Shifters captive, p.1
Shifters' Captive, page 1
Dedication
To Kate, who is my best cheerleader and critic.
Chapter One
The streetlight was out, the bulb broken and glass shards scattered on the sidewalk beneath. Her feet crunched over the glass then resumed tap-tapping along the cement. Sherrie listened hard as she walked, but no other footsteps echoed through the night air. No predators lurked in the shadows of the alley as she passed. She was alone on the street. So why did the hair rise on her nape and prickle on her arms? Why did her heart race and why was she walking faster and faster?
Sounds or no sounds, she felt the presence of something nearby. Someone hiding and watching and following her. Was this what a rabbit felt just before a predator’s fangs bit its throat and sharp claws ripped out its life?
Almost home. Walk faster. Her front door key was clutched in her hand, ready to jam into the lock the moment she hit the stoop. Pepper spray dangled from the key chain, and she had her defensive moves ready from the class she’d taken at the Y. If anyone really did come at her from the darkness, she was prepared.
She turned the corner. The front door of her building was in sight only a half a block away. In five minutes, she’d be sitting on her couch, shoes off her aching feet and laughing at herself for being such a wuss. But from now on maybe she’d tell Carl she had to close the diner just a little earlier so she could catch the last bus home and not have to walk. One lone customer lingering over a refill of coffee was no reason for her to take risks with her safety.
No sounds. It’s your imagination. And then the soft pad of running footsteps and the sound of panting breath came from behind her. Sherrie slipped her hand from the key to the pepper spray as she whirled to face her pursuer. Adrenaline shot through her system, waking every cell, and they all screamed, “Flight!” Blood pounded in her ears so she could hardly hear.
A flurry of movement. Something large and dark. A body barreling into her and a hand covering her nose and mouth with a cloth. She inhaled to scream, and a medicinal odor filled her sinus cavities. Her finger went down on the trigger, spraying pepper, and she smelled that too.
As she lost consciousness and slumped against the hard body holding her, the last thing she heard was a murmured, “I’m sorry,” and, from somewhere close by, a dog’s howl.
The low murmur of voices was a part of her dream then became real as she surfaced into consciousness. Why was she lying on the floor, and what had happened to the threadbare carpet that covered her apartment from wall to wall? In a flash, it all came back to her. She wasn’t at home, passed out after an evening of partying with her friends. She’d been attacked and kidnapped, taken off the street right in front of her apartment.
Sherrie started to open her eyes and stopped. Better to take it slow, find out as much as she could about her surroundings before anyone knew she was conscious. She’d learned a lot from reading suspense novels.
A quick mental check and she realized she wasn’t tied up and that her key ring with the pepper spray was gone. She’d been left lying on the floor as if she weren’t a threat. If her captor assumed she was powerless, it gave her a small advantage. She might be able to catch him unaware and escape.
“…all I can tell you. It’s not right, damn it. I could’ve found a better way to do this if you’d given me some time.” The deep voice vibrated, sending shivers down Sherrie’s spine.
“There is no time. We needed to act immediately. We need this woman, and—”
“Sh.” The man with the lower voice interrupted. “Go now. I’ll deal with this.”
There was the sound of footsteps, a door opening and closing then the floor creaking as the remaining man walked toward her. She drew a breath, bracing herself for whatever would happen and ready to take advantage of any opportunity to fight her way free.
He stood over her for so long that she thought she’d pass out from holding her breath.
“Miss Stoltz, I know you’re awake. I can hear the difference in your breathing.” His voice was so low and rumbling it sounded more like a growl than speech.
Sherrie wasn’t ready to open her eyes and see the face of her attacker. He could never let her go after that. He’d have to kill her. So she spoke with her eyes squeezed shut.
“Listen. I don’t know who you are and I don’t care. I won’t go to the police. Just let me go now before this gets any worse, okay?” She couldn’t believe how calm and level her voice sounded when her body was trembling and her insides were liquid with fear.
“Miss Stoltz…Sherrie, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m sorry I took you the way I did, but there was no time to explain things which you’d have a hard time believing. The truth is you could be in danger, and I’m here to help you as well as my people.”
My people? Was he some kind of crazy cult leader?
“You can help me by taking me home. Or don’t take me home. Put me out on the street somewhere. I promise I have no idea where I’m at or who you are. I’ll go on with my life and you go on with yours.”
There was a long pause, and when the voice continued, it was closer, as if he’d squatted by her side. “I’m sorry. That’s not going to happen.”
His hand touched her shoulder, and Sherrie flinched. This was it. Whatever he was going to do to her was beginning now. Visions of all the possible tortures a serial killer could inflict on his victim before he killed her flashed in her mind. She’d seen too damn many detective movies and too many sequels to Saw.
“Please, open your eyes and sit up. I’ll get you a cup of tea or coffee or a bottle of water if you want—sorry, I don’t have any soda—then I’ll explain everything.”
Laced with what drug? Sherrie weighed the consequences and decided it didn’t much matter at this point whether she saw him or not. He wasn’t about to let her go. She cautiously lifted her eyelids and looked at the face of her fate.
