Shift Into Me (Werewolf Shifter Romance) (The Alpha's Kiss) (6 page)

From across the room, his smile disarmed me. Then his eyes flashed in the sun coming through the bay window next to the couch, and I was lost. “Nice to see you too,” he said softly. “It was... it was unbelievable. I’ve never moved like that, never felt the wind, the branches.”

Damon had this dazed, almost dream-like voice that was just too funny.

“Wait,” Hunter said. “You’ve never wolf run before? The new Skarachee Alpha just had his virgin wolf running?”

He looked like he was about to drop, so I ran over and wrapped an arm around Damon’s trim, muscular waist, relishing the warmth of his body against mine, and the smell of dust, the woods, and of his apparent effort. He turned and kissed me, then brushed a curl out of my face and stared straight at me.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I watched the moon go across the sky, I ran through the woods, over some desert, beside a deer, and then saw the sun rise, but... the whole time I couldn’t think about anything but you.”

He kissed me so deeply that I almost fell over backwards. Damon’s lips, dry and rough but still warm and delicious, brushed my neck, his hands slid down my sides and up under the back of my shirt. Fingertips curling against my skin made my knees go weak.

“Oh,” I gasped. “Oh, Damon.” The breath that I took in trickled slowly out of me as his kisses raised goosebumps all down my back. “You’re certainly feeling
something
.”

He silenced me with a kiss, enveloping me within him, and swirled his tongue hard against mine. When he sucked my lip and pulled away, I could feel the life coming out of me and chasing him.

“That was,” I tried to catch my breath. “That was...”

“It happens,” Hunter said. “It’s the spirit you get. When you make your first run, every sense you have comes to life. You feel things you didn’t know were possible.”

Suddenly, Damon’s eyes went back to being glazed over, and he got heavier. Like really,
really
heavy.

“Hunter,” I grunted. Flexing my legs, I was able to keep him from falling over on me, but only barely. “Can you... uh...”

He ran over, grabbed Damon’s arm, and somehow, we managed to get him to the couch. As soon as he hit the cushion – maybe before – he was dead asleep.

“Does
that
happen too?”

Hunter laughed. “Uh yeah, that’s... I’m amazed he even made it back here. Usually it takes people awhile to get their bearings.”

“He had some times before,” I said, looking down to make sure Damon wasn’t having trouble breathing or... something, I’m not really sure what to look out for in an over-exhausted werewolf as a warning sign. “But it was never like this he was always kinda... taken over.”

“Well,” Hunter said, with a lot more seriousness than I expected. “That’s how it can be. But once we learn to control our transformations, they get a lot less violent.”

Damon snorted, rolled over and right off the couch, onto the floor.

“He’s content,” I said, laughing. “Is it all right if I take your... wait, you don’t ride a motorcycle do you? In Fort Branch that’s kind of a werewolf creed.”

“That was abrupt,” he said with a laugh. “And no, but I have a four-wheeler out back if you need to sate your loud-and-muddy desires. Otherwise, it’s the Toyota.”

Somehow, the idea of
him
driving a reasonable family sedan sent a shudder through me. He tossed over the keys from the counter.

“By the way, where are you going? It’s kinda early still.”

“Just to the courthouse. I got a hunch that this isn’t the first time something mysterious has happened here. Figure I’ll put my own talents to some use. Poke through the old papers, see if anything turns up.”

Hunter was staring at me, shaking his head. “I see what he sees in you.”

Normally if someone said that to me, I’d take it as some kind of semi-subtle wolf-whistle, but in this case, I took it for what I think it was – a simple compliment. Me and compliments. There’s a whole catalog of books I could write about that.

But just as I turned to leave, he called me again.

“Lily?”

“Yeah?”

Damon grunted and rolled over, leg thrown up on the couch. A second later, he was out again.

“Good luck. I’ll take care of the sleeping giant.”

The chill from only a couple of hours before was already gone, replaced by heat from the blazing sun. I only had four hours. I had to make them count.

––––––––

I
’m not exactly the sort of person to want to be around other people all the time. Don’t get me wrong – I liked Hunter, and there’s nowhere in the world I’d rather be than in Damon’s arms, feeling his kisses on my lips, his hands running up and down my back.

