Feral Attraction (Monsters of New York #15)

Chapter One

Scath, Present Day

“What the fuck do you mean?” asked Conall, popping his boots off the desk.

Dax, head of the Division of Aeternal Management or Nullification, sat behind his desk chewing on a big-ass cigar. The acronym, DAMN, chosen by him, was proof that vampires had a warped sense of humor.

No answer to Con’s question. Just the vamp stare-down that was supposed to intimidate him. Well, wolf shifters didn’t get the heebie-jeebies when they faced a bloodsucker, even a snarly beefed-up one like Dax.

Unfortunately, Nace, Con’s Firebrand commander from the North Shelter stronghold, had lent him to the vampire for a mission.

The jaguar shifter’s last words had been, “Play nice.” Wolves did get the heebie-jeebies when facing a big cat who pushed four hundred and fifty pounds.

Add to that his ginormous claws, long, sharp teeth, and Con’s three-hundred-pound beast was no match in a straight-up fight. So, he listened when Nace talked.

Conall took a deep breath. “There’s gotta be someone else you can send to Earth.”

Dax chewed some more on his cigar. Then, he took it out of his mouth to hold it between his thumb and forefinger. “Probably is, but I heard you have a knack for solving problems.”

“Humans don’t like me.” Conall growled, exhibiting his canines. “Guess I’m too snarly.”

Dax smiled, showing off his pearly white, sharp fangs, as if to say, See mine? “They feel the same way about me. Well, except for my mate Chiara. First she liked me, but then she didn’t. I had to win her back with my charm and wit.”

Con was skeptical, never having seen those sides of Dax.

“Look at it this way. The sooner you get to Earth, the sooner you solve the problem and the faster you return. All cozy in your wolf den on Scath.”

“I don’t live in a den. I have a huge log cabin in North Shelter—wood floors, comfy furniture, and plenty of hunting grounds in the forest.”

“Sounds great. Unfortunately, some Earther had the audacity to get dead. Worse, an overly excited Aeternal may have done the deed. Evidence points to a vampire or predatory shifter. Could be a human with a dull blade. Could be a berserker with big-ass teeth. Ask me if I give a shit. I don’t, but I do hate bad press because the blowback interferes with my time for Chiara and the kid. ”

“What do you expect me to do? Play police dick?”

“See. I knew you were right for the job. If it’s one of ours, you’re gonna have to find the asshole, bring them to justice, and smooth some feathers.”

“Have you ever met a diplomatic wolf?”

“No, but don’t fuck this up. My rep’s on the line ... oh, wait. I don’t care about my rep. But I do care about my mate, and she asked for DAMN’s help.”

“Why?” Con didn’t like how this was playing out.

“Some friend she knows contacted her.”

Conall was right. This assignment had all signs of becoming a shitstorm. “You do know I’m not warm and fuzzy. My usual missions call for how-dead-do-you-want-them.”

“I’ve heard, but I asked for Nace’s smartest Firebrand warrior, the one most likely to solve a complex problem.

He mentioned you were the deadliest, too.

In my book, that’s a plus.” He stuck the cigar back in his mouth and talked around it.

“Just don’t eat any humans while you’re there.

Makes us look bad. Fuck. If you gotta, hide the bodies. ”

Dax had once been a Firebrand and still bore the mark of the Phoenix, but that was before he was promoted. Given his past rep, Con figured he knew a lot about disappearing the bodies. “I don’t like their taste. More likely I’d rip out their throats if they piss me off.”

“Again. Hide the bodies.”

Conall gave in to his fate. He jacked his boots back on the desk, put his hands behind his neck, and leaned into the chair. “Give me one of those damn cigars and a light.”

Dax riffled through a drawer and came up with smoke. He offered it to Con.

After a light and a few deep drags, Con relaxed, allowing acceptance to creep into his bones. He removed the cigar from his mouth. “Where am I going?”

“New York City.”

“Fuck. Crowds of humans.” Could it get any worse? The smell of flesh. The timid eyes of prey. He jammed the cigar between his teeth. Puff. Puff. “I’ll get a little aggressive around that many Earthers. I know. Hide the bodies. Isn’t that kinda ironic since I’ll be going there because of a body?”

“Yeah. It’s not lost on me, but Nace said you’re the best. I’d start with the dead guy at the morgue. Then, here’s your contact.” Dax handed him a slip of paper.

Conall looked at the name. He looked at Dax. He glanced at the paper again. “It’s a female.”

“Yeah. Apparently the New York police force is an equal opportunity employer. Gotta problem with females?”

Con growled. “Is this your mate’s friend?”

Dax nodded.

Even better. Conall swept an errant chunk of sandy blond hair out of his eyes. Though it was short in the back, it was getting too long in the front. Time for a trim before it hindered his ability to hunt prey.

And then off to New York, one of the largest cities on Earth.

Con had not shared his fears with anyone.

He was beyond middle age for a wolf shifter.

While others like him often mellowed as they grew older, he was turning more aggressive.

He felt it in his blood, his bones, his muscles.

His beast prowled just beneath his skin, wanting out too frequently.

His father, once alpha of the pack, became feral and had to be put down.

Such was shifter law. Con was excused from the execution squad, but the death hit him hard.

The biggest problem with his kind going wild was that they took others with them, almost like they carried a contagious infection.

His father had gathered companions to join in his frenzied kills that cut a wide path across the realm.

The deadly group murdered without a conscience—children, females, anyone they pleased.

And the encounters were brutal, bloody, half-eaten flesh the only remnants of a once-living being.

The explanation offered for their rampage was their insanity.

When the others in the group escaped retribution, Con went on his own killing spree. He brought down all of his father’s renegades but one wolf. To this day, that violent predator remained elusive.

Shortly after the hunt to bring the feral wolves to justice, Con was called to join the Scion Firebrands.

It was an offer recruits didn’t turn down.

He was assigned to Nace’s stronghold. The jag commander told Con, who showed signs of his burgeoning wild nature, to get his head out of his ass and leash his beast. He drove the point home with a clawed swipe across the cheek. Point made.

Like all the warriors, Con proudly wore the colorful brand of the Phoenix on his upper left arm, the beak pointing upward at his shoulder, the talons nearly at his elbow with the wings wrapping around his bicep.

Written below, the tat read, “Natis in Igne. Probata est in Sanquinem.” Born in Fire. Tested in Blood.

The Phoenix called only the strongest who had a legacy among the warriors. His ancestor was his grandfather, now dead. A legend. Why Con was tapped when he was older and one step from feral was anyone’s guess. But the Phoenix was fickle. It chose only those it wanted.

He had hoped that by joining the Firebrands, he might skip the whole I’m-gonna-lose-my-shit that worried predatory shifters. Maybe not. His claws threatened to pop from his digits, and his canines filled his mouth. He needed to get control of himself.

It wasn’t as if anyone could tell a feral wolf from a non-feral one.

They didn’t drool. Nor did their eyes spin around in their sockets.

They simply killed for pleasure. Viciously.

And although Con’s kills were sanctioned by the Firebrands, he had been putting his canines to work more vigorously.

Whereas a clean capture had once been his goal, he now found himself drawn to increased blood splatter.

So, bring on the humans. He was ready to see how much he could take before he tore one of them apart and fed on their flesh.