A Twisted Rejection Page 8

  Tas is out of the question. The Tasmanian devil shifter is huge, covered in tats even on his face, and has resting bastard face down to a fine art.

  Flynn is a fuck-no. The bunyip shifter is straight out of a freaking myth. They’re big, beasts from the swamp, devour people for snacks, and moody as all hell.

  Steve is sweet, perfect husband material, even if he is a crocodile shifter so my bunny ass is technically on his menu.

  Puss has potential. The guy is calm, gentle, and sexy as all hell. Plus, platypus shifters are said to have certain bedroom skills to do with their venom. I really want to try that out, one of the top three on my bucket list.

  Lochy has potential. The shark shifter is sexy, but he has demons in his past that I feel when I’m around him.

  Charm is what I need, and tact, and courage. Splitting them apart isn’t going to be easy — but once I have one exactly where I want them, the others will either fall or flee.

  I’m pretty sure as soon as they realize my dad is psycho and has me listed on the unofficial ‘No Mates’ register on threat of death, the others will flee. And take me with them.

  My dad has a designer harem planned for me, a hand-chosen mob of four of the finest rabbit shifters, to be mated when and where and how he chooses. And he thinks the expensive house and world of luxury he pays for is payment for my cooperation.

  I’m breeding material, but I shouldn’t expect anything less from the world of rabbits. That’s all my mum was too. And when it was clear I would be the only offspring she mysteriously disappeared. I was eight — but I wasn’t stupid. And she wasn’t the only one.

  One, maybe two, mates tops. That’s all I want. A man that makes me feel beautiful — or at this point just a man, any man, that doesn’t scare the shit out of me. One smart enough to live on the run. To hide. To keep me safe.

  Steve – or Puss.

  Just as I make up my mind and turn to leave the bathroom, my phone rings. The thing makes me jump, then I laugh at myself for being so on edge.

  “Hello,” I answer.

  “Sharon, ah, it’s me.”

  Fuck, I just made the fatal mistake of not checking who it is first, and instantly recognize the voice. Because the universe hates me.

  “Benny, no,” I snap, moving the phone away from my ear — ready to hang up on him.

  “Wait, wait. Sharon, I just wanted to hear your voice,” he says.

  Which gets my heart racing with pure aggression.

  “Fuck you, Benny. No, you don’t get to call up just to hear my voice. You left me, remember?”

  “I didn’t leave you, your dad-"

  “Fuck my dad. If you’re not man enough, then I’ll find someone who is.”

  “It’s not that, you know it’s not. I can’t give you the things he can. The life you have.”

  “I’ve told you before, I don’t want any of it.”

  “Sharon, I have seventeen brothers. You think you can deal with seventeen kids on a single parent wage?”

  “We’re. Not. Having. Kids!” I shout into the phone — then remember I’m at work and lower my voice to add, “No shifter has had a child for the last twenty years! That’s not going to change for us.”

  “Your dad thinks it will if you take the right mates,” he says — now that’s the truth.

  “Benny, I’m not breeding with a mate who doesn’t even have the balls to stand up to my dad, so don’t even bother arguing with me. You’re out of the picture.”

  “Who’s in the picture, then?” he demands.

  “None of your fucking business,” I snap, committing to hanging up.

  “Your dad hasn’t picked anyone, Sharon, I know he hasn’t. Who are you seeing?” he manages to shout before I’ve ended the call.

  “Fuck,” I mutter under my breath.

  Now my clock is really ticking. I have to get one of these guys alone, and I have to do it today.

  Whatever it takes.

  The bathroom door bursts open, and Angela, the secretary, meets my gaze with wide eyes. “You’ve got another murder, Detective Bell is waiting in the car.”

  I smile politely, nod, and follow her out the door, while on the inside I’m screaming at these damn wolf shifters’ bad timing. Steve is intensely focused, so the man isn’t going to go anywhere until he’s been to this crime scene.

  Let’s hope it’s a regular murder and not one we need to worry about.