But sometimes, the fact that I can only take so much of others, even ones I like, becomes incredibly clear to me. I get jittery and nervous and I talk too damn much. I make jokes that even I know aren’t funny just to fill time and make sure there’s no silence.

Sometimes, my joking even got
me
irritated.

My phone buzzing in my purse startled me as I turned into a parking space and turned off Hunter’s hilariously reasonable gold-colored Carolla.

The number that popped up belonged to Jolie Evers, the submissions editor at the
New York Times
who got me started, like really started – writing. She got me to write up a bunch of the desert folktales that Grandpa Joe told me. Of course, I ended up adding a whole lot of totally unbelievable werewolf stories that I’m sure sounded ridiculous to anyone who read them.

Well, anyone who wasn’t a werewolf.

“Lily?” she was talking before I even got my phone to my ear. “You there?”

“Hey Jolie, how’s things?” We’d long since established that neither of us was very comfortable with being called miss-anything. I’d noticed without even asking that there was a certain twinge to her voice I’d never heard before, even when we were up against deadlines. “Is everything okay?”

She was distracted as usual. Something sounded like a goose honking on her end of the line. “Ugh, shit, hold on a second. Got an email from the big boss. Did you hear that noise?”

I couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Yeah, was that what that goose noise was?” I opened the door and swung my legs out into the sun. The heat radiating against my khakis felt really good for some reason, warming me all the way through.

“Jackass makes everyone have these weird personalized email tones for... uh, let’s see, what did he call it? Oh right I’ve got it posted above my door on an inspirational placard with a picture of two kids riding one horse. Superior synergy it says. Jesus Christ.”

“Uh-huh,” I said with a little laugh. “That’d just about drive me nuts. Do you need to call me back?” I asked, trying to give her an out if she needed one. “I was just about to go into this courthouse and do some poking around in old newspapers. I might have a new story for you?”

“Really?” she had a half-elated, half-relieved tone in her voice. “I was just about to ask you if there was any spooky stuff you could write about for an issue a couple of weeks from now. What do you have for me?”

“I’m not really sure,” I said.

Jolie let a huff of air out.

“I mean, I know I have something, but I don’t know what the angle is yet. But there’s definitely a story.”

“Oh, okay. That’s better than nothing. It
is
more spooky stuff right? That werewolf business was a huge hit.
Please
tell me it’s more spooky stuff.”

“For sure,” I said. “Damon and I,” I chewed my lip for a second, not really sure how to explain this without sounding like the world’s most prizewinning crazy-person. “He got called away on some business to a little town called Scagg’s Valley in So-Cal. Anyway, yeah, definitely some weird stories coming your way.”

It was like she barely even heard me. Which... was a very good thing.

“Yeah, that sounds great. As long as it’s witchy or whatever, you’ll be golden. And on top of that you’ll really be saving my ass. Oh, and just so you know it won’t be running in the Saturday magazine insert again.”

“It won’t? But then...”

“Sunday paper, three weeks from now. It’ll run probably at the front of the human interest section. Even if it’s about things that don’t exist. Or, you know, whatever. You’re hot shit in New York, Lily. I’m
still
getting emails and even a couple of letters from people too old to email about that story. Please, please, please tell me you can do it.”

I had to close my mouth before I could use it to talk. “I, uh, yeah,” I stammered. “Of course I can. Three weeks... need it in two?”

“You can write. I’m sure whatever you give me won’t need much re-working. Tell you what. It’s due to press three Saturdays from now, so get it to me by the Thursday before. Say... a thousand words?”

“A
thousand
? That’s—”

“Damn near a full page. You’re my new nuke, Lily, you know that. Feel free to say no. Please say no if you don’t want to or can’t or if this is going to stress you out.”

“No!”
I screamed inside my head. A thousand words? The lead-off story in the Sunday
Times
? That was... I mean, there’s crazy and then there’s that kind of crazy. A year ago I figured I might be able to sell an article here and there and now I’m sitting out front of a city courthouse about to go root through old newspapers to try and solve a murder. And then I’m going to write about it?

