First Species

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  Now it's my turn to hold my palm up. But it's a warding gesture, not a conciliatory one. “Please, I can't bear to hear that tale again.”

  His chin dips. “Understood.”

  “So I'm pseudo ambassador in helping this Paige transition to be whose mate? Drest’s?”

  As though on cue, Doric strides to the door, opening it.

  In walks Jacob, aka Jac, the woolly mammoth who'd been in the prehistoric doghouse since the Grace Cline debacle over a year ago.

  He catches my clear expression of disbelief at his jack-in-the-box-appearance and hikes his shoulders. “What?” Large round eyes widen while he blinks impossibly long lashes. “I deserve a shot.”

  Oh boy.

  Jac is resourceful, bright, and determined. But he can't afford any more close calls within the clan. He's constantly fighting to mate with the next female—along with all other males.

  He pegs his large hands on his hips. “I got skills, babe.”

  Doric barks out a laugh, shaking his head.

  I cross my arms, jutting a hip out. “You're not disrespectful or anything.”

  He smirks, drawing his heavy brows together. “Levity, that's what I bring to this serious-as-fuck clan.” He looks between the two of us and continues, “Man, I'm about out of breeding range. What do I have—fifty cycles left?”

  Doric's snort is a soft retort in the room. “That's not accurate, and you know it.” His humor vanishes like a cloud covering the sun.

  “Worth a stab,” Jac mutters.

  “I am allowing you to be lead on this, Jac, because you've proven resourceful, but if the female doesn't want you—her mating will go to the next male.”

  “Whoa—hold up. Maybe this Paige isn't up to speed on the ménage à trois that is being a hybrid female. Maybe she's not going to opt-in. After all, the human mainstream media is very circumspect about that detail.”

  “Don't want the pearl-clutchers to get all atwitter about all the hot sexy goodness.” Jac suffocates a snicker behind his fist.

  Doric and I look at Jac.

  He rubs his nape with a hand.

  Doric hesitates before giving a sage nod. “Paige could resist some or all of the ideals, and we will not take an unwilling female. But her life hangs in the balance if she does not choose a mate before her transition comes.”

  “Her orgasms will echo in these halls,” Jac promises confidently, hiking his square jaw.

  “Oh, really?” I drop my arms at my sides. “Are you serious right now?”

  Jac nods happily. “I'm pent up. If I had a female beneath me, I wouldn't quit on her until I passed out from hunger.”

  I blink, momentarily stunned into silence before I continue, “Well, you're enthusiastic,” I finally get out, “but I'd advise you to dial that down when you meet Paige LaRue. She's only twenty-five years old and had a rough start from what I've been told.”

  “You saw the pulse brief?” Doric directs a sharp look in Jac's direction.

  Jac lifts a tiny pulse device in his strong, thick fingers, holding his partial woolly mammoth form as default, as many of the prehistorics do. “Yup, seems like the Firsts fucked up that little ditty somehow, and Paige was an audience to her First getting his arm about torn off.”

  I groan, doing a facepalm. “Seriously? How am I supposed to make Paige feel more comfortable? I mean, back in my counseling days, I was never faced with anything like this.” I glare at Doric for omitting details.

  “I guess she had a nice chat with Narah,” Jac says with a smirk, fluttering his eyelashes.

  Marvelous. “Oh no.”

  Doric's exhale is irritation and resignation on a breath. “Yes.”

  I start to say, “She's...” Rough, unsympathetic. Fierce.

  Doric, having made Narah's acquaintance, finishes, “An uncompromising and economical female.”

  A laugh hiccups out of me as Doric and I share a loaded glance. “That's diplomatic,” I say.

  “So I protect Talyn here,” Jac jerks a thumb my way. “The males bring up the rear with the babies.”

  I briefly close my eyes. This is somewhat of a disaster, I decide. My eyelids fly open at his next comment.

  “They must. Talyn can pump every six hours, but she will need to give them the milk and so forth.”

  “Righteous. Let the males deal with domestic duty,” Jac gives an evil chortle.

  I dump my face in my hand. Definite disaster territory.

