The Shifters (7 page)

C
aitlin was uncomfortable—squirming, actually—in the passenger seat of Jagger's unmarked Cavalier as he drove the few short miles back to the Quarter and the small compound she shared with her sisters.

His too-perfect vampire profile was chiseled, stony, beside her, and his disapproval rolled off him in waves. Still, he managed not to say anything until they were through the security gates and parked inside the compound, and he was finally walking her across the courtyard to her front door.
Vampires and their eternal manners.

He stopped outside her door, under the shadows of magnolias. “Caitlin, we don't know each other
well yet. But I knew
that
one about a century ago.” He didn't use a name, and he didn't have to. Caitlin's face was already burning in the shadowed dark.

“And I don't want to see you hurt. You shouldn't trust him,” he finished, earnestly.

“I don't need you to tell me that,” she flared. And then she couldn't help herself; she went on to say something unforgivable. “You don't have to worry about me. Keepers and Others shouldn't mix, period. It's a conflict of interest.”

She pulled open her door and flounced inside, but not before she'd seen the startled look of pain on his face.

She regretted it even before she'd closed the door, and she had the impulse to pull it back open, to call out, “I'm sorry,” after him. And in fact, before she'd even made it to the staircase she was turning around, crossing to the door….

But when she stepped outside, she could see him across the courtyard, in the light of the moon and the sprinkled lights from Fiona's balcony. He and her sister were already locked in an embrace, as if they hadn't seen each other for years, and they were completely oblivious to her.

Caitlin stepped back inside her doorway and closed the door, roiling with emotion: resentment, regret.

Then she hardened herself, locked the door behind her and stalked up the stairs to her bedroom.

 

After she'd shed her clothes, she stood under the steamy spray of the shower and lathered herself with lavender to get the morbid, formaldehyde smell of the morgue off her…but found her thoughts obsessively straying to Ryder and the feel of his hands on her, the unbearable pleasure of his mouth on her breasts. Her mouth and nipples felt swollen under the hot pulse of the water, and she ached between her legs, as wet inside as she was out.

She leaned back against the tile wall, imagining him stepping into the shower with her, his body hard and naked against hers in the steamy heat…and then forced herself to open her eyes, to straighten.
All right, that's enough of that.

She shut the water off and grabbed a fluffy tow el.

Minutes later, wrapped in a silk robe, she stood at the French doors of her bedroom and combed out her hair, a little more savagely than necessary, while she tried to breathe and focus.

She looked down over the quiet compound, the three-part house she and her sisters shared, and let her mind go to what could happen if a whole horde of discarnate entities intent on possessing human bodies suddenly descended on New Orleans during the revel that Halloween would be. If drugs and alcohol and
sex made walking-in easier, then the walk-ins would have the easiest pickings in the world.

Ryder was right. They didn't have much time.

She turned to her dresser and looked at a silver-framed photo of her parents, arms wrapped around each other, looking at each other in the way they al ways looked: lovers, partners, soul mates.

“What do I do?” she whispered, not realizing she spoke aloud.

The photo was silent, but their palpable radiance brought tears to her eyes.

She brushed at her face angrily.

Danny,
she thought again.
These walk-ins aren't anything we can find by looking for them in the real world. They're in the astral.

I have to talk to Danny.

She glanced at the clock and was startled to see it was three-fifteen in the morning. Bons Temps would be closed, and God only knew where Danny and Case would have gotten themselves to—or what they'd got ten
into
.

Tomorrow, then
, she thought, and then stopped, staring out through the doors, down into the courtyard.

A shadow moved under a tree.

There was someone outside.

Without thinking, Caitlin backed slowly away
from the French door, then turned and bolted for the door into the hall.

She ran down the stairs toward the front door, her bare feet silent.

At the door, she paused to draw a breath, and then she threw the door open and strode out into the courtyard.

“Who's there?” she demanded, staring out toward the tree where she'd seen someone move. She saw nothing but shapeless shadows at first, and then she caught the glow of a cigarette.

Part of the dark disengaged itself from the rest and stepped slowly forward; she caught a glimpse of a gaunt face and a familiar twisted grin. Case.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded, breathless.

“What, you aren't going to invite me in?” the musician/shifter mocked her, as he took a last drag of the cigarette and flicked it away onto the paving stones.

Caitlin was on the verge of telling him to go straight to hell when she realized that this was exactly the chance she needed.

“Of course, what was I thinking?” she tossed off. “I've been lying awake just hoping you would show up.”

She was gratified to see a startled flicker cross
his face; she'd surprised him, though he covered with a lazy drawl. “Good to know things haven't changed.”

