Dead Shifter Walking (25 page)

“Enough, my love,” Blake said, touching my face
gently, reminding me there were rules in this world I unfortunately
had to obey.

I nodded, folding myself into him, pushing up my
barriers, and heading to the car.

“Let me handle this, Olivia. I don’t need any
more dead shifters at your hands,” Logan bellowed deeply to my
back. Right, because clearly I am the only one who dismembered the
already dead shifters.

Tate, Mercer, Blake, and I got into the SUV.
Blake had driven out upon hearing about our very cleverly laid trap
and the fact the asshole had damaged all of our vehicles. Darren
was livid.

“What now?” Mercer asked, checking the rounds in
his gun from the back seat.

Shifting in the seat next to him, I organized my
thoughts. The killer had been identified; Darren, who was now
arguing with his brother, had given me the positive ID of Steven.
Killing him was not only sanctioned but a necessity in order to
keep the peace between humans and supernaturals.

“Are you really going to let Logan handle this
as he is demanding?” Tate asked, leaning between the seats to look
at me.

“No,” I answered, rolling my sore shoulders.
“I’ll petition the council for immediate action, pulling all the
resources we have to find Steven and eliminate him. Leaving this in
Logan’s hands will undoubtedly lead to more deaths at his
incompetence,” I concluded, calling Grams on my phone.

“You do realize his brother is marrying into
your clan,” Tate prodded, feeling good after going a few rounds
with things it was legal and encouraged to tear into little
pieces.

“Yeah, I have no problem with Darren. Logan and
his fiancé are social-climbing idiots,” I responded, reaching back
to see how much blood I was losing from the wound on my back. It
was a steady drip that would eventually seep through my jacket. “Do
you have any bandages in here?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Blake said, instructing Mercer on where
to find them as I stripped out of my jacket and shirt.

Chapter 22

“What do you mean I can’t kill Steven yet?” I
yelled, slamming my open palms against Grams’s desk. Killing was
what I did, what I excelled at; my entire existence was defined by
killing the bad guy.

Slightly cringing, she answered from her plush
chair. “We have to give him twenty-four hours before we start our
own attack.”

“That’s bullshit,” I said, pacing the room. My
wounds were healing nicely after a few rounds of mind-blowing sex
with Blake.

“Those are the rules,” she answered, turning
back to her computer.

Groaning, I slammed myself into her bright blue
modern couch. “I should change that rule,” I muttered.

“Relax, Olivia; you only have twenty more hours
to wait, and you are needed at Kitten if you’re up to it,” she said
carefully, not making eye contact with me.

I huffed, storming out to play video games with
Tommy until my Kitten call.

…

I was on for every song at Kitten, as we neared
the ending scene, the beat slowed, no longer inducing quick hip
thrusts from me as the stage emptied to me and one lone incubus.
His power washed over me, calling to my own, and I surrendered,
stroking the naked flesh of my stomach. I trailed a hand playfully
up to linger at the side of my breast, adorned with a dark glittery
bra, before continuing my self-exploration up to my pronounced
collar bone and soft neck.

Noise from the dinner crowd died off as the
dance continued, my power of seduction washing over everyone.
Servers stopped to gawk, plates of food forgotten in their arms. My
gentle swaying changed as Luke, the European incubus lightly laid
his hands on my flesh above my low-slung skirt, making an enjoyable
show of pushing his gloriously bare and oiled chest against my
back, our hips snug together.

Lifting both hands above my head our emotions
swirled, mingled, testing, and enjoyed the heightened feelings we
were building.

His calloused hands stroked slowly up my sides
as our hips kept perfect rhythm together. Trailing the same pattern
that I had explored with my own hand, Luke kneaded my sides, his
fingers leaving depression marks as he traveled my slick body. His
mouth blissfully close to the sensitive spot below my ear, arching
my back into him, I stretched, pressing my breasts into his waiting
hands.

We felt, more than heard, the collective gasp
from the crowd.

His hands rested there for a brief moment before
he spun me to face him.

Settling my hands on his muscular shoulders, he
reached for my thigh, pulling it tight against his hip. Smiling, I
leaned into him as the sound ended, darkness sweeping our bodies
and desires.