  Chapter Two

  Tas

  “Halloween fucking sucks,” Flynn grunts, putting his boot through the cardboard cutout of a pumpkin.

  Cranky bastard.

  Granted, we're in the middle of Melbourne, Australia, and compared to the US or UK there’s very little that resembles Halloween anywhere other than around the shops. He should consider that a blessing, but clearly he doesn’t. The shops are decorated and lively. Cobwebs in the corners of windows, orange and black balloons hanging from posts and awnings, cheap plastic skeletons stuck to doors.

  “A nightmare,” he mutters. “An orange nightmare.”

  “I happen to like Halloween,” I say.

  “You look like a nightmare,” Flynn grunts.

  I rub my thumb and forefinger over my beard. It’s usually a bit rugged, but I keep it to a medium level of crazy. Sure, I love my tanks, the one I’m wearing is white but grease-stained, and my jeans have the knees worn through, but this is my normal clothing — not a Halloween costume.

  I glance at Puss, my Platypus-shifter mate, with an eyebrow raised. He’s in a pair of track pants, gray being one of his favorite colors, with his hands buried in his pockets. His dark blue shirt has long sleeves that he’s pushed up to his elbows. October in Australia is warm. If we were in Sydney, we’d already be at the beach.

  “He’s probably talking about your tattoos,” Puss says, taking his hand out of his pocket long enough to wave toward my face.

  “Oh,” is all I can say, running my fingers down from my forehead, over my cheek and to my chin. Over the black inked design that was set into my skin a decade ago.

  Three kids in Disney princess costumes run down the street — surely I’m not that scary? I kneel in their path and smile… then watch them skid to a stop, scream, and run away.

  “Scary motherfucker,” Flynn snorts and keeps walking.

  Puss pats me on the shoulder on his way past. “Don’t worry. I find scary sexy.”

  “Does that make me sexy?” I ask, he gives me one of his dark smiles, not breaking his stride.

  I’ll take that as a, ‘hell yes.’

  Damn right.

  I stand, avoiding the worried look from the busker sitting on his milk crate. He’s paused mid-rendition of the Blues Brothers on his guitar, the case open and a collection of coin scattered inside, just to watch me fail to prove I’m not scary.

  We’re two shops down before the guy starts playing again.

  Melbourne is an old city, full of buildings made of heavy stones probably cut by convicts. The Old Melbourne Gaol is just around the corner, where they hung Ned Kelly for being a badass.

  Flynn needs to look in a mirror — we’re in his wake, and the street basically clears out for us. That man brings scary to a whole new level. More muscle than me, fueled by his bunyip-shifting abilities. The animals are nothing but myths and legends to the oblivious humans around us — even to shifters, it’s hard to believe creatures like Flynn exist.

  He’s always something more. He smells wild, feels fierce, and the air around him is physically colder. The fact that he shifts into a panther-like creature bigger than a 4WD and straight out of the swamp, is a bonus for the rest of us.

  Puss, Lochy, Flynn, Steve, and I are mob. The shifter equivalent of the family you choose.

  I chose Puss because the guy is pure zen and with him, life’s simple and fun – Puss likes to play. Flynn chose Steve, though they’ve never been sexually interested in each other. Flynn’s protective instincts saved Steve’s life. How we all chose Lochy is damn near a mystery. The shark
shifter can be an ass, but somehow we ended up being a mob of five. And we’ve been this way for years.

  Since Halloween – actually.

  “Don’t you remember how we met?” I ask Flynn.

  He grunts and keeps walking. Barreling, really. He’s in a black motorcycle jacket over a black rock-concert t-shirt and black jeans. With his shoulder’s hunched he eats up the sidewalk in a quick stride that screams, ‘Don’t fuck with me.’

  Challenge accepted.

  I take two quick steps and jump, pulling down a balloon the nearby shop had tied to their awning. In another two bounds, I’m beside Flynn’s ear, clapping hard on the balloon and popping it right next to his face.

  The man reels on me, straightening to his full height and glaring down.

  Puss walks past us like nothing is going on, all casual and relaxed.