She stepped back toward her patio and held the door open. He walked by her, slowing to look over her body as he passed. She realized she was in nothing but a short silk robe, bare legs, bare feet, bare…everything.

Oh, well…it can't hurt.

Before she closed the door behind him, she glanced quickly toward Fiona's wing of the house, afraid that they'd woken Jagger.
I don't need him butting in.

But her sister's windows were dark.
They're probably otherwise engaged,
Caitlin thought with ire, and she shut the door behind her, a little harder than necessary.

Inside, Case had already made his way to the liquor cabinet; she found him pouring himself a straight whiskey. “What can I get you,
cher?
”

“I'm fine,” she said, folding her arms as his eyes lingered on the open V of her robe.

“Fine as wine,” he agreed lazily. “But tense.” He drank deeply, smiling at her.

She felt a wave of fatigue, and something more disconcerting, too—attraction.
Get a grip. After all he put you through? How hard up are you?
Aloud she said, “It's three-thirty. What do you want, Case?”

“It's more about what you want,” he said suggest
ively, as if he'd read her thoughts. And she knew too well that might have been exactly what he'd done. “I've decided not to deprive you.”

This was all taking a turn down a road she didn't want to go down.

“Of what?” she asked, stalling. “Is this some kind of riddle?”

He circled back to the liquor cabinet for another drink. “You still want to see Danny, don't you?” he asked her casually as he poured again.

She felt a prickle of anticipation. “Yes. I do.”

Case shrugged. “I don't see any reason that can't happen.” Instant paranoia.
And what's the catch?
“I appreciate that,” she said slowly. To her surprise he laughed. “Aw, now,
cher,
don't be like that. No strings—unless you want them, that is.”

“Why the sudden change of heart?” she couldn't help asking.

He shrugged. “It's important to you.” He circled closer. “But it would help if you told me what's so urgent.”

She hesitated, but what was the harm? “Those tourists are dropping dead because they're being possessed by…entities. They're called walk-ins. They're taking over human bodies and going on rampages,
and when they leave, they burn out the bodies in a way that looks like a meth overdose.”

“Walk-ins,” Case repeated, quirking an eyebrow. “Never heard of them.”

“I hadn't, either,” she admitted.

“What do you think Danny can do?” He frowned.

Now that she'd decided to tell him, she found it was a relief to be able to talk to someone familiar. “These things are completely formless. When they're not in side a body, they spend all their time in the astral. And we need to find them before—before Halloween would be good, because that's when they'll have the chance of doing the most damage.”

Case looked skeptical but intrigued. “That is a wild story,
cher
. How do you know all this, anyway?”

Caitlin took a long pause, but then felt reckless. “There's a shapeshifter in town who says he's been hired to track them.”

“How do you know he's not blowing smoke up your ass?”

Caitlin flinched at the language, but this was Case; she should expect it by now.

“Don't tell me you trust him,” he pressed her, his ice-blue eyes probing her face.

“Hardly,” Caitlin scoffed. “He's a shifter, through and through. But I think he's right about these things. I saw…” She shuddered, remembering. “I saw a
man die tonight. There was something inside him, struggling to get out, and then…there wasn't. And whatever it was, when it left, it left the body fried. It was awful.”

She realized she hadn't had time to process the fact that a man had died right in front of her, a grotesque, horrific, painful end to an innocent human being who had wanted nothing more than a good time in her city. She found she was shaking, tears stinging her eyes. She turned away, fumbling for the arm of the sofa to sit down.

And then Case was striding toward her, pulling her into his arms, holding her. “I'm sorry,” he whispered into her hair. “I'm sorry you had to see that.”

Her instinct was to pull away, but to her vast surprise, he didn't try to kiss her, didn't make any moves, just stood holding her, his arms strong and sure around her, and suddenly she felt warm and comforted and not so alone.

Case was stroking her hair, and she found feelings stirring she wasn't aware she still had. Attraction, for the first time in years. Confusing, conflicting…

As if feeling the change in her, Case tipped her head up to his and moved to kiss her, but she turned quickly, and he only caught her on the cheek.

“No,” she murmured, without pulling away.

“We're alike, Caitlin. We understand each other.” He kissed her mouth this time, and in spite of a
warning voice in her head, she felt herself starting to respond, her body moving against his.

He was so familiar. They'd known each other for years, after all.

He'd been her teacher, her companion, her lover….

She raised her hands weakly to push him away, and he took her wrists in a strong grip and pinned them behind her back as he moved against her, opening her mouth under his.

His shoulders were so broad…and his thighs were thick, roped with muscle….

Not Case
…she realized. The body against hers was not Case.

