On cue, the blue jay dive bombed him again. It aimed for an ear instead of his eyes, which Jon thought was an interesting choice. Not that it mattered. As much as he actually hated using his power on innocent creatures, or to end lives, circumstance had forced his hand on enough occasions that Jon knew precisely what to do. He took hold of the hydrogen inside the creature, same as he’d done with the panther, and he used that hold to snap its neck in one swift movement. The bird dropped to the ground.
The shifter cut his eyes to the fallen bird, going still for a prolonged moment.
“You should’ve called it off,” Jon said. “I don’t fucking like doing that, but I’m not some sap who’s gonna let myself getpeckedto death, either.” He cracked his neck and let the water still mostly gathered around his forearm spread up and out, swirling like a snake around his entire upper body from waist to throat. It was armor as much as threat and his opponent would know that. “I’m only going to repeat myself because I hate owing my friends apologies. Tell me about Monday.”
It was half bullshit. He already owed Lance the apology, because the bastard in front of him wasn’t walking away. But he did hate having to do it, and he did want to see if he could get any information out of the guy.
The feline-man took a half-step backward and raised his shifted arm to hold it between them, claws curled, as if they were about to launch into some kind of fucked-up brawl. His lips curled back in a snarl when he spoke. “Whatever you do to me,” he said in Spanish, “PJ will do worse to you. He loves his birds.”
PJ?An alias or stupid-ass nickname, most likely, but it was a lead. However small. Some ass who answered to PJ and had athing for birds. Probably either was Hispanic or at least fluent in the language, judging from the preference and obvious ethnicity of the two Jon had dealt with.
Jon cocked his head. “Are you saying I have to talk to this PJ to get my answers? You’re just some brainless trigger-guy?”
The shifter growled and flexed his clawed hand-paw-whatever. “Arrogant American!” He launched forward, swinging his weaponized arm with a fury that would kill most men.
Jon had fought beside a shifter for four years when he’d first started out. He knew damn well the kind of strength and unimaginable sharpness they possessed. He also knew that, sometimes, their instinctive methods left them exposed.
It only took a thought—a mental visual—to reshape the water curled around him. Two angled, sharpened edges shot upward, meeting the shifter’s lunge even as Jon himself pivoted to the side. The smaller extension sliced clean through the feline-man’s shifted forearm at the elbow, but before the man could process that enough to react to it the second sharpened stream had torn into his chest. The silver bullet thing might have been a myth some asshole made up along the way, but stabbing into a living creature’s heart usually did the trick. Shifters were no exception.
Jon let the water recede, returning it to the stream without any contaminants from the blood or forest, and the shifter’s corpse dropped to the ground.God-fucking-dammit.Not only had he gotten very little out of the bastards, but he suddenly found himself with two bodies to explain or get rid of in a community where the local law despised him. On top of all the other shit.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
He raked a hand over his head, drawing another hard breath at the feel of the hair he’d let grow in just a little. There was no need to keep it regulation anymore, but letting it grow too much felt strange. He dropped his arm to his side and looked around the land again.I do not have time for this shit.
His fingers tapped restlessly against the phone in his pocket for several seconds while he debated his options. Giving up on the goal he’d only just set for himself was a surrender he was not prepared for. The bodies were a problem. There’d been no witnesses, the shooter hadn’t ever fired, and of course shifters reverted to their human bases in death so both pieces of that fucker presented as normal human male. The nakedness of the shifter would just make it all awkward on top of sending the situation to shit.
Especially since Jenna was theoretically at the sheriff’s office right that very moment, making a scene in her efforts to find one damn badge-carrying asshole who cared about his job.
He also needed to make sure Lance hadn’t been jumped while he was laid-up. Lance’s retaliatory options were fewer inside occupied civilian spaces.
Fuck it.It was time to call in a favor he’d had on-deck for a few years. He’d never known what to do with the damn thing, anyway. The notion of asking anything of the woman had always felt like taking the cheater’s way, but in this case, he saw the value. So, he pulled his phone from his pocket and strode a few paces away from the bodies as he scrolled to the singular initial he’d saved her under. He still had no signal, but she’d said that wouldn’t matter, so he tapped the call button and waited.
Dead air filled the space for several seconds, followed by one long ring and a distinct click. Then came a female voice he could only assume was the right one—it wasn’t like they socialized. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite soldier. Finally taking this debt off my shoulders?”
Jon scoffed. “Soldiers are Army. I’m a Marine.” He paused. “Yeah, I’ve got something that should satisfy it. How soon can you get to me?”
A subtle disruption in the atmosphere to his right preceded another click at his ear as the line disconnected and her voice, closer and clearer, said, “Is this soon enough?”
Jon sighed and tucked his phone away.Fucking magic.He eyed the redhead he’d met some four years prior. When he’d encountered her on that mission, entirely by accident, she’d been disheveled and trapped behind some anti-magic barrier. That whole mission had been a fucking nightmare, but since the heart of it had been equal parts hostage rescue and enemy elimination, Jon hadn’t thought twice about destroying the magic-eating glyph things and setting her free.
He never would have expected her to do the rest of the job for them, purely because she was pissed.
“The idea of owing anyone any sort of debt grates on my nerves like nails on a chalkboard,” she said, striding up to him as the smoke still billowed around them. Her ragged, torn and soiled clothing swirled before his eyes, transforming into a different material altogether as it re-settled around her. She narrowed her eyes at him. “But I will acknowledge that a debt is nonetheless precisely what I owe you, Jon Johnson.”
Jon stiffened. He hadn’t told this stranger his given name.
She smiled. “Identities are easy. Don’t worry, your memories are safe.” She glanced to the side. “Speaking of, this is all going to be rather hazy for the rest of them. You men did fine work here, that’s what you’ll report. And when you find the thing that your obnoxiously useful power can’t save you from, call for me. I’ll come to repay my debt. But make sure the thing you call me for is actually important.”
That sounded ominous as fuck, but Jon bit the words back and instead asked the more reasonable question. “And what do I call you, exactly?”
“Stasya,” Jon greeted, pushing the memory down. “You’re as dramatic as I remember.”
Her dark-painted lips lifted in a smirk and she turned, ignoring the bodies practically brushing against her stiletto heeled boots to better take in the space around them. “This seems an odd place to set up a base camp.”
He bit back a sigh. “This land belonged to my grandfather. I learned today that he left it to me, but it’s … been neglected.”
“Don’t tell me you called for me to do your landscaping.”
