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    Journey: shifters and partners, #10
    Journey: shifters and partners, #10
    Journey: shifters and partners, #10
    Ebook196 pages3 hours

    Journey: shifters and partners, #10

    By Hollis Shiloh

    3.5/5

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    About this ebook

    From the moment they meet, Nat feels a strong connection with the injured wolf...and later with the same gorgeous man. Nat is just an ordinary cop, with his own problems and insecurities, but if he can help Journey in any way, he'd love to.

    He'd also love to date the sweet, handsome shifter, although that might be more complicated than he first thought. Two men navigate the waters of learning to trust, love, and accept themselves and each other, as they work to build a life together.

    A Shifters and Partners novel

    51,000 words

    Heat level: very low

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSpare Words Press
    Release dateNov 12, 2016
    ISBN9781540180124
    Journey: shifters and partners, #10

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      Book preview

      Journey - Hollis Shiloh

      Journey

      by Hollis Shiloh

      "They trade in anything that's worth money — drugs, smuggling, sex slavery, and wolves.  The latest reports say they've got people there now — at least one captive.  We have to move.  The FBI will be here soon to back us up, but we can't wait anymore.  The latest reports say they have a man chained up and are beating him to death. 

      We know there could be a leak — the more people who know, the better chance they have of eluding capture — and we know they've gotten out of raids before.  We have everything to risk if we don't go now, even as dangerous as it is.

      The captain's pep talk was sort of working, and sort of making me want to crawl into a hole in the ground and forget all the terrible things I'd learned in recent years.

      But we were cops.  We had to move.  We had to be the good guys and not look the other way or wait too long and let somebody die.  It was probably a rival gang member, but that didn't make a difference.  We had to move.

      I really wished we could've waited for the FBI and decent backup.

      As we headed out to get our gear together and move out, the captain stopped me with a hand on the shoulder.  I didn't really like to be touched, so it surprised me.  He looked me in the eye.

      How 'bout it, North?  You up for this?

      I had better be.

      I had only gotten back from compassionate leave a week ago, but that should be more than enough to not have the captain questioning my ability to act.

      Although I still had my father's house to sort through, I was ready for it all to be over.  Wrung out from funeral preparation and emotions, from logistics and memories, even from resting, I wanted to put it all on the back burner, to go back to what I could do without such heaviness of heart.

      I damned sure hoped I was fit for duty, because there was no way I was going back on leave without a fight.

      I'll do my best, Captain.

      He gave me half a nod, and we moved out.

      After that, it was a whirlwind of preparation, action, and movement.  The slightly surreal feeling of putting on body armor, except not for training or preparedness drills, but for an actual cause.  Checking weapons, checking in, moving out.

      It was a quick ride to the warehouse in question, but it felt longer — long enough to question life choices, and whether your affairs were in order.  Mine were, I hoped.  I didn't want to leave as much of a mess as my father had.

      I was perhaps fortunate in that I wasn't one of the first in.  But being backup was bad enough.

      The gunfire was all over in a few minutes, what there was of it — flashes, bangs, sickening reverberation of bullets.  One of our guys went down, but his vest kept him alive.  The ones who didn't go down fled.  Sirens roared to life as we followed.

      Some of us — me included — stayed in the warehouse to process the scene, take statements, and clean up.  It was a mess.  Aside from two dead gunmen, there were frightened illegal immigrants terrified they were going to be killed as well, bushels and bushels of drugs just sitting there, what looked and smelled like a meth lab in the corner (and had us calling in some experts frantically, afraid we'd blow something up by accident).  It really was a big bust.  Catching the others was a priority, but so was getting the illegals some help, getting everything bagged and tagged and photographed according to procedure...and dealing with the man they'd beaten to death.

      None of us wanted to go over there, but we had to.  He was strung up, chains on his wrists, bloody, black and blue from the beating, and hanging very still.  I didn't think he could possibly be alive, not when he hadn't so much as flinched when we stormed the place.  At least, not so that I'd seen.

      But when Sam Hooks, a junior officer, cast me an agonized look, I went forward to check.  I could spare the kid that at least.  I put two fingers to the man's pulse.