She opened her eyes and looked into his and saw not blue, but green.

And at that moment she wrested her wrists away and shoved him savagely. “No.”

The air around him shimmered, shifted…and the illusion was gone. Ryder stood in front of her, his shirt half open, revealing a man's body, not a boy's.

“Liar. Cheat.” She practically snarled at him, fumbling to close her robe, still panting, her heart racing with desire—and fury.

For the first time he looked flustered himself. “I'm sorry. I didn't intend… I was… I got caught up.”

 

Ryder was mortified. He'd intended only to get information from her, taking the form of the young
shifter she obviously, foolishly, trusted enough that she was willing to spill any amount of information. But then she'd started to cry, and once he had her in his arms…

She was plainly furious, flushed with anger—and desire, he noted, her skin rosy with unmistakable arousal, and that made him harden again with the desire to finish what they'd started.

He moved toward her again, and she backed away from him.

“I want you out.”

“There's one false word in that sentence,” he said, and caught her around the waist to kiss her roughly again, backing her against the wall and grinding himself slowly against her as he crushed her mouth under his…hearing her gasp and feeling her trembling under him, the fire racing through her body, meeting the fire in his.

Then he released her abruptly. He stared down at her where she stood flushed and shaking against the wall…felt his own heart racing….

“I think you knew that was me,” he told her. “And I think you know what you want.”

Then he turned and walked out of her house.

 

Caitlin slammed the door hard behind him. She was in a fever pitch of anger—and just plain fever. She refused to think of what he'd said to her or
whether it was true. He'd used his Other skills to deceive and seduce. He was entirely in the wrong.

And yet her face burned, remembering his quiet accusation that she had known it was him making love to her…and she felt his body against hers again, his mouth crushing hers….

Stop it,
she ordered herself.
He's a shifter. He tricked you. This is war.

F
our sleepless hours later, Caitlin dragged herself out of the shambles of the bed she'd done nothing but toss and turn in all through the last small hours of the morning. She cursed Ryder and his entire family.

Shuffling into the bathroom, she caught a glimpse of herself in the gilt-framed mirror and groaned. She looked more hungover than the most out-of-control tourist at Mardi Gras, and she hadn't even had the pleasure of indulgence.

Oh, yes, you did,
a traitorous voice whispered in the back of her head.
There was pleasure all right. Your problem is you didn't get indulged enough.

She silenced the voice with a murderous hiss and stumbled into the shower.

 

Dressed, aspirined and hidden behind oversized sunglasses, Caitlin emerged from her front doorway into a sadistically glaring sun. She was hoping to slip out of the compound for coffee, but as she hurried across the paving stones of the garden, she heard Fiona's melodic voice calling down to her from the balcony.

“Caitlin!”

Caitlin groaned inwardly and turned. Fiona stood out on her balcony, blonde hair a halo of light, waving, beckoning her, then pointing down toward the first floor. Shauna was lounging against the door frame, drinking from a mega-mug of coffee.

The last thing Caitlin wanted or needed this morning was Fiona's gentle intuitiveness and Shauna's sharp eyes. But when sisters called…

She sighed and headed for Fiona's wing of the house.

Caitlin walked through Fiona's living room, following feminine voices and the smell of what was probably a cheese and sausage omelet from the kitchen, moving past antiques and eclectic art, including several large paintings of Rodrigue's Blue Dog. On one wall was a huge red brick fireplace with a pink marble mantel, and Caitlin slowed, as always,
to look at the photos of their parents, and herself and her sisters as children, that lined the mantel.

It's not fair,
she thought, finding herself teary.
We had so little time with them. They were only trying to do something good.

She angrily brushed tears from behind her sunglasses and forced the thoughts away. She was so emotional today; she had to get a grip.

As she reached the kitchen, she saw Fiona at the stove, standing over, yes, an omelet pan. Shauna sat sprawled at the kitchen table in front of an artfully arranged plate of pastries and strawberries.

“Very Gaga,” Shauna said, through a mouthful of beignet, waving the remainder of the pastry vaguely toward Caitlin's sunglasses. “You turning vamp on us or something? Oops, sorry, Jag, no offense,” she apologized breezily.

“None taken,” said the vampire, from where he leaned, long-legged, against the sink.

Great, Jagger, too. That's all I need.
Caitlin reluctantly removed the sunglasses, revealing her ravaged face.

“Ooh, girl. Tie one on last night, did we?” Shauna gloated.

Fiona said nothing, but Caitlin could feel her older sister's eyes on her, probing.

“No, I didn't,” she snapped. “I saw a man die last night, so I didn't sleep much.”

