Tiger claimed, p.2
Tiger Claimed, page 2
“Now, we have a Wolf problem, let’s fix it. Blake, McLeesh, I will send my best to investigate the circumstances you presented. We will have an answer as soon as possible.”
Then Dean’s gaze landed on Trench, and he knew what was being asked. Without hesitation, Trench nodded. He would get the details from the Vampire and start immediately. After all, that’s what an Enforcer does.
Grrr.
CHAPTER ONE
“Bria! Did you change the laundry yet?”
“Oops! I’m on it,” she replied, closing her eyes in annoyance.
Shit.
Bria had been living in the three-bedroom apartment in the affordable, but barely secure Madison Arms for about nine months now. And yet, she still wasn’t used to Nancy. The woman was one of her four roommates’, and she was sort of infamous for lurking.
Truly, Nancy was like the villain in a B horror movie with the way she popped up in the weirdest places. And completely out of nowhere, too. Even worse was her rigorous chore schedule she insisted on meting out to the entire group of them.
Always on a deadline, Bria had to admit, she was slacking when it came to organization. But she’d set an alarm this time. Maybe Nancy was wrong. Sighing, she looked up from the article she was typing.
Damn it.
She really was late getting to the laundry room. The neon numbers on the microwave clock didn’t lie. She should have switched machines ten minutes ago, and that was bad. It could mean the difference between heaven and hell for their poor bath towels.
Lurking in the depths of the hallways was the villainous, the heinous, the always nosy Mrs. Garcia. She lived on the second floor but roamed all of them daily in her quest to write the most complaints a single person could have, to the company who owned the building. She complained about everything. Litter on the floors, inappropriate door decorations, and worst offense of all, clothes left in either the washer or dryer.
Mrs. Garcia was like the Madison Arms Apartment Complex’s own laundry room police. The woman was a freaking nuisance. No one liked her. Well, except for Nancy. The tiny blonde was tapping her shoe and glaring at her smart watch as Bria clicked save on her document. She stood up, noticing with a perverse amount of pleasure the way Nancy winced as the chair scraped on the linoleum floor.
“Well?” the blonde asked.
“I’m on it, Nancy,” Bria replied, smile and all.
Dashing across the room, Bria grabbed her cell phone and keys before running out of the apartment towards the elevators. The laundry room was located in the basement of the older building. They were fighting to keep their costs under the same rent control laws that had been established back when the original owners erected the place close to seventy years ago.
Of course, in New York City, nothing was as it seemed. And the new landlords were pushing for increases that neither she nor her roommates could afford. One of them was based on the grounds that they couldn’t possibly keep the place secure without renovations to security systems, new doors, and windows that were somewhere in the high hundreds of thousands of dollars.
“I already took out your towels, Ms. Grotto. Tsk, ten minutes ago. You know you are not the only one who needs to use the washers today,” Mrs. Garcia snapped.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Garcia,” Bria said with a tense smile plastered to her face.
She was raised to be polite to her elders, but the smile dropped as soon as the older woman shook her head and walked away. Of course, Mrs. Garcia didn’t put the towels in the dryer or even in the cart.
Nope.
She’d dumped the entire load right on the grimy floor, meaning Bria would have to wash the bottom two at least one more time. And now, she’d have to wait to do that.
Ugh.
Sighing, she loaded the dryer and left the two soiled towels on top of the machine with a note to Mrs. Garcia that she would rewash them. But, just to make sure she didn’t miss the next cycle, Bria decided to work from the laundry room.
Ugh.
How could anyone be so rude? She lamented the loss of her comfy seat cushion and opened the old metal folding chair that rested against the wall. A few minutes later, Jess, another one of her roommates, came bounding in with Bria’s laptop, its charger, and a mug of hot coffee.
“Oh my God, Jess, I swear I am gonna name my firstborn after you,” Bria sighed and took a sip of the good stuff.