      It was faint, but there.  Suddenly this was far more urgent than anything else.

      He's alive!  Get the medics! I shouted.  They moved; we all moved fast.

      Gotta be careful getting him down, the head medic, Jean Evans, informed me.  If we do it wrong we could end him now.  Careful.

      We were careful.  We got him down — with the sickening clank and shiver of chains as we got him loose, and the way he hung so limp, not even opening his eyes.  Was he in a coma?

      We stood back and let them get to work.  Other things needed to be done, now that he was in professional hands, poor guy.  I was just turning away when I heard the scream.

      It was one of the medics.  We all turned back in time to see a wolf where the unconscious man had been, a huge, bloodied wolf with wild eyes, snarling.  The medic was backing away, raising his hands slowly.  Easy there, big guy, he said.

      The wolf lunged, snarling.  IVs trailed on the floor where they'd popped out of him, when he shifted.  He looked almost rabid, far too fierce for how close to collapse he must currently be.  He still bled far more than he should.

      The medics scrambled back, lost their nerve, and ran.  It was a safe bet they weren't used to dealing with animals, or rather, shifters in their animal states.  A vet might be helpful right now, I found myself thinking.

      Officers moved back automatically as the wolf rose to shaky paws, snarled at us all.  He stood there, wobbling, clearly about to fall over.  He hadn't been conscious when we got him down.  It was possible that, between blood loss, fever, and confusion, he didn't realize we were trying to help.  That made him desperate — and dangerous.  I looked around quickly, and realized we were between him and the exit. 

      I motioned my colleagues away and eased back, revealing the line to daylight, escape.  I made sure the safety was on my gun.  No need to escalate things here. 

      Go ahead, I told him, standing between him and the others, giving him plenty of room.  I made my voice as level and calm as possible.  You're free to go.  You need medical attention, but you're free to go if that's what you need to do.  Was it wolves that could sense fear?  Probably any animal could, or shifters, too...

      He stared at me with his dark green eyes, so intense and pain-filled.  As we stared at each other, he stopped snarling.  I felt like he woke up enough to realize I meant him no harm.

      The wolf finally took his eyes off us and glanced towards the light, the open door.  He lurched that way, looking as if he would fall over at any moment.  He moved slowly, but made it out of the hated building.  The rest of us took a collective breath, it seemed.  Finally we could breathe again.

      I felt as though I'd been mesmerized; I shook myself and looked around quickly.  There was work to be done.  But I couldn't let him wander off and curl up somewhere to die.

      Take care of things here, I told the others.  I'll trail the victim.  Call a vet, or a shifter doctor if you can find one.

      Got it — don't get too close.

      I looked at the medics.  Anything I can give him?

      Water, said the medic, shaking his head.  I wouldn't recommend a tranquilizer.  It could kill him at this point — anything could.  Blood loss and dehydration will if he doesn't get some help.

      I signaled my understanding and jogged out after the wolf.  Behind me, Sam was making a call, and Evans, the other medics, and more officers were moving to the trafficking victims, to help them.  I was on my own for now.

      I thought of those green eyes, and felt strange.  That wolf had stared into my soul.  I'd seen such desperation there, and a kind of dying pride, as well.  The absolute determination, past all reason and use, that he was not going to die here, in front of us, in the place where he'd been tortured.  I jogged back to the van and grabbed a couple of water bottles.  I didn't have a water bowl for him to drink from, and didn't see anything to improvise with.  I'd make do.  I headed after the wolf.

      The trail of blood was easy to follow, and he wasn't moving fast.  He was heading across the parking lot behind the warehouse, towards grass.  A line of trees lay ahead, a bit of barren space.  He placed one paw in front of the other slowly, as if each movement took all his considerable willpower.

      I wasn't sure how wise it was to get between him and his destination, but sneaking along behind him didn't seem wise, either, so I worked around ahead of him and approached cautiously, opening one water bottle as I moved, talking calmly.  A little of the cool liquid spilled as I walked, splashing droplets down onto the blades of grass below and onto my boots.

      I know you want to be alone.  I know you think you're dying.  But wouldn't you like a drink first? 