  Doric walks to me, giving me an awkward pat on the shoulder. “If there were not two females readying for transition, I would not move you from the clan. But their simultaneous appearance is so uncommon I can't help but think the Mutables are on alert. We must move quickly.”

  I drop my hand, giving him my eyes, and he badly contains his wince. “What do Drake and Merck think about these developments?”

  “They will not let their traveling female go without them.”

  Sounds right. In fact, it sounds a little too reasonable for my mates. “Conditions?”

  Doric grins. “There are many.”

  Now, that sounds exactly like Drake and Merck.

  Paige

  It's obvious that Narah Adrienne isn't a warm and fuzzy kind of gal.

  She's certainly not shy if she can sit there and pump her boobs right in front of me and run around in just a bra.

  However, nervousness knots my gut.

  I'm going to see that guy. The bigfoot guy. I didn't notice his aura. I should've. I should have noticed a lot of things, but I just blew a fuse or something. Then he was picking me up, and Narah was nearly relieving him of his arm.

  God.

  There's a softly lit sign ahead that reads, Infirmary.

  Narah approaches the pulse pad. Regularly-sized like all commercial docs, it's about the size of a deck of cards with the primary placement interface, displaying a raised square in the center of the sleek, dark rectangle.

  Narah flicks her cornrowed hair behind her shoulder and looks at me, silvered eyes focused on my face, and her aura brightens for a moment before fading again. “Gametime, chicky.”

  Narah places her thumb against the primary doc, and luminescent neon green letters surface.

  Enforcer Narah Adrienne, Level 10 proficient, approved.

  “Uh-huh.” While I’m wiping my hands off on my denims, the soft hush of the pulse door sounds as it slides into the wall cavity, revealing a sterile room.

  Narah marches through. Putting a hand out, she halts me right inside the space.

  Her head tilts as she scans the area.

  Posture relaxing, she straightens and moves to a bed where only one patient lies.

  Drest. The First Species.

  I gulp back my fear. My longing. My feeling that there might actually be something to this hybrid crap.

  He sits up straight, his arm slinged and tight against his huge body.

  Lust slams into me, and on the edge of that, the aura I now see.

  The color exactly matches my own.

  Chapter 15

  Kiel

  S o what's your story?” the female gives Kiel a sidelong glance. Of course, he can smell her lust for him.

  It's obvious.

  But lust doesn't always mean acquiescence.

  Her words give Kiel pause as he's accustomed to the mix of vernacular with some of the males who scout often, of which Kiel is not one. Saying he's handicapped in the human terminology is an understatement.

  “Do you ask what my purpose is?”

  Camille Becker slows, dark brows pulling together. “Um, yes. I understand that I'm an ʻunknown,ʼ but all this has happened so fast. I just found out, then my boss goes pear-shaped, and these Mutable thugs try to chase me down when all I want is a burger.”

  Pear-shaped? An image of fruit mentally surfaces, and Kiel frowns.

  Kiel slows as well, turning to face her. His eyes flick to the Culver's fast food place where the Mutables had piled up, clearly following the luscious scent of his charge. “Then you
should be aware that leaving this area is a good plan.”

  “I want to. Thing is, my boss is one of those Mutables.”

  Boss. A person who is in charge of others within his/her employ. “This 'boss' became aware of your status?”

  Camille nods, and the gesture brings the scent of cheap soap and fragrant female to him.

  Kiel swallows desire like a bitter pill. “There is a huge system in motion to find females. It will be all I can do to return you to our clan. Actually,” and this is the part that slays Kiel's male instinct of protection, “you must be duly cataloged at Final Enforcement first.”

  Camille snorts.

  Kiel likes the melodic sound. Females are rare and his time around them rarer still.

  “Yeah, I know that,” she says softly.

  “Let us go there. A bounty is always at the building, and your house is no longer safe.”

  “Duh. That's a no-brainer.”