Jess was a new addition to the place, but she was sweet and nice. And she didn’t take any shit, which made her like Bria’s idol. Even better, the woman had just gotten a promotion and was already leaving their little place for one of her own. Quite the feat in this city.
“Your firstborn? Bria, you need to get you a man first,” Jess replied, shaking her head.
Bria shook hers back and gulped. Trying to date the opposite sex was a study of disappointment in her tried and true experience. She’d have better luck finding proof that the supernatural existed, which was the entire basis of her vlog.
Her website, Lost and Found: Proof of the Supernatural in the City, was ranked pretty high especially for such a niche audience. Her fan base was mostly American, and though she was small time, she still managed to eke out a living.
Checking the analytics tab, Bria grinned when she saw she had six hundred and fifty thousand likes on her latest video. That would score her even more paid ads. If this kept up, maybe she could leave her roommate worries behind.
“Gotta go, roomie,” Jess said. “And don’t let Nancy give you shit for taking long with the towels. That heifer waited all day to take her smelly ass garbage out after she made all that fish for her lunches this week too.”
“I won’t. Did I mention how much I am going to miss you?”
“Yep. But I am still going.”
“Fine. Have a good day,” Bria replied.
“Mmm hmm.”
Jess shook her head and walked to the elevator, presumably to head to work. She was with the child protection services, and Bria admired her every day. It took a woman of certain strength, compassion, and grit to do that job.
The video in question had been sent in by an anonymous source and, from what Bria could tell, seemed pretty damn real.
“No way, Jess. My last date was with a guy with a Frankenstein fetish who lived in his mom’s basement. Worst. Date. Ever. Anyway, I ditched him before I ended up spare parts in his freezer,” she replied with an exaggerated shiver.
“You do have lousy taste,” Jess concurred.
“Thanks, temporary roomie,” Bria replied, waving the brat away.
After an hour and a half of washing, waiting, drying, and finally, folding the first load of bath towels, Bria had only the two that she had to rewash left in the dryer. She was clicking on her email when she noticed an anonymous tipster had sent her a video file.
Dang it.
She hated it when they did that, since video clips were sometimes computer viruses in disguise. After running it through her security software, she deemed it safe to open.
“Let’s see,” she murmured and opened the file.
Her heart raced, eyes wide, Bria was shocked and awed by what she saw. A man- seemingly normal, though very tall, and very muscular in a gangly sort of way, was stepping outside of The Stripe Club.
A quick search told her the place was a high end strip bar, what used to be called a gentlemen’s club. It was located somewhere on the lower east side. Some actors, a few rock stars, and the occasional gangster were said to frequent the place.
But none of that was particularly interesting. Still, Bria continued to watch the video as it showed the stranger heading towards the alley. The amateur director was sure to take a shot of the full moon, and Bria frowned. That was weird. Then things got weirder.
The man fell. He was clutching his stomach as if he were in pain. Background traffic was loud, so she couldn’t be sure, but she thought she heard a scream. Then, the impossible happened.
Holy fucking shit.
Excitement raced through her veins, and she unknowingly missed her floor. Forgetting the laundry cart in the elevator, as she stepped out into the hallway. Her eyes were riveted to the footage. She wished it wasn’t so damn grainy, but she could not look away.
Bria squinted, frowning at the bad image. She clicked away at the keyboard, running the video through some software that had enhancement filters.
Then she watched it again.
And again.
And AGAIN.
“Ohmyfuckinggawd,” she squeaked. “He’s a Werewolf!”
A door slammed open, and she looked up.
What the fuck?
How did she end up back in the basement? And who the heck were those guys? A couple of strange men wearing all black had stepped through the door that opened up to the Madison Arms’ back entrance. They were tall, muscular, and a little hairy. Kind of like the dude in the video.
Gulp.
“Who’s a Werewolf?” one of the strange men asked.
“Um, no one?” she squeaked.
“Nah, this lady is too smart to believe in that nonsense. Ain’t ya?” another asked.
