Shift Happens (A Carus Novel Book 1) (25 page)

Flight time from West Vancouver to Wick’s house on a bad day with horrific weather required half an hour tops. It took me several hours. I soared aimlessly in the sky, enjoying the wind as it soothed my feathers and lifted me up. Losing myself in the freedom acted as a cleanser and shook the last vestiges of fear clinging to my essence. Too hell with Lucien and his deadline. I needed to fix myself first.

After what I went through in Dylan’s pack, the torture I endured under the Werehyena’s ministrations seemed minor in comparison, but the fear I’d experienced dredged up a lot of unwanted memories. My skin recoiled at the thought of Mark’s hands and the blades. What he planned to do—to hurt and humiliate me—boiled my blood, leaving one consistent thought running through my bird brain.

Mark was a dead man.

The sun crested the horizon by the time I landed in Wick’s room. He’d left the window open, but he wasn’t there. I shifted to my human form and flopped face first onto his bed to nuzzle into his pillows and inhale his scent deep into my body, over and over and over again. I savored the calm washing through me. My wolf relaxed, my mountain lion stopped pacing, and it would’ve been nice to drift to sleep surrounded by everything Wick, but there was another scent in the room. It leeched off my skin and rubbed into the sheets, prickling my nose. Mark’s signature stench clung to my body, refusing to let me truly escape.

I hopped off the bed and ran to the shower, flinging the dials to full blast. The near-blistering hot water scalded my skin, burning it, but in a good way. It felt
good
. But not
enough
. I glanced down at the pink loofa Wick purchased for me a few weeks ago. It didn’t scour as hard as I wanted. I leapt out of the shower and pulled items out from under the sink until I found a pumice stone.

Jumping back in the shower, I scrubbed until the top layer of my skin sloughed off and everything felt new and clean. Now only my woodsy scent mixed in with the soap and water. Pumice stones were meant for sanding off the hard layers of skin on the bottom of feet, but it was perfect for what I wanted and needed—getting rid of any trace of Mark. If only it could work on my mind as well.

Leaning against the wall, I let the water run over my head and down my back, my skin long since numb from the soothing burn. My injuries, rather minor to begin with, had healed significantly from shifting twice.

The shower curtain flung back and I jumped. My feet slipped on the slick flooring and the tiling tilted as I fell backward. Strong hands grabbed me before I struck the ground and I looked up to see Wick. He leaned into the shower stall, gripping both my arms with his hands. His eyes blazed an intense yellow, boring into my mind and my heart. The water from the shower pelted the back of his head, making his short hair plaster against his scalp. He didn’t notice as his eyes remained glued to mine.

Without releasing his hold, he stepped into the shower and brought me up against him. He tucked his head against my neck and inhaled, wrapping his arms around me, not showing any concern for his soaked clothes.

Relaxing into the hardness of Wick, I released the breath caught in my throat. “How long have I been gone?”

His fingers dug into my skin. “Two days.” His tone quiet, but rough, sounded like his normal husky voice had been kicked in the ribs a couple times.

“So I have one day left?” I wiggled in his grasp, but Wick’s arms tightened, crushing me. I couldn’t move. Something uncomfortable bubbled up into my throat. Wick posed no threat, but it didn’t stop my body from tensing and my heart rate from picking up at the perceived captivity.

Wick’s muscles tightened and then relaxed, quickly, like he’d smelled my fear. He kept his arms around me, but loose enough that I could push them away if I decided to bolt. He ran his hand down my hair and back. “Shhhh,” he breathed into my ear before he nuzzled my neck. “Let me hold you.”

Breathing in Wick’s rosemary and sugar scent, my body softened under his calming caresses. This couldn’t go on forever. Wick would want answers and his wolf would need them. The unpleasantly sharp and pungent smell of his turmoil broiled in the heat of the hot shower water. It cost him to give me this—the time to calm down, to heal.

His back muscles felt smooth under my hands.
When did I slip my hands under his shirt?
I ran them up and down, enjoying the slick feel of his skin while trying to reciprocate some of the therapeutic calm. He needed to ask and I just told him without words that he could.

“Tell me.” His command was gruff against my cheek. He clutched my hair with one hand and my side with another, a little harder than I think he meant to, because after a few seconds, his grip softened again.