Brown eyes with a golden cast gazed into hers. A frown drew his dark brows together. A ragged fringe of walnut brown hair fell over his forehead and grew in thick sideburns, framing his strong-boned face. His nose was long and straight, his mouth wide with thin lips pressed tightly together. He curved his lips into a smile, and white teeth showed between them.
He’s going to eat me up. Instead of filling her with terror, the thought precipitated an insane flare of arousal. Her body tingled as if hit by an electric charge. Her breasts were tender, nipples pebbled hard, and her pussy clenched as if he’d touched her there rather than merely looked at her. What the hell was wrong with her body?
“You’re safe. We mean you no harm.”
“Who’s ‘we’?” Sherrie thought of the man who’d left and wished she’d caught a glimpse of him too. From the conversation she’d overheard, it seemed this man might not have wanted to take her. Perhaps she could work on him and convince him to let her go.
He smiled wider, showing more gleaming teeth. “That’s all part of the story. Why don’t I make you more comfortable first? I’m sorry about the conditions here, but I didn’t know where else to bring you.”
He rose and walked away from her.
She eyed the distance to the door then his broad back as he opened the door of a mini-fridge and took out a bottle of water. How much time would it take to jump to her feet—or stagger because she still felt woozy—and run for the door? Despite his polite manner, she guessed the man would grab her before she could clear the doorway. Better to bide her time, listen to his story and let him think he could trust her.
Meanwhile, she glanced around her prison, a primitive cabin with a kitchenette, a couple of chairs, a futon against one wall and a wood burning stove. That was all the furnishings. There were two windows: a tiny one in the kitchen above the sink and another beside the door. Through it she saw tree branches and sunlight, indicating she’d been passed out for awhile.
“Here.”
She jumped. She hadn’t heard him approach her. He held out a water bottle. Sherrie took it, uncapping and guzzling the cool liquid that soothed her parched throat.
“My name is John Walker.” He held out his hand and she took it, struck by the ironic display of manners under the circumstances. His hand was cool from the water bottle and stayed wrapped around hers for a few seconds longer than necessary. An uncanny charge tingled through her body straight to erogenous zones, horrifying her with its inappropriateness.
Walker released her hand to sit on the floor beside her, his long legs folding gracefully beneath him. He regarded her as he sipped from his own bottle. “Sorry about putting you on the floor, but it actually seemed cleaner than the cot.”
She didn’t reply.
He drew an audible breath. “I’ve practiced what I was going to say to you, but no matter how I say it, I know it’ll sound crazy.”
Never antagonize a crazy man. Show him sympathy and trust. “I have an open mind and I’m listening. Go ahead.”
“There are beings in this world that humans tell about in horror stories, but they’re real—shapeshifters, people who transform from human to animal form. In movies they depict werewolves as killers, but in reality we hunt like any other wolf pack, roaming wild lands and catching game. The rest of the time we live and work alongside humans.” He smiled, again showing that mouthful of teeth. “But we aren’t human.”
Sherrie nodded and frowned slightly to display her understanding and sympathy. She’d had a lot of practice making that expression. Some of the regulars at the diner spilled their woes to her every evening.
Her captor shook his head. “I can see you’re ne
“Me,” Sherrie murmured, working hard to sound like she believed him.
“Yes. It’s not clear whether you’ll find the cure or if you yourself are the solution, but Anna saw you in a vision and told us where to find you.”
He leaned toward her, piercing her with his gaze. “Once I saw you, I knew. I could smell it on you. I knew she was right and you’re different—not quite human.”
She felt a chill not caused by the cold water she’d drunk too fast. Her stomach rolled. Breathing in and out, she calmed her screaming mind before answering. “Perhaps you’ve got the wrong person. I don’t have any kind of medical knowledge. I don’t know how I could possibly be of any use to you or your, uh, people.”
“It’s not a normal illness. This is a psychic malady.”
“Oh, well, I have no experience with that either. Maybe you need a priest or shaman or something.” She was impressed by her capacity to spin bullshit under pressure. Her mother had been so wrong when she’d told her she’d never be a good actress. She may never have landed a role during her stint in L.A., but that didn’t mean she didn’t have some kick-ass talent.
Walker put his water bottle on the floor beside him. “All right. Here’s your proof. It’s clear we’re not going to make any headway without it.”
He rose to his feet and moved several yards away from her, which, in the small cabin, took him to the wall. He pulled his gray T-shirt over his head and threw it on the floor, kicked off his shoes, unfastened his jeans and pulled them down his hips. He was naked underneath, and his erect cock thrust before him, thick and dark.
Sherrie swallowed and clenched her water bottle. He was aroused by her fear. That was how sexual predators worked. He’d come for her now, try to rape her. All she had to bash him in the head with was this light bottle and a few karate chops barely remembered from a class taken nearly two years ago. Yet, despite her being paralyzed with terror, that same perverse shiver of erotic interest shot through her at the view of so much lean male muscle and taut skin.
As if guessing her fears, Walker paused. “I told you. I’m not going to hurt you. But you won’t believe me without a demonstration, and I can’t do this with my clothes on.”