“So, what say you hand over the laptop and come with us, eh?” from a third.
“Um, actually, my mother told me to never leave my apartment building with three large strangers,” Bria said, closing her laptop and hugging it tight to her body.
“Really? Seems oddly specific from your average mom,” the tallest of the trio, stepped forward.
Shivers raced up and down Bria’s spine, and the hair on the back of her neck stood up. Those were exactly the warning signs she talked about on her vlog. Those tiny glimpses of a sixth sense that so many people felt when facing something unexplainable.
“Fuck, this is not good,” she whispered, backing up into the wall.
“You have no idea. Now, hand it over,” one of the men growled.
Like actually growled. Like a dog, or gulp, a Wolf.
“Um, listen---”
Just then, Mrs. Garcia, her oh so nosy - thank fuck for that - neighbor, came out of the elevator. The older woman zeroed in on Bria, and of course, jumped to the wrong conclusion, bless her ornery little heart.
“Ms. Grotto, this hallway is not approved for public parties, you know. I’m going to write to the landlord about this---”
“You are so right, Mrs. Garcia, thank you so much. I’ll just be going now,” Bria said, grabbing the older woman’s hand in a viselike grip. “You should come with me. We can go see him now!”
“What is this? What are you doing? Are these boys bothering you? Oh no, not on my watch! See here, you hooligans, you get the hell out of here or I’ll pepper spray you all,” the older woman announced.
“You little---”
But before the man could finish his threat, Mrs. Garcia had grabbed a can of the stuff from one of the large pockets of her well worn cardigan that for some reason smelled like mothballs, cat fur, and peppermints, and she let him have it right smack in his face. The man dropped to his knees, screaming, and clawing at his eyes, while his friends lunged for the two females. Bria sneezed, damn cat allergies, but she managed to pull the old woman back into the elevator before the doors closed.
The men screamed and yelled, punching and kicking at the closed doors, but it was no good. The Madison Arms had an old as fuck elevator system, and nothing was going to get those doors open.
“What is it? I could’ve handled them. Say, are you okay? You look pale. Gotta toughen up if you wanna live in the Big Apple, Bria Grotto.”
Mrs. Garcia shrugged nonchalantly, dropping her mace back into her pocket. The action caused some of the cat fur on her sweater to stir, and Bria sneezed again.
“Thanks, Mrs. Garcia. Um, I think it’s best if we get you back to your apartment. Then I think we should call the police.”
What the hell had just happened?
CHAPTER TWO
Trench entered the 135th Precinct as he had a hundred times or more and headed straight for Rami Llewelyn’s desk. The detective had texted him a half hour ago with a tip on some urgent information.
“Yo,” Rami called, motioning for the Tiger to come to his new office.
“Moving up in the world?” Trench asked, taking note of the boxes and eco-friendly cups full of stale coffee.
“Yeah, yeah. Cornetti?” he offered, holding up a box of fresh pastries.
Trench eyed the delicious little delicacies made by the detective’s new mate, Noemi. The woman was a terrific pastry chef and owned the most fantastic little shop called D’Angelo’s Bakery. Trench was a regular. As a Tiger with a sweet tooth, he knew where to find all the goods.
“Thanks, man. So, you got news?” he asked, seating himself in one of the Shifter sized chairs available to him.
“Yeah. A 911 call came in a few hours ago, a young woman claiming she was attacked by three guys in her building’s basement,” he explained.
“That’s terrible and all, but so what?”
“The so what part is my guys were tracing the lead you sent about that video evidence of the Wolf shifting behind The Stripe Club, and it leads right to this woman’s email account. Her name is, uh,” Rami glanced at the file on his desk. “Grotto. Bria Grotto.”
“So, we think she has something to do with this video?”
“I don’t know, but you know we’re swamped here, and the SCNYC is supposed to be in on this,” Rami said, using the acronym for the Shifter Council of NYC.