“I will,” I promised. “But let me… Let me get clothes on.”

Wick stiffened. “I’m going to fucking kill him.”

“You’ll have to beat me to it.” I pulled back, giving Wick time to let me go. He did, but he wasn’t happy about it. I got out of the shower and toweled off while Wick discarded his wet clothes. How did Wick know about Mark? I’d washed his scent off me.

Wick approached from behind and wrapped me in a thick warm bathrobe. The kind found in an expensive spa. I had one once—stole it from a swanky hotel I stayed at during my SRD training. Wick didn’t strike me as the five-finger discount type, so he probably paid full price for this one.

As he tied the robe up for me, Wick dipped his head into the crook of my neck again. His wolf so close, I smelled it mingling with his barely contained rage. I reached back and ran my hands over his head. Maybe it would soothe Wick. Maybe it would soothe his wolf.

And then again, maybe not.

I opened the door to the bedroom and stared in disbelief at the room I left not long ago. The bed frame thrown up against the wall and what remained of the mattress and sheets strewn across the room in shreds, told me either a tornado blasted through the room, or Wick had unleashed his fury on the inanimate objects.

I turned slowly in Wick’s arms. His eyebrows pinched together and his lips compressed. Burnt cinnamon sparked up around us.

“His scent was all over the bed,” Wick whispered. It cost him to say it. His eyes flashed yellow and he shivered, holding back the shift. His wolf wanted out. “I want to hunt him down and rip him apart.”

I splayed my hand against his chest and stared at my fingers, pale and small against his body. “He barely touched me.”

“One touch too many.”

“Agreed. But there wasn’t much of his scent on me.”

“Is that why you were in the shower for an hour?

An hour? I spent more time in there than I thought. “It was more psychological than physical cleansing.”

Wick grunted.

“You waited an hour?” That showed a lot of restraint. His wolf would’ve wanted confirmation and Werewolves weren’t known for their patience.

Wick nodded. “I tried to wait until you came out, because I thought you might want the space.”

“Thank you. I know it was difficult to wait.”

Wick nodded.

“Is that when you tore up the room?”

Wick nodded again.

I stared transfixed at my fingers pressed against his chest. Wick ran his hands down my back. His chin rested on the top of my head.

“Tell me,” Wick asked again. He didn’t lift his head, so his voice vibrated down the length of my body. It felt nice.

I bit my lip. “Can you put some clothes on first?”

Wick stepped back and went straight for the dresser. Pulling on sweatpants in one swift motion, he stalked back to me, stepped in close and invaded my personal space. He considered my face for a few minutes, and then, as if coming to some unspoken decision, reached down and picked me up.

Holding me close, he stomped to the guest room at the end of the hall. Shifting my weight, he managed to open and close the door without setting me down or letting me go. He placed me gently on the bed before turning the lights off and clambering into the bed to sprawl out beside me.

“Tell me.”

So I did. Every sordid detail, every thought, every fear. It felt liberating not to censor what I said and a crushing pressure I didn’t realize was there, released my chest, allowing me to breathe. My mouth kept moving as I drifted to sleep. Maybe I talked in my sleep, too.

When I woke up bathed in Wick’s warmth, I found my phone filled with text messages and voicemails; most of them from Wick and Mel, first worried about my progress, then frantic about my whereabouts—the stress and panic in their voices progressing as time went on. Even Booth called, demanding an update. But my last text arrived at 5:30 this morning while I blissfully slept in Wick’s arms.
Tonight. Sundown
, Clint wrote, and he didn’t need to elaborate. Wick must’ve reported my return. I wanted to be pissed off about that, but he didn’t have much of a choice.

Eyeing the red horizon cast by the setting sun through the window with a dual sense of trepidation and excitement, I moved quietly through the room to pick out my outfit for tonight. Wick had gone to work. Some sort of emergency he couldn’t delegate. Knowing little about the world of building development, I didn’t ask.

I’d wasted most of the day lounging around in bed, being able to relax for the first time since I took the hit on Clint. I knew the person responsible for the orders and where to find him, and only had to relay the information to Lucien to pay my debt.

My phone beeped with a text from Clint:
We’re here.

I texted back:
I’m about to take a shower. Do you mind waiting?

