Shift Happens (A Carus Novel Book 1)
Read Shift Happens (A Carus Novel Book 1) Online
Authors: J. C. McKenzie
Tags: #Shifter, #Werewolf, #Vampire, #Wereleopard, #Werehyena, #Coyote, #Assassin, #Vancouver, #Paranormal, #Romance, #Urban Fantasy
A large black wolf trotted into the clearing to
confront me. He had a white-tipped snout, white boots and mitts and would have looked cute had he not been the most intimidating Werewolf I’d ever seen. Standing tall and solid, power rolled off of his body. His eyes bore into mine. I sniffed the air. The strong Werewolf scent of rosemary swirled around me, strong and seductive, laced with sugar. A weird fuzzy sensation spread out from my chest.
Whoa
.
Alpha.
My other form growled low, demanding release, straining against my skin. The energy of the wolves built—layers upon layers of excitement and impatience. The air pulsated with anticipation. They could sense the imminent kill.
Let me out!
My other form repeated, throwing her power against my built up walls, howling in defiance.
When the energy of the Werewolves surged, I finally released her. My wolf form flowed out fast, wiping out the feline in little more than a heartbeat. Smaller, weaker and the size of a natural wolf, a Shifter in this form was no match for a Werewolf, especially a dominant one. I had time to meet the eyes of the Alpha for only an instant before the pack leapt forward. My limbs shook. It went against every instinct ingrained within me, but I rolled onto my back—submissive.
First in the 2013 Emerald City Opener Writing Contest
Third in the 2013 Golden Acorn Writing Contest
First in the 2013 Southern Heat Writing Contest
Third in the 2013 Great Expectations Writing Contest
Second in the 2012 Golden Gateway Writing Contest
Second in the 2012 Dixie Kane Writing Contest
Shift Happens
by
J. C. McKenzie
A Carus Novel, Book One
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2014 by J. C. McKenzie
Originally published by Wild Rose Press
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by AmazonEncore, Seattle
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and AmazonEncore are trademarks of
Amazon.com
, Inc., or its affiliates.
eISBN: 9781503992085
Cover Designer: Debbie Taylor
This title was previously published by Wild Rose Press; this version has been reproduced from Wild Rose Press archive files.
To Scott,
with every breath and beat of my heart
~*~
Acknowledgments
We often hear, “it takes a village to raise a child.” In the writing world, it takes many loved ones and professionals to support a writer and salvage whatever sanity remains after they finish a project.
It also takes a lot of coffee. At least for me. I frequented the Starbucks at Royal Square during my maternity leave and wrote while my baby slept in his stroller beside my table. I’d like to thank the staff at that location for being incredibly awesome, providing a perfect writing environment and saying my child is adorable, because he totally is.
I would like to thank my critique partners and fellow writers for their support, feedback and advice: Jo-Ann Carson, Kelly Atkins and Lloyd A. Meeker. I would also like to thank my beta readers: Hannah Myles, Jackelyn Ford and Anna Kearie. Their critiques and comments made
Shift Happens
a better book.
My editor, Lara Parker, rejected the first version of this story, and for that, I’m very grateful. She took the time to point out what I needed to work on, and my writing strengthened because of her kind words and sage advice. I’m also very happy she didn’t say no the second time around! Thank you, Lara. It has been a pleasure to work with you.
A big “THANK YOU” also goes out to my publisher, The Wild Rose Press, and the cover artist, Debbie Taylor, for making this dream a beautiful reality. I love the cover, and I’m very happy to be in “The Garden.”
This book would not have been possible without the love and support of my family—my mom, my dad and my sister. Mom, you are my first editor, critique partner and fan. Your support has been phenomenal and immeasurable. Thank you.
Most of all I’d like to thank from deepest part of my heart, my husband and son. The two of you are my life. I love you.
“Accidents happen. That’s what everyone says. But in a quantum universe there are no such things as accidents, only possibilities and probabilities folded into existence by perception.”
~Dr. Manhattan
A human? Not what I expected. Tall and muscular, Clint Behnsen’s broad shoulders made a girl want to take up mountain climbing. With slicked back hair the same deep sable as mine, and a dark Armani suit, he announced his wealth like a red flag to the lowlifes in the sleazy downtown Vancouver club. A good looking man in his prime.