“A couple of normals went and interviewed her already, but since the attackers were gone, and she didn’t mention the video, there was nothing they could do about it.”
“What else do we know?”
“We know Ms. Grotto has a pretty popular vlog where she records paranormal sightings and encounters. She actually invites guests on her video blog where she conducts interviews and holds panels about what she calls supernatural stumbles. It’s like where normals happen upon the likes of us. She’s bright and funny,” Rami remarked, grinning like the ridiculously hairy house cat most Lions were.
“Cute too.”
Rami flashed him a screenshot of the female, and Trench’s inner beastie seemed to still. First time that had happened to him like that and he didn’t like it. Not one bit.
The woman was young, maybe thirty, and rounder than most normals. She had a dimple on the right side of her full lips. In the picture, said lips were turned up in a warm smile that reached her sparkling brown eyes. She seemed to be enjoying herself, in spite of, or maybe because of, the ridiculous headband with cat ears she wore on her head, along with some plastic whiskers attached to her nose.
“Cute, right?”
“Oh, yeah?” Trench asked, suddenly annoyed.
“Does Noemi think so?”
“Hey, no call to be nasty. So, you gonna investigate or what?”
Trench mulled it over for a few minutes. Tiger Shifters liked to consider things from all angles before they attacked. It was why they were such good hunters. Thorough and precise, they stalked their prey before taking them down.
Tigers didn’t rely on their females like the Lions did. Nor did they allow their passions to rule them, like the Wolves. They were lethal, steady apex predators who enjoyed working alone. Trench would hunt this Bria Grotto, and he would retrieve the damning footage and ensure his kind were protected. That was his job.
“Alright, give me what you got,” Trench said, taking the file and an apricot cornetto for the road.
“That’s the last apricot!” the Lion growled.
Trench just grinned, popping it into his mouth, and finishing the delicious morsel in one bite. He winked at Rami and strutted out of the precinct with his file in hand.
Bria Grotto lived at the Madison Arms with a slew of roommates. She’d been vlogging for the past year or more, having only moved to NYC nine months ago from her hometown of Paramus, New Jersey. From her picture, he noted she was a curvy little human. Cute too.
What the fuck?
Trench shook his head. He must be delirious. Reading the file, he noted her interests were strongly fixed on proving the supernatural existed. And wasn’t that his kind’s biggest fear?
Foolish woman was in a heap of trouble. The McLeesh Wolf Pack would be out for blood, and Dean might not be able to stop them from getting it. Though the Tiger King was typically levelheaded, there were some things even he could not stop.
Shifters needed their secrets kept. After all, who wanted to live their lives in a lab? And that’s what would happen. Worldwide incarceration and forced medical tests on all of his kind. No fucking way.
Was it the Shifters’ fault humans forgot their origins? That they could no longer connect to the magic that had created them. Call it God, gods, some fucking explosion or what have you, it all amounted to the same thing. Creation came from the beautiful chaos that was magic.
But it wasn’t Trench’s job to educate the masses. It was his job to protect the Pride, and while his Neta was head of the Council, that extended to all supes. If that meant grabbing this little girl before she let the cat out of the bag, he would. Too bad though. She really was cute.
Grrr.
“Looks like you picked the wrong topic for your vlog,” Trench murmured as his eyes went to the grainy image taken from the security feed of her building’s back door.
The three hulking men who’d attacked her were familiar to him. Another second, and he knew why. They were Wolf Shifters. And at least two of them had been at the Council meeting.
Fuck. This was not good. This was going to get messy. He had a feeling about those kinds of things.
Dammit. Trench hated it when shit got complicated. He took out his cell phone and texted his Neta, bringing him up to speed on the turn of events.
The video has been traced to a human female, a video blogger. Some dogs are on her trail.
The phone chimed, and Trench read his Neta’s reply and grunted.
Get there first. Secure the normal and get her to safety. And keep the bodies to a minimum, would you please?