“Careful,” he whispered in accented English.

“You afraid?” I whispered back, sliding my body
towards his, his fingers pressing into my back.

“You are a taken woman,” he reminded me.

That was the shock of cold water I needed. I
pulled him off the stage and into the dressing rooms. He was
careful not to meet my eyes, as my barriers slammed back into
place.

I could still feel Luke’s desire and his
self-control, restraining him from pulling me into the closest room
with a locking door and finishing what we started on stage.

His words remained, “taken woman” and I wasn’t
entirely sure how I felt about them.

Did I enjoy the respect of the exclusivity
arrangement with Blake? Or was I annoyed at others deciding who or
what I was allowed or expected to do based upon a label I had
agreed to? Thinking about it made my head hurt.

Slipping out of the rigid glittering costume
into soft jeans and a black shirt, I gathered my belongings,
heading out the back where Jerry was waiting for me.

Phone pressed to his ear, his usually carefree
expression was replaced by anger and concern. Not bothering to
acknowledge my arrival into the Beast more than to shift the car
into drive, he headed out of the alley.

I waited, sensing the change in him, watching
closely as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

He was driving too quickly, throwing me against
the car door.

“Jerry?” I said, asking the question what was
wrong with a single word.

“Mark’s been hurt,” he answered, running a red
light. “They took him to a hospital.”

“Why the hospital? That’s a terrible place for
an injured shifter,” I asked, grabbing onto the oh shit handle as
we made a left that rocked the SUV.

I watched his jaw clench before he answered
softly, “They didn’t think he would make it to Gunner’s.”

Any response I had died on my lips.

I dislike hospitals for a variety of reasons,
namely, for my childhood experiences of being strapped down to a
pristine white bed while having surgeries done to me. Shaking from
the inward tension, I slammed an extra set of barriers on my
emotions, holding my body rigid as I followed Jerry through the
mass of hallways.

“I’m sorry, sir but you cannot go in there. He
is too unstable,” said the nurse, placing a restraining hand on
Jerry’s chest, shaking her head sadly. “We can’t afford any human
casualties.”

Jerry pushed her hand off storming into the
room; I followed, smiling. “No worries; we aren’t human,” I
explained to her bewildered expression.

Yelling drew our attention first; I heard
Logan’s voice followed by Kass’s shout of “Leave him alone!”

The grunting and the popping of a taser being
fired was not a good sign, and Jerry took off at a sprint crashing
into the room, shielded from the outside hospital by only a thin
blue privacy screen. Following behind him, I pulled the screen
back, taking in the scene before me.

Mark lay badly broken, half on the floor and
half on the bed as Jerry throttled the security officer who had
sent painful electricity into his dying lover. Stepping over the
fight, the other guard attempted to pull Jerry off. I rested my
hands on Mark’s raw back, not flinching when his bloodshot eyes
focused on me.

Pulling a deep breath, I closed my eyes,
focusing on pulling the pain from Mark’s body; the sheer weight of
it had me staggering as he made a mournful cry.

The noise had Jerry jumping to his feet ready to
take me on as well. Thankfully, Kass pushed her way between us,
hands outstretched with a pleading look on her face.

“Get the doctor,” she ordered Logan.

I had assumed he would argue, but only the sound
of his rushed footsteps reached my ears. Tilting my head back, I
sucked more into my already aching body. Thankfully, Mark’s beast
stayed silent. Drawing on his energy would have made me useless and
just as violent as Mark.

“Help me get his feet up,” Kass gently
instructed Jerry.

I felt Mark’s body moving under me, and I
shifted with him so I could lean against the hospital bed, shifting
my hands to his battered chest.

Running footsteps announced Logan’s return with
the doctor.

“I’m sorry; I can’t help your friend. Aside from
the fact he is a danger to everyone here, I know nothing about
shifter medicine,” the doctor stated as Logan growled.

“He isn’t a danger anymore,” I grunted,
squinting my eyes open. “As long as I am touching him, he won’t
hurt you.”