“Oh, kiddo,” Fiona said, and moved to her quickly, folding her into a hug. “I'm so sorry.”

Caitlin's instinct was to pull back, but in fact her sister's embrace was so warm that Caitlin couldn't help but feel comforted, and it was Fiona who finally released her.

“Jagger's been telling us about it.” Fiona glanced toward her man. “It sounds horrifying.”

“Who the hell ever heard of a walk-in?” Shauna demanded, unfolding her long legs and crossing to the stove to dig into Fiona's omelet, as usual not bothering with a plate.

“Well, we need to find out as much as possible. I think Jagger's right. We need to meet with this Ryder Mallory,” Fiona said.

Jagger straightened from the sink. “I'll be on my way,” he said casually. “You three will want to talk it over.”

He wasn't a Keeper, and he didn't belong at any powwow of theirs, but Caitlin had to admit that it was tactful of him to leave them alone.
Those damn sensitive vampires.

Caitlin watched from the kitchen doorway as Fiona walked him to the front door, and of course he pulled her into a kiss, and of course, it was tender and lingering and everything a kiss should be….

Caitlin turned her head away and stalked over
to the kitchen counter, where she poured herself an oversize cup of coffee.

“The eggs are great,” Shauna enthused, forking more into her mouth. “You should have some. You're wasting away.”

Caitlin, who couldn't process a thought before coffee, much less face food, ignored her.

“So this Ryder Mallory person,” Shauna continued, not missing a beat. “Is he hot or what? 'Cause a super natural bounty hunter—that sure sounds hot.”

“He's not a person,” Caitlin snapped, and gulped coffee.
Oh, lifesaving.
She drank more, feeling the caffeine rush into all the deprived parts of her body. When she finally raised her head from the cup, she realized her sister was studying her speculatively.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute…is that why you look like death warmed over this mornin'? You
slept
with him?”

“Of course I didn't,” Caitlin answered back, in a fury. “Would you have sex with a werewolf?” she snapped out at Shauna, before she realized that Fiona had stepped back into the doorway. Caitlin felt terrible, seeing her sister flinch, knowing she'd delivered the blow.

Well, it's how I feel,
she thought.
I can't help how I feel.

Fiona gathered herself and spoke quietly. “We need to meet with this bounty hunter. As soon as
possible, I think. Jagger has had some experience with him. He's—well, Jagger says he's a shifter, with all the attendant…shifting, but he's been on the job for a long time, and the suspicious deaths are real, so we need to take what he says seriously.”

“Bring it on,” said Shauna, and reached for another pastry.

What that girl can eat,
Caitlin thought resentfully.
She burns it off just breathing.

She was about to tell Fiona she would rather swallow ground glass than talk to Ryder or see him ever again, and then she stopped, realizing.

If the others have a meeting, that gets Ryder and Jagger out of the way. Which means I can go talk to Case—and possibly Danny—alone.

A chill of excitement ran up her spine.
This is my chance.

Fiona was looking at her, frowning—that infuriating intuition. As best she could, Caitlin suppressed her thoughts, envisioning a solid brick wall right be hind her eyes, and a moment later Fiona looked away.

Caitlin breathed out invisibly. Aloud she said, “You're right. We need a meeting. What time is good?”

They decided on eight, Caitlin maneuvering for a time after dark, to ensure Case and Danny would actually be conscious and moving.

Fiona added, “Jagger will call if there are any incidents in the city. We should all keep all our senses open.”

Caitlin was nodding and already easing for the door, when Fiona said, “And Cait…”

Caitlin stopped in her tracks.
Here it comes
, she thought wearily.

But typical Fiona—despite Caitlin's jab at Jagger, she was nothing but gracious and loving—she said “We both owe you an apology.”

Shauna looked up, with a “Who, me?” look. Caitlin was also confused—she was the one who should be apologizing.

Fiona continued. “You were right from the be ginning—you caught the danger before anyone did, and you did what you needed to do to figure it out.”

“Oh…” Caitlin mumbled uncomfortably. “Well, that's our job, isn't it?” And then she was backing to ward the door. “Look at the time. I need to get to the shop.”

Fiona took a step toward her. “Are you sure you're all right?” she asked, searching Caitlin's face.

“Of course,” Caitlin answered breezily. “Except for an imminent walk-in attack on the city, I'm just fine.”

“We'll take care of the shop today. You need some sleep,” Fiona said firmly.

Caitlin was about to protest, but a second's re
flection made her realize she was dead on her feet, and she was going to need all her resources to deal with Case and Danny and whatever might unfold that night.

“That would be great,” she said honestly. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely positive,” Fiona said. “You sleep.”