Trench grunted at the last. He was not making any promises. He frowned as he reread the message. Why should his Neta care if the woman was safe? Maybe the man had grown a soft spot for humans. After all, he’d mated one.
Then Dean’s gaze landed on Trench, and he knew what was being asked. Without hesitation, Trench nodded. He would get the details from the Vampire and start immediately. After all, that’s what an Enforcer does.
Grrr.
CHAPTER ONE
“Bria! Did you change the laundry yet?”
“Oops! I’m on it,” she replied, closing her eyes in annoyance.
Shit.
Bria had been living in the three-bedroom apartment in the affordable, but barely secure Madison Arms for about nine months now. And yet, she still wasn’t used to Nancy. The woman was one of her four roommates’, and she was sort of infamous for lurking.
Truly, Nancy was like the villain in a B horror movie with the way she popped up in the weirdest places. And completely out of nowhere, too. Even worse was her rigorous chore schedule she insisted on meting out to the entire group of them.
Always on a deadline, Bria had to admit, she was slacking when it came to organization. But she’d set an alarm this time. Maybe Nancy was wrong. Sighing, she looked up from the article she was typing.
Damn it.
She really was late getting to the laundry room. The neon numbers on the microwave clock didn’t lie. She should have switched machines ten minutes ago, and that was bad. It could mean the difference between heaven and hell for their poor bath towels.
Lurking in the depths of the hallways was the villainous, the heinous, the always nosy Mrs. Garcia. She lived on the second floor but roamed all of them daily in her quest to write the most complaints a single person could have, to the company who owned the building. She complained about everything. Litter on the floors, inappropriate door decorations, and worst offense of all, clothes left in either the washer or dryer.
Mrs. Garcia was like the Madison Arms Apartment Complex’s own laundry room police. The woman was a freaking nuisance. No one liked her. Well, except for Nancy. The tiny blonde was tapping her shoe and glaring at her smart watch as Bria clicked save on her document. She stood up, noticing with a perverse amount of pleasure the way Nancy winced as the chair scraped on the linoleum floor.
“Well?” the blonde asked.
“I’m on it, Nancy,” Bria replied, smile and all.
Dashing across the room, Bria grabbed her cell phone and keys before running out of the apartment towards the elevators. The laundry room was located in the basement of the older building. They were fighting to keep their costs under the same rent control laws that had been established back when the original owners erected the place close to seventy years ago.
Of course, in New York City, nothing was as it seemed. And the new landlords were pushing for increases that neither she nor her roommates could afford. One of them was based on the grounds that they couldn’t possibly keep the place secure without renovations to security systems, new doors, and windows that were somewhere in the high hundreds of thousands of dollars.
“I already took out your towels, Ms. Grotto. Tsk, ten minutes ago. You know you are not the only one who needs to use the washers today,” Mrs. Garcia snapped.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Garcia,” Bria said with a tense smile plastered to her face.
She was raised to be polite to her elders, but the smile dropped as soon as the older woman shook her head and walked away. Of course, Mrs. Garcia didn’t put the towels in the dryer or even in the cart.
Nope.
She’d dumped the entire load right on the grimy floor, meaning Bria would have to wash the bottom two at least one more time. And now, she’d have to wait to do that.
Ugh.
Sighing, she loaded the dryer and left the two soiled towels on top of the machine with a note to Mrs. Garcia that she would rewash them. But, just to make sure she didn’t miss the next cycle, Bria decided to work from the laundry room.
Ugh.
How could anyone be so rude? She lamented the loss of her comfy seat cushion and opened the old metal folding chair that rested against the wall. A few minutes later, Jess, another one of her roommates, came bounding in with Bria’s laptop, its charger, and a mug of hot coffee.
“Oh my God, Jess, I swear I am gonna name my firstborn after you,” Bria sighed and took a sip of the good stuff.
Jess was a new addition to the place, but she was sweet and nice. And she didn’t take any shit, which made her like Bria’s idol. Even better, the woman had just gotten a promotion and was already leaving their little place for one of her own. Quite the feat in this city.
