Page 41 of Shifter's Dream

Conri waved his hand. “She’ll have you, Troy. You’ll figure it out.”

Troy didn’t have time to contemplate just how wrong a bear could actually be, because Grizz came out from under the porch, two-tone furface shining in the streetlights.

He came toward them, fancy feet putting barely any weight on the ground at all. How cats did that shit was a mystery. His eyes never left Troy’s face, as he sauntered into one of the carriers.

“Not that cat,” Troy said.

“Ok.” Conri bent to the carrier and jerked his thumb at the cat. “Out, cat. He said not you.”

The cat hissed at him. Troy heard tiny claws like razors snick out of their hiding spots.

Conri backed away. “Damn.”

“Leave him,” Troy said. “He knows what he wants.” He bent like Conri had, but jerked his head to the clinic and spoke to the cat, not even caring there wereWsin what he was going to say. He had no one to impress anymore. “Tell those other guys we’re going to fuck with Mac.”

Grizz blinked at him.

“Shit, here they come,” Conri said. “Freaky Friday.” He popped his tailgate, then lifted himself onto it, pulling his feet off the ground.

Cats came from under the porch as singles and doubles, sometimes a clowder. The kennels filled.

Perfect.

Troy’s wolf whispered to him making Troy stare up at Remington’s place. He turned to Conri, who had pulled a roll of fire hose close to him and was using it as a pillow, curled up in the bed of his truck.

“Hey,” Troy said, then switched toruhi. You mind taking the cats to Mac’s by yourself, after you sleep it off? I’ve got something to do here. Thanks.Conri didn’t answer but Troy didn’t care.

Troy went inside. He scented the house. Remington was working upstairs. Mac and Rogue were awake in with Blake. Two patrol officers were shooting the shit out back, and Blake? His scent was still a flat, brittle nothingness, but when he peeked in, Blake was a man again. That had to be a good sign.

Troy moved through the room quickly, to the back where the kitchen was. Remington wouldn’t mind and Troy couldn’t wait. He opened drawers until he found utensils. Spoon. Fork. Knife. Ah crap, there were two different kinds of knives, and two different types of spoons. Troy grabbed one of each, just to be safe. He stared at what was left for a few minutes, then took out the little silver claw thingy and the nutcracker looking thingies, too. He wasn’t sure what to do with them, but he would figure it out. Oh wait, he grabbed two more too-long fork prong thingies and took everything to his intended workspace, the kitchen table.

Troy laid all the silverware out, then opened the fridge, looking at everything in there. Caviar. Kombucha. A gluten free baguette. Troy took out a container and smelled it. Salmon cheese spread. A hand-signed, small-crafted bottle of dandelion wine, and a container of sushi, plus a tiny bottle of cream. Both shelves in the door were lined with ranch dressing, and the veggie and fruit crispers held wrapped packages that smelled like raw fish.

Troy transferred everything but the wine and the raw fish to the table.

Troy checked a few more drawers, just to be sure he wasn’t missing any exotic silverware. The biggest drawer, the one closest to the fridge, was a junk drawer, and right on top was a pad of paper. Troy looked at it for what seemed like forever, before he picked it up, rummaged around for a pen, and added it all to the table.

He had a lot of work to do.

25 – Finks doing Finky Shit

Grey waited and waited and waited for something to happen. Nothing did. He fell asleep, stretched out on the hot metal floor of his cell, sweat dripping off his body to form a puddle while he slept.

His dreams of cake were interrupted when the door to his cell slammed open. He jumped awake and tried to pretend he hadn’t been sleeping, but it was no use. He did not know how much time had passed.

Rex was at the door, staring at him. Rex didn’t like him. Rex didn’t trust him. That was cool, Grey didn’t like Rex either. Talk about a bad guy with a hidden agenda. Soren at least was transparent. Soren didn’t want to be here. Soren was marked and Soren would do what he was told, but really, all he could think about were the One True Mates, two of them in particular: the beekeeper and the bitch. Azer said Soren had his own private room with surveillance pictures of the two plastered all over the walls, and when he held his sausage hostage at night, he dreamed of being the meat in an OTM sandwich. Plus he could sense them or something. Grey wanted to fuck with Azer about that, ask him just why that would be, but now wasn’t the time.

Grey blinked his eyes but he couldn’t see a thing. His nose told him Khain was right outside, in his man-form, which Grey often thought looked like an over-muscled, evil Jason Momoa. Sometimes he wondered if Khain was an unimaginative Game of Thrones fan.

“On your feet, pig,” Rex said.

“Yes, Dr. Evil,” Grey said, hopping to his feet, his body going battle-ready. There was no way he was going back in this cage. The way he saw it, this was his chance to prove himself once and for all, to prove whose side he was really on, and if it didn’t work, then he would escape, and if he couldn’t escape, he would fight until they had no choice but to kill him.

Maybe he would wake up in Rhen’s meadow.

Rex grabbed him around the elbow, rudely pushing him out into Khain’s castle. Or did he call it a lair? Grey blinked at the smoke and fire belching indiscriminately, around the massive, ugly, rock-lined room they were in. Definitely a lair.

Khain got right into his line of sight, his right fist closed and held strangely in front of him, as if he were presenting it to Grey. Something was curled inside it, something that made smoke rise from Khain’s fist.

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