  Intelligent eyes study his expression for a moment. Then, the edges of her full lips turn up. “I meant that if the Mutables could find me at Culver's, they'll have already gone to my house and torn that apart.” She rolls a lush bottom lip between her teeth, face tight. “Hell, my boss would have gone there first. I'm lucky I spent more time than I needed at the clinic.”

  “I will shift to gorillan, and we can run.”

  Camille retreats a step away. “Shift to what?”

  Kiel frowns. They simply don't have time for this. Large hands peg his hips, the prior soreness gone, thanks to the food. “If I move to my partial form, I am strong and fast enough to get us to Final Enforcement quickly.”

  “So you'll take me there, and they're going to what—give me the sign of the cross that you're my guy? Because I feel fine. F. I. N. E. I don't have a husband, kids—well I do have kids, but they're the ones I teach. I want to get transitioned so I don't bite the big one. Then I go back to my old life.”

  Kiel sees how this will be, instantly willing his half-form into being. With a grunt of pain, his body accepts the too-rapid change to gorillan on the tailwind of his rapid transitions of the past ten hours.

  Basically, the process hurts like hell.

  “Oh... my God.” Camille's voice is a thread on the near-constant wind that sweeps between them.

  Kiel opens his eyes, which feel slightly hot, bulgy, and sore from the change. But his vision is better, sharper, and keen though it's full dark. The irritation of light pollution is diminished in this form.

  Lifting a hand, he splays his dexterous, now-long digits that are double-jointed, and experimentally fists them, and a relieved exhale eases from his body. “That is better.”

  “You're scary.”

  Kiel scowls. “You will go to Final Enforcement. Your kicks will not be effective in this form. Willing or not, we're going.”

  The female is silent for a sullen moment and then says, “Fine, hulk. Lead on.”

  Bending his upper body over Camille, he seizes her upper arms and expertly swings her to his back.

  She squeaks, gripping his shoulders tightly.

  Kiel's smile is grim. For a First, he is the harshest of males and growls, “Wrap your arms around my neck.”

  “Just saying: I did not sign up for this—and—I'm hungry.”

  He senses her hunger. But that is not the only thing that threatens. The female can miss a meal, for more Mutables seek her as she leaks her delectable perfume of readiness around them.

  The only thing that could give them additional time would be if he could mark her, covering Camille's scent with his own.

  An ancient ability and one known only to a single creature in all the shifter kingdom, Kiel is hoping it doesn't come to that. Because then, his secret would be revealed.

  Not everyone needs to know what he truly is.

  Kiel will make that decision only if it is to save this female. Even then, a revelation of that magnitude could end them both.

  Camille

  Okay, this just sucks. My cheeks are windburned from cold, and my hunger has turned into a dull tummy ache that would be a lot more pressing if it weren't for the fact I'm hanging on for dear life on the back of a gorilla guy with fangs.

  My life is insanity, I get that.

  Wind bites at the lengths of hair that are starting to unwind from my fast job of putting it up for the second time after the Mutable mess at Culver's.

  The hair was not meant to withstand a fifty-kilometer trot on the back of a beastman. Because that's exactly what Kiel is.

  Finally, we arrive at the Final Enforcement building. A structure I pass every day on the way to teach.

  A light sweat covers Kiel's body. His strong hands are firm but not brutally tight where they wrap my thighs. Body tense, he rotates in a slow circle, keeping his head cocked as though listening for sounds I can't hear.

  I want to turn my wrist and look at my embedded timepiece on the inside of my arm, but that's impossible with both arms wound around his neck.

  Glancing at the worn asphalt, I note how far I am off the ground. I think about how he kissed me, and it seems like a year ago when it was within the last hour. That turn of thought brings me to the wonderful, blissful time early today when I was just a special needs teacher.

  Before becoming a transition babe.

  Before Mutables.

  “Safe,” he says quietly, and holding onto my forearms, he slowly lowers me.

  My feet hit the ground, and he murmurs, “Stay close, female.”

  Female. He doesn't have to tell me twice.

  “We just have to get into the building?” I ask, furtively scanning the parking lot.

  Kiel nods but says nothing. “Take my hand.”

  Reaching forward, I slide my smaller hand into his much larger one, grabbing a look at him from the side.