“As for the medicine,” I continued, my knees
going weak, “he is the same as humans, just with a higher pain
tolerance.”

The doctor scoffed. A painful moment of silent
stretching out into the already tense room.

“Alright,” he agreed reluctantly, “we need to
move him into surgery.”

I lost track of time, of yelling, and the
beeping of machines in my fight to stay conscious and keep Mark
calm. At some point, Jerry had to pry my fingers off of him,
whispering he was going to be okay. That was the last thing I
remembered.

The next thing I knew, I was waking up stiff and
sore. I peeked at my surroundings, annoyed and starving. “She’s
waking up,” Kass said, blowing out a breath of air as she sat with
me on her old couch known to some as a designer antique.

“Why are we at Logan’s?” I asked shifting my
hips, attempting to sit up. It was clearly too soon, as I toppled
back into the couch.

“Easy,” Kass said, laying me back down. “We
needed a safe place to reconvene.”

“What happened to the manor?” I asked,
attempting to sit up again.

“You won’t want them there after what happened
with Steven,” Logan said from behind me. Groggily, I turned to face
him, my head feeling too heavy for my neck to support.

“What the fuck did you screw up now?” I yelled
before passing out again on the sofa.

When I woke up, my eyes focused on Mark, sitting
on the couch across from me, his bloodied face healed with only
scratches and a broken nose to show, while his leg was in a cast.
“You look like shit,” he said, grinning at me.

Rolling to my back, I pressed the heel of my
hands into my temples; it didn’t help in stopping the pounding
there.

“Come here; I want to give some of your pain
back,” I croaked, crooking an index finger at him.

Jerry came into my line of sight, sitting on the
arm of the couch Mark was on, beaming. “Now, Olivia, that ain’t no
way to accept a compliment.”

Lifting my head a few inches off the pillow, I
gave him my best shock and annoyed look.

He continued unbothered, “I am sure Mark was
just about to confess his never-dying gratitude for saving his
life.” Rounding on his partner, he gave him a warning look,
crossing his arms over a very neon pink polo.

Mark shifted uncomfortably, casting a furtive
look my way. “Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “thank
you, Olie,” the sincerity reaching his eyes.

“Enough talking; I’m starved,” I said, not
wanting to have a heart-to-heart about saving Mark.

Logan picked that moment to walk in tensely with
Lorrain, who said, “Finally, you people can get off my designer
couches.”

“Someone please hit her,” I said, throwing an
arm over my face.

Mark chuckled as she continued, “I see no reason
why they couldn’t have stayed at the hospital.” She stormed
out.

Mark snickered and I looked back to Logan, who
watched his fiancé walk away with a slight twitch in his jaw. “Just
the picture of shifter hospitality,” I goaded. My injured condition
earned me a few one-liners.

Logan looked back at me and growled low, and I
couldn’t help but join Mark in laughing. Shifters are pack animals;
they enjoy and thrive on having others around. Thus, as the
soon-to-be pack mate of the leader of the North American shifters,
Lorraine would be hosting her fair share of injured shifters, and
hating every minute of it apparently.

Was it wrong I enjoyed that fact?

Blake picked that moment to walk in a side door,
sauntering up with the most amazing smelling food ever.

“Who's your daddy, baby?” he asked, holding the
bags up.

I gave him a pained smile before croaking, “You
are.”

Annoyance flashed across his face. “You again
underestimated how drained she is from keeping Mark’s pain under
control,” he said, glaring at Logan.

“I’m not her babysitter,” Logan informed Blake,
and I scowled at him before returning my attention to Blake.

I smiled at Blake, sitting up slowly, patting
the couch next to me. With an annoyed growl, he set the bags on the
coffee table. “We need to talk,” he growled at Logan, motioning
with his head to Logan's office.

Rolling my eyes, I was happy when Jerry started
unpacking everything, and I slid to the floor and leaned my back
against the couch.

“Can you hear them?” I asked Mark.

Tilting his head, he focused on where they had
walked out, and shook his head after a moment. “The office is
soundproof,” he said with a shrug before looking back at the
mouthwatering food. “I hope he brought enough for both of us,” he
said.