Sherrie stared at the crazy man standing before her and braced herself.
The change was so subtle at first she thought her eyes were watering and blinked. John Walker’s face and body shimmered like an oasis mirage seen through desert heat. It was as if he were melting like candle wax, softening and liquefying. His face elongated, while his arms and legs lengthened and grew thinner. All of his proportions changed, and he went down on all fours. His hands and feet transformed into paws. Dark gray hair, or rather fur, sprouted everywhere, covering his skin. He grunted, but the only other sound was a wet squelching and a brittle noise like ice cracking as his muscles and bones reconfigured into a new shape.
Sherrie thought with spacey detachment. That looks as if it hurts like hell. But if her mind was calm, her body reacted on a more primitive level. She crab-scuttled backward across the floor while she screamed and screamed and screamed.
The woman’s shrieking went on and on, piercing his head with its shrillness. He laid his ears back flat and curled his lips, baring his teeth to show his disapproval. He commanded her to stop with a growl, but that only made it worse.
She screamed again, threw her empty bottle at him and scrambled to her feet. Her wide gaze darted frantically around the tiny kitchen area. A couple of grocery bags sat on the counter. She picked up one and hurled it at him with better accuracy this time. The bag hit him in the head and knocked him backward. It fell to the floor, and canned goods and vegetables spilled out of it.
He leaped sideways and circled around, cutting off her route to the door. Must keep her here. His thought process worked differently when he was in this form, but he was still aware of his other half with all its needs and agendas. The woman was important, not like other humans, and she wasn’t to be harmed, no humans ever were. He couldn’t let her go. Not that she could outrun him even if she made it through the door.
Tongue lolling, he moved closer and breathed in her scent, rich with pheromones. Fear and sexuality oozed from her pores. His hackles rose and his cock did too. He wanted her, wanted to mount her, even though she wasn’t one of his kind. Gathering strength in his haunches, he leaped up and landed with his paws against her shoulders and his muzzle on a level with her face.
She screamed, another knife-like wail that shredded his eardrums, and pushed against him. But his weight bore her down, dragging her to the floor with him on top of her. He wanted to fuck her, wanted her to turn over on all fours so he could bury himself deep inside her. He wanted to whine and bite her neck and come into her hard.
No. Not like this. The inner man pulled sharply on the leash connecting him to his primal ego. John Walker struggled back to the surface, gathering in the dark folds of his wolfish alter-ego and binding him. The body shifted again, painful to do it twice so quickly.
The man re-emerged, smooth-skinned, two-legged, so limited compared to his wolf strength and stamina. And still the woman beneath him screamed. She’d damage her vocal chords if she didn’t stop soon.
“Sh. Sh,” he soothed, his hands braced against her shoulders and his body pinning her flat. “I told you I won’t hurt you. That’s not what we’re here for.” But his aroused body made it hard for her to believe him.
Sherrie twisted and wiggled beneath him. His cock ached and strained into the cheap polyester waitress uniform covering her soft belly. He couldn’t resist pushing, thrusting lightly with a rock of his hips.
John grunted and rolled off of her. “Sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
“Hah!” She gave a sharp bark of laughter that sounded as harsh as her screams and began laughing hysterically. She sat up and drew her legs to her chest. “Don’t know what came over you,” she gasped through her laughter. “That’s good.”
He grabbed his jeans off the floor and thrust his legs into them, pushed his erection inside the fly and fastened it so fast he nearly caught his sac in the zipper.
“Sorry to scare you, but you’d never have believed me otherwise.” He sat cross-legged, facing her. “I didn’t do this lightly. I can count on one hand the number of humans I know who know about our existence. And I can count on one finger the number I’ve allowed to see me transform.”
Her giggles abruptly cut off like water from a tap. “I’m honored,” she said dryly. “Why me? Why did this happen to me?”
“I told you, you’re chosen or marked in some way. Divined as being someone important to the shifter world.”
She rested her elbows on her knees and covered her face with her hands. “Every kid daydreams about discovering they’re magical or a super-hero, but this isn’t the kind of fantasy I had. This is a nightmare.”
“It doesn’t have to be.” John touched her foot, the only part within his reach. He didn’t know if he meant to be comforting or if he simply needed to make contact with her. He, who’d always been against shifters mixing with humans, was undeniably attracted to her, and when he was interested in a female, he had to touch. That was the way wolves demonstrated affection: a playful nip, a bump of shoulder, a muzzle rubbing their mate’s neck, broadcasting sexual or friendly intentions.
Sherrie pulled her foot away as if he’d scalded it. Her face jerked up from her cupped hands, and she glared at him. “What do you expect me to do? How long are you going to hold me here?”
“As long as it takes to figure out what your part is in this.”
“What if there is no part? What if it’s all a big mistake? Will you let me go after what I’ve seen or is this like the Mafia?”
He smiled. “No, I’m not gonna whack you and I will return you home after you’ve helped do whatever it is you’re supposed to do.” It was frustrating not to have a better answer. He’d like to know why he was holding her as much as she would. Was Anna really wise or was she going senile?