  “Let him tell the story,” Puss says. “Might keep him busy ‘til we get to the pub.”

  Flynn lifts the corner of his lip in a growl but turns and steps in next to Puss without argument.

  “It was a dark and stormy Halloween night,” I begin.

  “No, it wasn’t, you’re talking shit,” Lochy says, jogging up behind us and stepping between Flynn and I. “What are we talking about?”

  The shark shifter is a typical Aussie surfer. His hair would be blonde if he hadn’t dyed it blue two weeks ago. He’s got a good physique and a nice tan and I really would love to hit that ass — if he’d let me.

  Personally, I’m looking forward to the day we finally find our catalyst. Our final mate that will lynchpin our powers and give us an immunity to the infection in shifter magic — and a ticket through the gateways into the shifter world. Not that we really know anything about the shifter world, but it’s got to be better than facing off against infected mobs who want to eat you and steal your magic.

  That’s what life is like for shifters, but the rest of the world keeps on going like we don’t exist and we work very hard to keep it that way. Doesn’t mean I won’t be more than ready to get through the gates and get away from the constant hunting. All very good reasons to claim a catalyst. The fact that we will need to bond with her as a mob — which means I’ll finally have a chance to watch Lochy fuck one of us – is a bonus.

  Has to happen. Can’t avoid it. No denying it.

  But it won’t be me. My blessings would be a curse to a virgin asshole.

  I shake off my moment of imagining him naked before the guy realizes what I’m doing.

  “The Halloween night that we all met on,” Puss explains.

  “Well, I wasn’t there, so I wouldn’t know,” Lochy says.

  “Oh, look. We’re here,” Flynn cuts in before I can open my mouth. “Too bad.”

  We turn the corner, and where our quiet regular lunch pub should be is a mass of blue police tape and patrol cars. I mean, the pub is still there, but it’s clearly a crime scene.

  Steve steps out the doorway and scans the street. He spots us and gives his head a tilt, pointing into the building before he walks back inside.

  I pull my wallet out and check the fake police ID is in place, then step under the blue and white tape. All of them following me into the throng of police activity.

  “So much for a quiet Sunday lunch,” Lochy grumbles.

  “I’m still telling you my story,” I declare, flashing my badge for the uniformed cop at the door.

  “Sharon’s inside,” he mutters.

  I’d say thank you, or nod my appreciation, but the guy’s already turned away.

  “You were up to the weather,” Puss says, leading the way.

  “That’s right. It was Halloween and shit weather. Stormy as hell. Puss and I were in an old Toyota Corolla – this tiny little red shitbox it was. And you guys were in a-"

  “Holden Commodore,” Steve cuts in.

  He’s kneeling on the floor leaning over a body — minus a head.

  The body, that is — not Steve. Steve looks good, in a long sleeve dress shirt complete with collar and the kind of black pants that turn his ass from okay to damn.

  Apparently, I have a thing for asses today. Well, maybe every day, but who’s keeping track?

  “Why didn’t you call?” Puss asks.

  Steve shrugs. “I knew you would get here eventually.”

  There’s a few things you need to know about Steve, he doesn’t really swear, prefers ginger beer to anything alcoholic and the guy has this freaky ability that lets him, and his partner, breathe underwater — because that’s where he likes to fuck.

  Only, he’d call it ‘making love’.

  All of that somehow mixes to make him look super professional, dark, and mysterious all at once — even though he’s crouched in a crime scene and surrounded by the tang of blood.

  I definitely have problems today. Can’t go five minutes without perving on one of my mates.

  Maybe Puss and I can sneak off for a bit after we figure out this headless situation… After…

  I meet Steve’s smile with one of my own before saying, “Holden Commodore – also a little shitbox.”

  We’re the only people in the narrow pub. Bar and wall lined with mirrors and bottles of spirits on my left, small booths designed for two on my right, a kitchen that serves only three different meal options out the back. That’s about all that’s in here. Makes this place perfect for drinking at — easy to watch your back.

  Or so I thought, before now.

  I press my palm to the timber bar, put a bit of shifter muscle and grace into my jump, and hop over the thing like it’s nothing.

