Chapter Two
Maisey
I leave the glittering metropolis of New York City and enter the eerie shadows of Central Park.
It’s closed this time of night, the gates locked, but I find a gap in the fence and squeeze through.
The trees melt into one another, a thick whispering barrier to the skyscrapers, and the stars suddenly have a chance to glow without the ever-present illumination of streetlights and shop windows.
I grip my phone in one hand and bear spray in the other. No sensible woman should be out here. No woman with an ounce of self-preservation would sneak into Central Park in the dead of the night, yet here I am.
I head east, my throat dry and my heart clattering along at a rate of knots. I’m on the hunt for an urban myth story, or at least that’s what my boss Paul has instructed. We have a new column starting up, and apparently it will be putting the “real” into reality.
A spate of attacks and two murders have left the police stumped and conspiracy theories are raging.
Strange scratches and teeth marks indicate the culprit could be a wild animal.
But the zoo has no report of an escapee, so perhaps some collector of exotic animals has let something go—something big and dangerous and with a taste for human blood.
Perhaps it’s a giant vampire bat, or a werewolf, or some monster that’s risen from the rocks in Central Park.
I shiver and pull my coat a little tighter around my neck. A promise of frost hangs in the air and my breath plumes in front of me.
A sudden earsplitting screech to my right. I spin around, phone at the ready to hit “record,” bear spray about to dispense. Fear spikes in my blood and my knees shake preparing for fight-or-flight.
A huge owl swoops overhead.
“Thank fuck for that.” I press my hand to my heart, fearing for its survival, it’s beating so fast. After a few moments I carry on toward the lake. My soft sneakers are silent and my senses are on high alert.
I want to find something to show Paul, of course I do, but equally if I make it home alive with no story, that will also be a good result.
After covering about a quarter of a mile, I hear voices, low, deep male voices. Other than the owl, it is the first sign of life I’ve seen at three a.m. so I stop, half hidden behind a rhododendron, and peer into the shadows.
There’s a bridge that spans a higher walkway, its arch in blackness. And in front of it stand two men. Utterly naked.
One is lean with silver-kissed long hair, the other is chunkier and his black skin almost blends him into the night. Their conversation is being played out in hushed angry tones. It’s clear they know each other and are not happy about something.
I hit “record” on my phone. I’m not sure why, but maybe they are linked to the murders. Who knows? New Yorkers can be an odd bunch.
And then the black guy grabs the other around his neck and draws him close. The act is so intimate that I hide a little further behind the bush knowing I’m being voyeuristic but unable to stop myself. It’s the journalist in me.
The kiss is wild and passionate and they explore each other’s bodies, cocks, butts, and shoulders. They almost meld together, become one, and it’s clear this isn’t the first time they’ve known each other this way.
My heart rate picks up again and heat forms between my legs despite the cold middle-of-the-night air. They’re hot together, seriously sexy, and watching is yanking my chain in a way I never would have expected.
Their breath clouds the air and I check my phone is still recording. It is. And things are heating up. The one with moonlight in his hair is touching the other’s cock. Working him with firm strokes and extracting long deep groans from the dark guy.
“Jeez,” I mutter, wondering just how far they’ll go out here in the park.
But then suddenly the older man snaps away as if electrocuted.
He says something in a low deep voice that I don’t catch.
My mouth is dry and I gulp as the tension simmers between them, words are exchanged, and then a punch.
Another punch, and now they are fighting, rolling on the floor, except they’re not human anymore.
One is a sleek black animal, a panther perhaps, and the other a huge dog with snarling sharp teeth.
“Oh, my...” I press my fingers to my lips hardly able to believe what I’m seeing, unable to comprehend what I have stumbled upon and am now witnessing.
The fight is continuing, fur flies, and scary fangs snap. Then they stop suddenly, and I have the distinct impression they sense my presence. My hair flutters in the breeze and I realize I’m upwind of them.
“Damn it.” Quickly I shove my phone into my pocket and back away.
Within seconds I’m on the path and running for all I am worth.
I imagine I’m being chased by big wild creatures and about to be mauled to death the same way as the previous victims. Deep jagged wounds and multiple bite marks leaving me unrecognizable.
My heart pounds and I’m out of breath, but I don’t stop running until I’m out of Central Park and near The Gin Room.
It’s closed this time of night, of course, but seeing its familiar sign makes me feel safer.
I slip past it and turn onto my block. Within minutes, I’m putting the key into my apartment door and it is then I begin to shake.
I stumble in, drop the bear spray and my phone on the table, and fill a glass of water from the tap. I gulp and struggle to catch my breath. Sweat sticks to my brow and underarms and I look at the digital clock on the oven: 4:42 in the morning.
After downing two glasses of water I drop onto the sofa, phone in hand. I quickly send a message to Paul. This should keep my boss off my back big time. Two guys making out in Central Park who suddenly shift and become wild animals fighting. I watch it again, to prove to myself what I had seen.
I’ve heard of shape-shifters, of course I have, but I’ve always disregarded them as an urban myth, yet now I have proof. And excitingly, I’d put money on being the first journalist in my position.
Quickly I type: Paul, you’re gonna freak, check out this video I took last night. And yes, I’ll accept my pay rise and promotion, thank you very much.
After attaching the video, I grin and hit “send.”
This should secure my job at the Daily Grind for the next few years. The entire world will be talking about my find, it will go viral, they’ll be discussing it for years to come, and my name will be synonymous with the discovery and the uncovering of a myth—the finding of undisputable facts.