I’ll be right up.

Huh? I looked over my last text and cringed. Instead of ‘waiting,’ I’d asked Clint if he minded ‘watching.’ Damn autocorrect.

Waiting!
I texted as fast as I could.
I meant waiting.

Too late—Clint’s head poked through the doorway. He must’ve run. With the house uncharacteristically empty of wolves, there’d been no one to stop him. His phone beeped and his attention flicked down to quickly read my latest message—the one correcting my error. He raised an eyebrow and looked me up and down with a smile. “Freudian slip?” he asked.

“You know me so well.”

Clint smiled at my dry voice, and then frowned. He strode up to me, a little too close for my liking, and studied my face. When he brought his hand up, it took everything in my self-control not to flinch. That would be a mistake with Clint. He pinched my chin and used the chunk of flesh and bone to turn my head from side to side. “Who hurt you?” he demanded.

“I didn’t know you cared.”

He snorted. “Of course, I care.”

My turn to frown.

“Only I can mark you.”

Groaning, I looked up to the ceiling and fervently wished some deity would save me. Someone needed to write a book for this social situation:
Avoiding Sadomasochists for Dummies
.

Clint hesitated before releasing my chin. “Who?”

“A dead man.” Not a complete lie.

“Good.”

“I still need to shower. You can WAIT downstairs.”

Instead, he sat down on the edge of the bed and rubbed his hands together like a birthday boy about to get his cake.

Well I have a surprise for you, buddy
. Clint would have to find a new toy to play with. I could tell him now, but a perverse joy in misleading him overcame my urge for honesty.

“When you’re mine, privacy will be a luxury I’ll permit only if you’ve been good.” He leered and ran his eyes slowly up and down my body. “Very good.”

“Uh huh.” I closed the bathroom door firmly, locked it and then hopped in the shower. His laughter leaked into the room.
Good thing I’m not yours, Clint.

I kept my shower brisk. The tiny cuts healed up, but the one on my face and the incisions on my arm and inner thighs stung under the onslaught of water and soap. Wick hadn’t dared tell Lucien he lost me. He’d used the tracking device app on his phone to follow my chip, but Ethan’s goons had inserted it into a mangy coyote. When Wick’s pack finally tracked it down, Wick panicked, but kept quiet, lying by omission.

When we finally stumbled out of bed, Wick told me he would’ve let me run. Something tightened in my gut, but my feelings clashed. The idea of getting out from Lucien’s control? Electrifying. But leaving Wick… That brought up a whole different mix of emotions.

I toweled off. My feelings would have to wait for examination after I cleaned up this mess. My mind needed to be on lockdown once I climbed into the car with Allan.

I swung my hair down to twist up in the towel. When I straightened, I turned to grab my clothes.
Crap!
They were in the room with Clint. I inspected the bathroom for something else to throw on, but nothing magically appeared. Taking a deep breath to curse, I ripped the towel from my head, wrapped it tightly around my body before walking back into the bedroom.

Clint sat on the end of the bed, holding up my purple and black zebra print underwear with the tip of his forefinger. “Looking for these?”

“Thank you.” I clutched my towel firmly as I reached out to snatch my Brazilian panties from his grasp.

“You can change out here.” Clint leaned back in the bed and winked.

“I don’t think so.” With as much dignity I could muster, partially clothed in a skimpy towel, I collected the rest of my clothes on the bed and then stalked back to the bathroom.
Wick’s going to trash this room, too, once he smells Clint on the sheets.

A loud sigh followed behind me. “You’re no fun.”

My middle finger replied for me before I shut the door.

****

Stretching out my feet in front of me in the limo, I watched the impassive faces of Clint and Allan. Clint had stayed in the bedroom, opting to escort me to the vehicle waiting outside, apparently not wanting to risk the possibility of me escaping. Or so he said. His scent on my dresser told me he took the opportunity to sift through my underwear drawer. Pervert.

Still stuck at work, Wick had sent a text saying,
luck, xx
. As cute as the message was, I wanted the alpha with me instead.

My phone beeped. It startled me because I wasn’t expecting to hear from anyone. Maybe Wick planned to meet me at Lucien’s place after all. I glanced down at my phone to find a text from Mel.