“Your firstborn? Bria, you need to get you a man first,” Jess replied, shaking her head.
Bria shook hers back and gulped. Trying to date the opposite sex was a study of disappointment in her tried and true experience. She’d have better luck finding proof that the supernatural existed, which was the entire basis of her vlog.
Her website, Lost and Found: Proof of the Supernatural in the City, was ranked pretty high especially for such a niche audience. Her fan base was mostly American, and though she was small time, she still managed to eke out a living.
Checking the analytics tab, Bria grinned when she saw she had six hundred and fifty thousand likes on her latest video. That would score her even more paid ads. If this kept up, maybe she could leave her roommate worries behind.
“Gotta go, roomie,” Jess said. “And don’t let Nancy give you shit for taking long with the towels. That heifer waited all day to take her smelly ass garbage out after she made all that fish for her lunches this week too.”
“I won’t. Did I mention how much I am going to miss you?”
“Yep. But I am still going.”
“Fine. Have a good day,” Bria replied.
“Mmm hmm.”
Jess shook her head and walked to the elevator, presumably to head to work. She was with the child protection services, and Bria admired her every day. It took a woman of certain strength, compassion, and grit to do that job.
The video in question had been sent in by an anonymous source and, from what Bria could tell, seemed pretty damn real.
“No way, Jess. My last date was with a guy with a Frankenstein fetish who lived in his mom’s basement. Worst. Date. Ever. Anyway, I ditched him before I ended up spare parts in his freezer,” she replied with an exaggerated shiver.
“You do have lousy taste,” Jess concurred.
“Thanks, temporary roomie,” Bria replied, waving the brat away.
After an hour and a half of washing, waiting, drying, and finally, folding the first load of bath towels, Bria had only the two that she had to rewash left in the dryer. She was clicking on her email when she noticed an anonymous tipster had sent her a video file.
Dang it.
She hated it when they did that, since video clips were sometimes computer viruses in disguise. After running it through her security software, she deemed it safe to open.
“Let’s see,” she murmured and opened the file.
Her heart raced, eyes wide, Bria was shocked and awed by what she saw. A man- seemingly normal, though very tall, and very muscular in a gangly sort of way, was stepping outside of The Stripe Club.
A quick search told her the place was a high end strip bar, what used to be called a gentlemen’s club. It was located somewhere on the lower east side. Some actors, a few rock stars, and the occasional gangster were said to frequent the place.
But none of that was particularly interesting. Still, Bria continued to watch the video as it showed the stranger heading towards the alley. The amateur director was sure to take a shot of the full moon, and Bria frowned. That was weird. Then things got weirder.
The man fell. He was clutching his stomach as if he were in pain. Background traffic was loud, so she couldn’t be sure, but she thought she heard a scream. Then, the impossible happened.
Holy fucking shit.
Excitement raced through her veins, and she unknowingly missed her floor. Forgetting the laundry cart in the elevator, as she stepped out into the hallway. Her eyes were riveted to the footage. She wished it wasn’t so damn grainy, but she could not look away.
Bria squinted, frowning at the bad image. She clicked away at the keyboard, running the video through some software that had enhancement filters.
Then she watched it again.
And again.
And AGAIN.
“Ohmyfuckinggawd,” she squeaked. “He’s a Werewolf!”
A door slammed open, and she looked up.
What the fuck?
How did she end up back in the basement? And who the heck were those guys? A couple of strange men wearing all black had stepped through the door that opened up to the Madison Arms’ back entrance. They were tall, muscular, and a little hairy. Kind of like the dude in the video.
Gulp.
“Who’s a Werewolf?” one of the strange men asked.
“Um, no one?” she squeaked.
“Nah, this lady is too smart to believe in that nonsense. Ain’t ya?” another asked.
“So, what say you hand over the laptop and come with us, eh?” from a third.