I drag a blanket over myself and close my eyes. Suddenly I’m exhausted. I’ve been on the go for nearly twenty-four hours and the excitement and sprint home has drained me.
When I wake, my neck is stiff and the winter sun is pouring through my window. The clock shows three p.m.
“Fuck.” I sit and grab my phone. How could I have slept for so long?
There is a message from Paul: What planet are you on? Raise? Promotion? For what? There is no attachment.
“Huh?”
I open the message again and rub my eyes. He’s right. There is no attachment. Frantically I search for it. In my exhausted state, I must have not added. But it’s gone. Totally gone. No evidence of its existence on my phone whatsoever.
“How?” I scroll up and down. I close the app and reopen it. But no, there is no video of my wild men in Central Park.
“What the fuck is going on?” I rub my temples. I have no explanation except for the fact I must be going mad. New York City has finally tipped me over the edge and I’ve lost my mind.
My doorbell buzzes. I frown. I’m not expecting anyone and I’m definitely not in the mood for drop-in visitors.
“What?” I press the button and stare at the screen.
My heart skips a beat and my stomach clenches. It’s him. Tall guy with graying hair. The one from the park.
“We need to speak.” He looks left and right.
“About what?” There’s a shake in my voice and I swallow tightly.
He looks directly at the camera as though he can see me watching him. Fuck, he’s handsome. His eyes are the blue of glacial water and his features chiseled.
“Talk about what?” I ask again.
“I think you know.” He nods slowly. “And we need to discuss it.”
“I-I’m not going to let a complete stranger into my home.”
“I’m not a complete stranger, you’ve seen me before. And my name is Elias Rock, I live not too far from here.”
A slight smile, a curl in the corner of his lip, that’s all, but it goes straight to my core. He’s good. I’ll give him that.
“Five minutes, that’s all I ask,” he says. “I’m sure you’ve got questions.”
He’s damn right I have. Like, is he a shifter?
Who is the man he was kissing and then fighting?
Are there more shifters in New York and are they responsible for the recent killings?
My journalist curiosity gets the better of me.
Everything my mother told me about strange men evaporates and I hit the entry button.
He must have taken the steps two at a time because he’s at my front door in an instant. I open it a fraction and peer at him in the flesh.
“I’m a good guy, honestly.” He opens the faded aviator jacket he’s wearing to show his white t-shirt and brown leather belt that holds up black jeans. “No weapons, no ziplocks, just a wallet and a phone.”
“Five minutes.” I open the door fully.
He steps in and a haze of something outdoorsy follows him. Pine forests and earth. It’s heady and somehow reassuring.
“Nice place,” he says, looking around and his nose twitching as if he’s taking in scents.
“Start talking.” I stay near the door and fold my arms.
He leans his butt on my table and curls his fingers around the edges of it. “I’ll answer your questions, that’s probably easier.”
I tuck my hair behind my ears, likely a hideous mess. “How did you find me?”
“Your scent. It’s quite unique.”
I frown. “What?”
“I’m answering your questions. Next.” He tips his head and studies me.
“Who is the guy you were with?”
“That’s Branson Tucker.”
“Your boyfriend?”
“Not exactly.”
“I saw you kissing.” I clench my jaw and remember the erotic sight of them doing more than kissing. They were all over each other, touching each other, pressing up close. It was hot as hell and I’d thought—hoped—I was going to witness them fucking.
“We have history,” he says and points to a photograph of my only cousin abseiling when he first moved to New Zealand ten years ago. I hadn’t seen him since. “That your boyfriend?”
“No, a cousin.”
“No man in your life then?”
“I thought I was asking the questions.”
He inclines his head. “Do continue.”
“I know you’re a shifter.”
“And what do you know about shifters?”
“People who can become animals. But ... they’re not real. Shifters.” I rub my eyes. They’re a little gritty. “I don’t...”
“You don’t have to understand everything you see, just believe it.” He pushes away from the table. “Shifters are part of the world. Not many humans know that, you should feel privileged.”
“How did my video disappear?”
“Ah, so you did capture us.” He chuckles and comes closer still.
I stare up into his eyes, and then at his lips as he speaks.
“A century or so ago our elders sourced a spell to make sure we were never filmed or photographed. It’s for the best. Our image just can’t be harnessed by technology. Or if it is, it quickly disappears.”
“But how?”
“I go back to my point about not understanding everything, just believing it.”
His dark stubble is peppered with gray, and I lick my dry lips and clear my throat. There’s something magnetic about him, I can’t stop looking at the sharp angles of his face and the flash in his eyes. “So...” I manage. “When you’re not human, you are a ... dog?”
“What? No.” He laughs and small lines dart from the edges of his eyes to his temples. “A wolf. My other body is a wolf.”
“Your other body,” I repeat.
“Mmm.” He reaches for my hand and raises it to his face. His fingers are warm and firm and he turns my wrists so the delicate underside is beneath his nose. He breathes deep and closes his eyes.
“What are you doing?” I snap my hand from his grasp.
“I’m glad we’ve met,” he says. “You’re special.”
I frown. “It’s time for you to leave.”
Before he can reply, my doorbell goes again. I click my tongue and hit the button to see who is there. “What the...?”
“Huh, I might have known he’d show up.” Elias huffs.
Calling on me now is the black guy from the night before. All handsome and broad-shouldered, and smiling at the camera. There is a strange little flip in my stomach. Excitement. Anticipation. And a sense that something new and magical is about to happen to me.