 

Back in her bedroom, Caitlin pulled all the shades and curtains, and stripped to her panties and bra. At that point she could barely move her limbs, but even through the fog, as she settled back on fluffy down pillows, she was congratulating herself on her plan. Setting up a meeting was a positively brilliant way to ditch Ryder and Jagger so that she could talk to Case and Danny alone.

Thinking of Ryder was a mistake, though, especially thinking of him while she was in bed. Her body immediately started doing the same infuriating dance, betraying her with memories of his kiss bruising her mouth, his hands on her, stroking her between her legs, sucking her breasts…the thick, hard length of him pressing insistently against her…opening her…poised to plunge….

She moaned in exasperation and pushed back the blankets, then threw her bare legs out of bed and stood. She stalked to a cabinet and shoved through various glass bottles of tinctures and potions until she found what she needed: a sleeping draught. She
tossed back the whole thing, dropped the bottle in the sink and went back to bed.

 

Ryder woke to a straining erection, with the smell of Caitlin MacDonald's perfume a teasing memory on his skin. He felt…well, besides hard, it was difficult to say what he felt. Annoyance that he'd walked out on her, when so plainly, if he'd stayed, she would have succumbed, and he could be rolling over on top of her right now to take care of his present condition. He also felt some residual guilt for having deceived her. It was a point of honor that he never seduced a woman in anything other than his true form; using his natural talents later in bed was a different story….

And there was something else, something less tangible…not just a desire to be satisfied, but a longing…a longing that seemed to be specifically for her.

His erection stirred with the thought of her, and for a moment he luxuriated in the fantasy of plunging deep inside her, feeling her nails digging into his back, hearing her helpless sighs in his ear as he brought her to the brink….

So why was he the one who felt helpless?

He lay against the pillows of his hotel bed, frowning…and then threw back the sheet and stalked to the bathroom. There was, after all, work to be done, and he didn't need the distraction of Caitlin MacDonald. Or anyone else, for that matter.

 

There was a message on his voice mail from the vampire detective, informing him that the Keepers had requested a meeting with him at eight that evening. That worked perfectly for Ryder, as he wanted to do some investigating on his own. So, dressed and showered, he headed down to Canal Street to rent a car for the day, a much more practical option than renting a car that would only gather dust in the $30 a day lot of his hotel, while he spent day after day doing what every other resident of the Quarter did to get around: walk.

Ever since he'd arrived back in town, Ryder had been thrilled to see that though rebuilding was ongoing, the French Quarter and the Garden District were as colorful, lively, eccentric and thriving as ever. But he was well aware that there were areas of the city that would never be the same.

When Hurricane Katrina and the breaking of the levees had flooded and devastated the city, Ryder had been engaged in an exorcism in West Africa, but despite that distraction, he'd felt the pain of New Orleans in his own soul, a pain that surprised him, since he didn't think of himself as attached to any one place above another.

But the images of this beautiful, unique city underwater had tormented and enraged him.

He had not yet been to the outer reaches of the
city, the condemned areas, but on this day he felt compelled. He knew that in the Ninth Ward and other storm-ravaged districts there were miles and miles of abandoned houses, damaged beyond repair, block after block of silent, deserted streets, and in his experience, those kinds of neighborhoods were magnets for the most ravenous and degraded drug users, just the kind of human prey the walk-ins would be seeking. He wanted a good long look around.

It was an eerie experience, driving his rental car into the post-apocalyptic landscape that was the lower Ninth Ward. New Orleans was so flat that he could see for miles down certain streets, but all he saw were derelict houses and scorched, weed-choked lawns. Every other block or so there was a FEMA trailer or two with signs of life, but there was an overall sense of devastation. The still-present code on the houses, the X's with dates and numbers of survivors and numbers of dead, were cryptic as the voodoo symbols called
vévés,
and somehow called to mind the emptiness that must have spread through city streets during the Black Plague. On most of the houses there was a distinct water line imprinted on the walls, higher than a man's head. If he had been on this street in the midst of the storm and subsequent flooding, he would have been driving completely underwater.

Ryder abruptly pulled over to the curb, shut off the engine and got out, shutting the door on silence.

This is High Noon,
he thought, staring down the empty block.
Where's the bad guy?

He looked both ways, debating, then started to walk, feeling the hot sun on his skin. A slight wind stirred the tall dead grass in the yards, rippling an unseen left-behind wind chime. The stillness was unnerving. Ryder's own boot steps sounded hollow on the worn asphalt.

He didn't know what he was looking for, didn't know exactly why he had stopped, only that he had to be outside, to sense whatever was around him.