A shame I had to kill him.
I leaned my tall frame against the sticky bar and pushed my boobs out, hoping to draw my target’s attention. The smell of booze and desperation assailed my senses while strobe lights flickered all the colours of the rainbow. A man stepped away from his buddies to stand beside me.
“Hey, babe. What’s your name?” he shouted over the music. His breath hit the side of my face in little punches of fetid air.
“Andrea,” I said, keeping my gaze on Clint. I didn’t have time to deal with losers, especially ones sporting lopsided faux-hawks. He wore a charming smile, but one sniff of his narcotic containing sweat, I pegged this guy as a moron in seconds. Having heightened senses and animal magnetism might give me a professional advantage, but at times like this, it also sucked.
Mr. Faux-hawk’s eyelids drooped in a lousy attempt at bedroom eyes. He looked more like a sedated psychopath in a mental institute. He leaned to the side and looked at my butt. “Your ass is pretty tight; want me to loosen it up for you?”
Gross!
My muscles tensed as heat flushed through my body.
No man should speak to a woman like that.
A low growl escaped my lips, and the man’s spine straightened. I wanted to embed my fist in his face. Wide eyed, he froze as I turned my full attention to him. My eyes tingled, telling me they’d partially shifted to reflect the animals within.
Prey recognized predator. The man grabbed his drink and scurried away, quickly engulfed by the gyrating throng of dancing norms.
“Glad you got rid of him.” A singsong voice pulled my attention from the fleeing man’s back. Prey should never run. I squeezed my eyelids shut and took a deep breath in, resisting the urge to give chase, before turning to the woman.
Mel?
Invisible arms squeezed my chest as all the air wooshed out of my lungs. Stomach acid burned my throat. The room tilted and my vision narrowed until an awful memory, one I tried to suppress, overtook it.
Sweat, mixed with the acrid scent of blood rolled off the pack women huddled in the corner of the room. Naked. Waiting their turn. Hair plastered to their faces. My friend Mel mouthed our mantra, “Survive.”
I took a long, controlled breath in. The woman behind the bar wasn’t Mel, but she could’ve been a body double, down to the hourglass figure and big blonde hair. I shook my head to clear the horrible image she triggered.
I hadn’t seen Mel since I broke free.
“Um…You okay? Can I get you something?” The blonde quirked her finely plucked brow. How long had I been staring at her?
“Rye and cola, please,” I mumbled and shelled out a twenty-dollar bill. After slapping the money on the counter, I grabbed my drink and moved away from the bar to one of the nearby tables before she could give me any change. Time to focus on my assignment.
Stashed below an expensive hotel, I surveyed the bar known to locals as the Dirty Dungeon, and thought of Clint’s reasons for slumming. He had enough money to go to any number of the higher-end clubs, just down the street
.
So why here?
I drummed my fingers on the table top. Maybe he planned to meet someone? So far, he’d strutted around the club with his guards, establishing his presence without accomplishing much—except picking up women and lookin’ good. Real good.
Whatever Clint did to piss off my employer had transpired in the past, because I’d watched him all day and unless getting laid in triplicate now constituted a crime, he’d been a law-abiding citizen the whole time. Typically, I went after preternatural beings, or supes, that broke the rules set by the Supernatural Regulatory Division.
Why would the SRD place such importance on this norm?
I finished my drink and left the empty glass on the table. My employer’s motives didn’t matter. Not my job to question, and time ticked away. A twenty-four hour deadline with virtually no Intel.
Awesome.
With a relaxed stride, I dodged the obstacle course of men who gathered in the club like packs of wolves, ready to hunt down vulnerable women with low self-esteem and a penchant for making bad decisions. Plumes of smoke billowed around their heads and caught in my lungs as I made my way across the dark room toward Clint. He stood near the second bar at the back of the club and recounted some sort of hunting story. I heard him say, “prowl,” and “caught a few.” The loud pumping bass and the obnoxious drunks screaming at each other made it difficult to make out more, even this close, but Clint’s tale probably didn’t involve any four-legged herbivores.
“May I buy you a drink?” I purred in my best sexy voice when I reached him.