“Um, actually, my mother told me to never leave my apartment building with three large strangers,” Bria said, closing her laptop and hugging it tight to her body.
“Really? Seems oddly specific from your average mom,” the tallest of the trio, stepped forward.
Shivers raced up and down Bria’s spine, and the hair on the back of her neck stood up. Those were exactly the warning signs she talked about on her vlog. Those tiny glimpses of a sixth sense that so many people felt when facing something unexplainable.
“Fuck, this is not good,” she whispered, backing up into the wall.
“You have no idea. Now, hand it over,” one of the men growled.
Like actually growled. Like a dog, or gulp, a Wolf.
“Um, listen---”
Just then, Mrs. Garcia, her oh so nosy - thank fuck for that - neighbor, came out of the elevator. The older woman zeroed in on Bria, and of course, jumped to the wrong conclusion, bless her ornery little heart.
“Ms. Grotto, this hallway is not approved for public parties, you know. I’m going to write to the landlord about this---”
“You are so right, Mrs. Garcia, thank you so much. I’ll just be going now,” Bria said, grabbing the older woman’s hand in a viselike grip. “You should come with me. We can go see him now!”
“What is this? What are you doing? Are these boys bothering you? Oh no, not on my watch! See here, you hooligans, you get the hell out of here or I’ll pepper spray you all,” the older woman announced.
“You little---”
But before the man could finish his threat, Mrs. Garcia had grabbed a can of the stuff from one of the large pockets of her well worn cardigan that for some reason smelled like mothballs, cat fur, and peppermints, and she let him have it right smack in his face. The man dropped to his knees, screaming, and clawing at his eyes, while his friends lunged for the two females. Bria sneezed, damn cat allergies, but she managed to pull the old woman back into the elevator before the doors closed.
The men screamed and yelled, punching and kicking at the closed doors, but it was no good. The Madison Arms had an old as fuck elevator system, and nothing was going to get those doors open.
“What is it? I could’ve handled them. Say, are you okay? You look pale. Gotta toughen up if you wanna live in the Big Apple, Bria Grotto.”
Mrs. Garcia shrugged nonchalantly, dropping her mace back into her pocket. The action caused some of the cat fur on her sweater to stir, and Bria sneezed again.
“Thanks, Mrs. Garcia. Um, I think it’s best if we get you back to your apartment. Then I think we should call the police.”
What the hell had just happened?
CHAPTER TWO
Trench entered the 135th Precinct as he had a hundred times or more and headed straight for Rami Llewelyn’s desk. The detective had texted him a half hour ago with a tip on some urgent information.
“Yo,” Rami called, motioning for the Tiger to come to his new office.
“Moving up in the world?” Trench asked, taking note of the boxes and eco-friendly cups full of stale coffee.
“Yeah, yeah. Cornetti?” he offered, holding up a box of fresh pastries.
Trench eyed the delicious little delicacies made by the detective’s new mate, Noemi. The woman was a terrific pastry chef and owned the most fantastic little shop called D’Angelo’s Bakery. Trench was a regular. As a Tiger with a sweet tooth, he knew where to find all the goods.
“Thanks, man. So, you got news?” he asked, seating himself in one of the Shifter sized chairs available to him.
“Yeah. A 911 call came in a few hours ago, a young woman claiming she was attacked by three guys in her building’s basement,” he explained.
“That’s terrible and all, but so what?”
“The so what part is my guys were tracing the lead you sent about that video evidence of the Wolf shifting behind The Stripe Club, and it leads right to this woman’s email account. Her name is, uh,” Rami glanced at the file on his desk. “Grotto. Bria Grotto.”
“So, we think she has something to do with this video?”
“I don’t know, but you know we’re swamped here, and the SCNYC is supposed to be in on this,” Rami said, using the acronym for the Shifter Council of NYC.
“A couple of normals went and interviewed her already, but since the attackers were gone, and she didn’t mention the video, there was nothing they could do about it.”
“What else do we know?”