  A prominent brow ridge anchors a rugged face, fashioned of hard bone and planes. Golden eyes survey the entire area, noting the two parked vehicles along with the small sounds of night. In the distance, a train bleats like a dying goat, and a faraway car's decaying motor lumbers up a steep hill out of sight.

  “We'll make a break for it.”

  I feel my brows meet and tug against his arm, slowing. “What's wrong? Everything seems fine. You could hear a pin drop. It's as quiet as a big city can be.”

  “Exactly,” he cuts the word like a knife.

  He begins to stride toward the front door, towing me at a jog directly behind him. Kiel's eyes pass over a car that's seen better days. Then his attention shifts back to the end goal: The door that leads to Final Enforcement.

  Before he can use the pulse pad, the door sucks open. Standing just inside the threshold is a tiny woman who growls a greeting. “This way, First. There's Mutables around, fucking up everyone's evening.”

  I blink, belatedly recognizing the notorious bounty enforcer. Bald-speaking doesn't really cover it when describing an encounter with Narah Adrienne. It's shocking seeing her in the flesh, so to speak. I've only seen the pulsenews coverage about the first known female, hybrid vampire. Half-human, half-vampire—able to breed with the walking undead.

  Still enforcing and a mother of twins to boot. A lot has been made of Adrienne, and she appears to suffer through all the notoriety with an indifference that just can't be feigned.

  Deadly eyes meet mine, silver with a golden ring surrounding the iris. Adrienne jerks her head behind her as small beads that tip the ends of her hair click together like rattlers on a snake.

  There's no warning.

  One minute, I'm taking in her hairstyle and hard-as-nails manner, and the next, I'm screaming in agony as claws tear the shirt and a good portion of the skin on my back away. Fire lights trails of agony.

  I drop, hitting my palms on the smooth concrete between parking lot and entrance.

  A foot slams into my wounded back, and I scream.

  Hot liquid pours over me, and the scent of metal hits the inside of my nose. Planting my hands, I begin to crawl forward. Turning my head slightly, I
watch as Adrienne's body spins over my own.

  It's a day for decapitation I ponder as a severed head lands with a wet thud beside me. Vacant eyes stare back sightlessly, streamers of gristle remaining where the head had been attached to the body.

  I swallow my gorge and realize I can't feel my back.

  Shouting drowns out all thoughts. My vision narrows at the open door, and I resume the struggle toward it.

  Hurts. Clenching my jaw, I heave my body forward, my teeth clicking hard.

  A deafening snarl sounds beside my ear, and dizziness engulfs me.

  I startle when someone touches my body and realize my face is lying against the wide metal threshold, my body half-in and half-out of the Final Enforcement's front door.

  I know it's Kiel before he makes it obvious with his next words. “I'll have to heal this.”

  His voice is far away.

  “This will hurt, Camille.”

  It already does.

  “Hang on, First. Let me help.”

  Narah's face fills my vision, fangs dripping blood. A droplet falls on my cheek, and I'm cognizant enough to shiver at the sensation.

  “Sorry about that. I'm sloppy with my Mutable food.” Her sudden grin is fierce, the blood of her kills threaded between sharp teeth.

  Mutables again. Boy, the Camille Becker slice of pie must be the only one that matters. Fuckers.

  “You're scary,” I tell Narah aloud, which was the phrase I'd run by Kiel just moments before.

  Her grin remains affixed. “I know.”

  Then, she's lifting me with Kiel's help.

  The numb vanishes, and I shriek as hot coals brand me. My mind dims, and the next thing I know, I'm lying face-down on a doctor's table, a sheet of thin white paper underneath my cheek, my back a throbbing well of agony.

  I don't want to even breathe. But of course, that's not practical. I suck a deep inhale, releasing the exhale with a hoarse shudder.

  “I am here,” Kiel says beside me.

  Goosebumps roll down my bare arms at the sound of his voice as tears run from my eyes. “I thought you were supposed to be some big-ass protector. I feel like I've been sliced and diced.” I sound disgruntled and don't care.