  “Details?” Puss deadpans, moving up and around the body without batting an eyelid.

  “My car broke down — which sounds innocent enough, except for the storm and the fact that we were in the middle of nowhere.”

  “I meant murder details,” Puss says, his tone zen — like it always is.

  I ignore him. “Which meant I was in the rain trying to fix the thing when Flynn and Steve pulled into the same petrol station.”

  Steve glances up, thinking, then says, “It was Halloween.”

  “See! He remembers,” I exclaim as I slide a bottle of Johnnie Walker from the glass shelf.

  “Wolves?” Flynn says. Well, asks really. And not me, one of the guys down there with the body.

  “This is their seventh,” Sharon says, walking in from the kitchen out the back.

  Her gaze goes straight to Steve, and I swear I can see her nipples harden through her white blouse from here. The rabbit shifter has been helping us track these wolves for weeks. It’s making us vulnerable — and I’m really not sure how much longer Flynn is going to put up with her advances. I might feel for her, being around five unmated shifters for so long must be hard, but I don’t because she’s sneaky, underhanded, scheming and just generally a bit of a cunt.

  She takes a long inhale, straightens her gun belt, and moves closer to the body.

  “These are beginning to feel like hits. Like they’re cleaning up or preparing for something. They’ve only taken the heads off the last two, and this one has no hands either. No one in the bar knew him and now we don’t have any dental or fingerprints.”

  “They’re playing with us,” Flynn declares.

  Sharon nods.

  “How do you know the body is a he?” I ask.

  All of them look up at me like I’m crazy, though I have to lean over the bar a little to check that Puss and Steve down there are thinking it too.

  I keep my expression neutral and give them an I-don’t-care shrug as I say, “I mean, the person is missing their head, but chicks can have flat hairy chests — maybe they’re transitioning.”

  Puss and Steve both stand clear of the body. Steve going to the wall like inspecting blood splatter is super urgent, while Puss turns his interest to the abandoned tables and the scattering of contents across them. Flynn and Lochy are side by side, pretty much blocking anyone else from entering the building.

  And there’s a bar between me and t
he body, so I turn my full attention on Sharon and lift an eyebrow questioningly at her.

  “How sure are you? They haven’t killed a sheila yet — but if this is female, it’d hint that they’re changing their patterns,” I say.

  “It’s important information,” Puss adds, not looking up from his inspection of the very last booth.

  Sharon’s face heats, and her cheeks flush. The color really glows against her blonde hair and blue eyed complexion. She grumbles, then gets closer to the body, and, using her pen, she lifts the waistband of his track pants. The guy decided to go commando this morning, and limp against a crotch that really needs a wax, is an average sized dick. Nothing impressive. Bit of a let down actually. And I don’t mind making fun of the dead.

  Sharon straightens, and her even redder expression makes me snort, shake my head, and thoroughly enjoy life.

  “Happy?” she asks.

  “Very,” Puss deadpans, then he taps a finger on the last table. “How many witnesses?”

  “None, really. Most of them cleared out the minute the fighting started, and the bartender was out the back.”

  “But you questioned everyone that was in here?”

  “Yep, all of them came forward, not that they had anything good, and there’s no security cameras.”

  “But how many?” Puss repeats.

  Sharon pulls out her notebook and counts down a list. “Nine with the bartender, but like I said — they didn’t see much. Two men in hand knitted, ski-mask style, balaclavas and carrying machetes — that’s all.”

  “And teeth,” Flynn says.

  Yeah, while the head was taken off with a clean cut — the hands look like they were gnawed off by wolf shifters.

  I really need a drink.

  “Are you sure there was no one else? Did you check? It pays to be observant on Halloween,” I say.

  Sharon meets my gaze, her lips pressed into a thin line that muffles her words, “I checked.”

  “Alright, children,” Steve mutters, but Lochy chuckles and finally breaks away from playing door-sentry.

  Flynn’s still there, and most people will glance at that man's back and decide whatever they were going to do in here can wait.