“Yeah,” I felt myself say. “Yeah, of course. Three...” I checked my watch because I’m the kind of girl who still wears one. “Three weeks from tomorrow. I can definitely do that. Oh! Before you go!”

“Anything for my nuke,” Jolie said. “Anything at all. You’re my hit maker. Tell me what you need.”

“Well,” I said slowly, considering my words. “It may be nothing, but I’m going into this small town courthouse to poke around in their records, their back issued newspapers and things, and—”

“Ugh, how small are we talking?”

“About five thousand people? Somewhere around there.” I answered. Really, I had no idea, but it seemed about right. “Kind of a good ol’ boy town.”

“Need me to get you in?” she was getting antsy.

“Maybe. Can I give your number as a contact?”

“Yeah, of course. Just don’t tell them I’m a woman.”

That got me laughing. “Not a woman. Got it. Jules... Evers?”

She snorted a laugh. “I needed that, Lily. All right, Jules Evers, signing out. Christ, that makes me sound like I’m in a Spider-man comic. Need anything else?”

“Nope,” I said. “Thanks again. You’re the best, Jolie.”

“Make me proud,” she said, and then hung up before I could respond.

Stepping toward the building, I felt a twinge in my stomach.

If I was going to be useful to Damon or to Jolie, or to anyone else, the first step was for me to trust that I
could
be useful. No doubting myself and figuring that I was just along for the ride. I had to make myself believe that I was necessary.

It’s funny how simple things like that can be the hardest to swallow.

Nodding inwardly to steel my nerves, I pushed open the incredibly heavy door with the shatter-proof wires running through the glass.

*

T
he way to the records department was long and winding. From the front of the monolithic white building, I never imagined it’d be so big inside, but there I was, weaving my way through a labyrinth of halls and double doors until I was finally spit out into a very clean and stereotypically dour room lined with shelves.

“Hello?” An almost overly-proper looking man with circular framed glasses stood up from behind a desk. “Are you here for... the records?”

What, am I the first one ever?

“Hi,” I said, extending my hand. “I’m Lily Kyle, and I’ve heard some really interesting things about the town. My editor wanted me to check out the local folklore, that kind of thing.”

“Oh, I see,” he said. “Most people simply call me Carrell. Might I call you Lily?”

Something about this man was incredibly... wrong. It was like my brain started tingling when I looked at him. And then, when he shook my hand, every one of my suspicions came true. Carrell’s hand was a little warmer than it should have been, and about four times as clammy as it needed to be. I shook it as quickly as I could and pulled away, trying to downplay my revulsion.

“Yes,” I swallowed hard. “Sorry, of course. Lily is fine.”

And then there it was again. Something in my brain, like a neuron firing a little harder than normal, shot a chill down my back.

He twitched his nose.

“What can I help you with?” he asked. “Is there some particular thing you’re researching?”

“Not specifically,” I lied through my teeth. If he could tell he made no indication of it. “I normally do stories about folklore, crime, that sort of thing. Just, you know, keep it fresh.”

“Fresh?” he looked down the bridge of his slightly crooked nose at me.

He was a little like a vulture with a full head of hair. His shoulders were sort of slumped, but that could have easily been posture as much as age. Carrell didn’t look very old in the face, but his clothes – a three piece suit in the most inoffensive beige color possible – were from a different century.

“Oh, well what I mean is, I tend to write about old folktales. The kind that get buried and forgotten about.”

“We?”

“Sorry,” I said, pretending like I was flustered. “We meaning the
New York Times
. My editor is Jol—ah, Jules Evers. He likes things that are... what did he say? Oh, right, witchy. That time of year, I guess.”

“Hmm,” he said, examining the card I handed him, turning it over in his hands. I noticed that he was looking past it and straight at me as he did. “I see. What can I help you with?”

I briefly told him, in the vaguest terms possible, what I was after. Murders, old ones, where there were strange circumstances involved. His answer for me was a large, and very old – and very dusty – ledger book with a whole lot of numbers in it.

“Tell me which collections you want to see, and these contain newspapers and other...” he fluttered his fingers, “materials. I’ll bring you whatever ones you want to look at. No photography, no pens. So that,” he crooked an eyebrow at the phone I had pulled out of my pocket when I handed him my business card, “needs to stay off and put away.”