of seconds. “Einsteins they are not.”
“You can't,” I waffle my palm in the air, “scent that out?”
“I'm a hybrid vamp, not a Lycan. A female Lycan could have—I just saw him roll up in that POS car and assumed the worst. That angle usually serves me fine.”
POS.
Adrienne gives another eye flick. “Piece of shit.” Her voice is dry.
“But you wrecked his arm, and he's supposed to be my protector.” I understand I sound whiny.
Sort of.
Narah's silver and gold eyes glitter back at me. “I can protect you just fine until that First is mended.” She turns her wrist over, glancing at something, then finishes, “Which will be in the next few hours.”
“I don't doubt it, but...”
Both eyebrows shoot up.
“Can he be trusted?”
Her rich laugh floats between us, so at odds with the tough appearance and conduct. Somehow, Enforcer Adrienne doesn't seem like she could be a mom.
She's scary as fuck.
“Oh yeah, those First Species males take guarding women—females,” she corrects, “damn serious. Which is great for us because we're all that comes between transitions and Mutables sometimes.” Cocking her head to the side, she gazes at the ceiling. “I'm sorta fond of prehistorics too.”
“I didn't really pay a ton of attention to pulsenews about all these guys.” Sure wish I had now.
“Legit,” Narah looks me dead in the eyes, “until you become a transition and wish you'd given enough of a ripe fuck to know something besides the basics.”
“Yeah,” I agree softly, staring at my lap.
“Hey.”
I look up, meeting her eyes. “I know I can be... brusque.”
A tiny laugh breaks the seal of my lips. “Kinda.”
“I was a transition once too.”
I feel my rueful smile. “Honestly,” I look her dead in the eye, “that's hard to imagine.”
“But you have to remember I was a bounty first. A level ten proficient, and I was sicker than a dog when the transition began.” Another soft snort sounds as Adrienne clearly remembers something that's not funny to me, like a private joke.
I don't share her point-of-reference. Right now, I'm an uncertain cocktail waitress who can see people's auras and feels just fine. I don't have any of the “classic” transition symptoms.
I mention that.
Adrienne gives an absent nod. “Well, that's unusual, I'll give you that. But we're batting a thousand here—,” she uses weird expressions, “with pulse identification nailing you as a transition.”
“Right.”
“The detection system has never failed. Not once.” Adrienne pauses, allowing that comment to sink in. “An ʽunknown,ʼ she slaps her denim-clad thighs and I jump at the sharp sound, “well that's always a FS or prehistoric.” She turns her wrist a second time, clearly noting the time from her embedded timepiece. She has the millisecond feature. Intense. “As a matter of fact, we're due to greet your other half.”
“Other half?” I ask, quietly startled.
Narah's nod is curt, beaded cornrows sliding forward with the aggressive motion, tipped in inky charcoal, of course. “Yeah. You're too rare to have just one mate.”
My head starts to spin a little.
“Oops, maybe too much info,” I hear Adrienne say from what seems like a great distance, but her voice vibrates against the shell of my ear.
She tears back my seat, cupping my skull. “Head between your legs, sister.”
The next thing I know, I've got a primo view of the bottom of a grimy chair.
“Breathe, Paige.”
I didn't know I wasn't until she told me.
I've got to be stronger than this. Then, I begin to cry upside down.
“Shit.” Narah jerks the chair in a half-circle and sinks to her haunches. “Look at me.”
I slowly straighten my body, taking a wet, shaky inhale.
Narah's leaning over me, and I have a view of her in a bra and nothing else.
This is all so weird.
“Nothi
ng bad will happen to you. Me and Murph are here—and the First will be right as rain shortly.” She attempts a perky expression, and it comes off as a grimace.
“You don't inspire confidence, Enforcer Adrienne.”
She nods. “I know it. Let me try another tactic.”
A moment pounds by between us, and I wipe the tears from my cheeks, jerking up my big girl panties.
Her bright eyes gleam with intent. “I'll kill anyone who tries to touch you. Slow.”
“Do you like killing?” I whisper.
Narah nods slowly. “Mostly. There's a few times I got a pang when I messed up, but a lot of the time, they're deserving. I've paid for my,” she dips her chin as if stuffing some inner amusement, “excess,” she bites out. “But I've got my males now and my family—the bloodsuckers.” She guffaws.
I blink.
Clapping me lightly on the back, she asks, “Better?”
“Sure. I mean, I found out that I'm a transitioning female who will be married to two guys who are part animal, and the creepy Mutables are out there looking for girls like me, and you'll excise their nuts if they make a try for me...”
“See—you're no dummy.” Adrienne grins.
No. Not dumb. Scared. Yeah, that's the one. One small question niggles.
“Ask,” Narah says, standing and folding her arms beneath much-smaller boobs.
I glance at the bottles of milk then shift my attention back to the enforcer. “Do I have to?”
I don't explain what I just asked. She'll know what I mean. Narah Adrienne might be a mix of contradictions, and her delivery is unpolished, at best.
But dumb she's not.
“Yes. You do.”
I nod quickly as more tears begin to fall. Faucet time.
“Just let this human life go. You'd die anyway. You need the males to transition you. You can't continue to be fully human. Think of this moment as,” her eyes shift to the ceiling for a second then meet mine again, “as a really sucky puberty.”
Jerking my head back in surprise, I say, “I went through puberty already, and it was epic-dumb.”
First Species Page 9