“We know Ms. Grotto has a pretty popular vlog where she records paranormal sightings and encounters. She actually invites guests on her video blog where she conducts interviews and holds panels about what she calls supernatural stumbles. It’s like where normals happen upon the likes of us. She’s bright and funny,” Rami remarked, grinning like the ridiculously hairy house cat most Lions were.
“Cute too.”
Rami flashed him a screenshot of the female, and Trench’s inner beastie seemed to still. First time that had happened to him like that and he didn’t like it. Not one bit.
The woman was young, maybe thirty, and rounder than most normals. She had a dimple on the right side of her full lips. In the picture, said lips were turned up in a warm smile that reached her sparkling brown eyes. She seemed to be enjoying herself, in spite of, or maybe because of, the ridiculous headband with cat ears she wore on her head, along with some plastic whiskers attached to her nose.
“Cute, right?”
“Oh, yeah?” Trench asked, suddenly annoyed.
“Does Noemi think so?”
“Hey, no call to be nasty. So, you gonna investigate or what?”
Trench mulled it over for a few minutes. Tiger Shifters liked to consider things from all angles before they attacked. It was why they were such good hunters. Thorough and precise, they stalked their prey before taking them down.
Tigers didn’t rely on their females like the Lions did. Nor did they allow their passions to rule them, like the Wolves. They were lethal, steady apex predators who enjoyed working alone. Trench would hunt this Bria Grotto, and he would retrieve the damning footage and ensure his kind were protected. That was his job.
“Alright, give me what you got,” Trench said, taking the file and an apricot cornetto for the road.
“That’s the last apricot!” the Lion growled.
Trench just grinned, popping it into his mouth, and finishing the delicious morsel in one bite. He winked at Rami and strutted out of the precinct with his file in hand.
Bria Grotto lived at the Madison Arms with a slew of roommates. She’d been vlogging for the past year or more, having only moved to NYC nine months ago from her hometown of Paramus, New Jersey. From her picture, he noted she was a curvy little human. Cute too.
What the fuck?
Trench shook his head. He must be delirious. Reading the file, he noted her interests were strongly fixed on proving the supernatural existed. And wasn’t that his kind’s biggest fear?
Foolish woman was in a heap of trouble. The McLeesh Wolf Pack would be out for blood, and Dean might not be able to stop them from getting it. Though the Tiger King was typically levelheaded, there were some things even he could not stop.
Shifters needed their secrets kept. After all, who wanted to live their lives in a lab? And that’s what would happen. Worldwide incarceration and forced medical tests on all of his kind. No fucking way.
Was it the Shifters’ fault humans forgot their origins? That they could no longer connect to the magic that had created them. Call it God, gods, some fucking explosion or what have you, it all amounted to the same thing. Creation came from the beautiful chaos that was magic.
But it wasn’t Trench’s job to educate the masses. It was his job to protect the Pride, and while his Neta was head of the Council, that extended to all supes. If that meant grabbing this little girl before she let the cat out of the bag, he would. Too bad though. She really was cute.
Grrr.
“Looks like you picked the wrong topic for your vlog,” Trench murmured as his eyes went to the grainy image taken from the security feed of her building’s back door.
The three hulking men who’d attacked her were familiar to him. Another second, and he knew why. They were Wolf Shifters. And at least two of them had been at the Council meeting.
Fuck. This was not good. This was going to get messy. He had a feeling about those kinds of things.
Dammit. Trench hated it when shit got complicated. He took out his cell phone and texted his Neta, bringing him up to speed on the turn of events.
The video has been traced to a human female, a video blogger. Some dogs are on her trail.
The phone chimed, and Trench read his Neta’s reply and grunted.
Get there first. Secure the normal and get her to safety. And keep the bodies to a minimum, would you please?
Trench grunted at the last. He was not making any promises. He frowned as he reread the message. Why should his Neta care if the woman was safe? Maybe the man had grown a soft spot for humans. After all, he’d mated one.