      The wolf stopped.  He stared at me with those amazing green eyes, a look of dull surprise making it past the ragged, fatalistic determination.  I had brought him up short.

      Despite the blood on him, there was nothing at all frightening about the weakened creature right now.  He did not look dangerous or angry, and he was clearly desperately thirsty.  I moved forward.  I can pour it into your mouth if that works for you, or you can drink it out of my hand.  Or shift back, I offered, although I doubted he'd go for that option.  He had to feel safer in his wolf form.

      I wondered how they'd kept him from shifting and escaping — and then realized I really didn't want to know.  Someone had kept this beautiful and sentient shifter captive and hurt him, for what purpose I didn't know, hurt him almost enough to kill him.  I wasn't sure how many more details I could stand to think about right now.  If that was weak-willed of me, too bad. 

      I smiled at him as gently as I could.  Let's try.  I eased forward, getting down on my knees so I wouldn't tower over him.  Not that I did tower very high even when standing; he was huge, big and broad-shouldered, more than waist high.  Despite a lean, hungry look to him and his ragged, scruffy fur, the wolf had a dignified, majestic presence when he wasn't snarling.

      He sat down and waited for me.  It was, or should have been, quite intimidating to be so close to him, to his huge teeth, but he was bleeding so badly, and I knew from experience that blood loss made you extremely thirsty.  I'd been injured just once on the job so far, and not nearly as bad as this.

      All I could think about was getting some liquid into him.  He didn't lunge for the water, just waited, watching me.  It was a far cry from the wild creature who had lunged at the paramedics who were only trying to help.  He must be more aware now, less in a panic.  His eyes looked old and wise and sad, filled with pain, glazed with fever. 

      I tilted the open water bottle up so it ran down into his mouth, and he started licking and gulping as best he could.  That long tongue touched my hand in the process; couldn't help it.  I didn't jerk back; I focused on keeping the flow as steady as I could so I wasn't choking him.  Those teeth were very big and very bright.  I was glad he wasn't drinking out of my hand, though I'd have tried it if this way hadn't worked.

      I smelled blood, and filth, and damp fur.  He was not very clean.  But he was drinking.  He was going to survive.  I felt a smile grow on my face, far too huge for the situation.  But I knew, I just knew, he'd given up on his plan to die.  And now he was going to fight to live.

      #

      I stayed with the wolf.  He drank both bottles of water and moved his weary bones into the shade of the tree line, and lay down.  He closed his eyes and rested his head on outstretched paws, each movement slow and clearly pained.  I waited for a moment, then started to leave and see about fetching more water, or a blanket, or something so I could at least pretend I was being useful to him.  But he raised his head and looked at me, and then started to get up as well, clambering to his feet painfully.  So I sat down in the grass by him, and we waited together while he rested. 

      I was relieved and glad the wolf shifter had decided to trust me, and I took the responsibility seriously.  My mind raced ahead as I tried to think about what I should do next.  What if someone qualified to take care of him didn't get here soon?  Was he a member of the nearest pack?  Would this go into their jurisdiction?  Would he recover and be able to give evidence, or would he be whisked away before we got to question him?

      I finally managed to convince myself we had enough evidence to take 'em down whatever he decided, when a vet roared up.

      He was a youthful-looking, athletic blond with celebrity-like hair that responded just right to the breeze.  He looked like the kind of guy you wouldn't mind meeting at a gay bar, and wouldn't be surprised to see there.  I reminded myself not to trust first impressions, and not to get distracted.

      The vet hurried up with emergency kit in hands, a sober look on his handsome features.  As soon as he got close, the wolf growled.  At least it was low and under his breath this time.  Oscar Green, DVM, he announced breathlessly.  I'm sorry for the delay.  He eyed the patient.  I'm not actually qualified to treat shifters except in emergencies.

      This is an emergency, I confirmed, though he must already know that.  Just covering his bases and letting us know he knew the rules, I suppose.  Perhaps because the wolf was still growling. 

      Let him help, if he can, I told the wolf.  I'll stay with you.

      He subsided, the growl growing lower, more a grumble than actual threat.  Still intimidating from such a large creature, though.  The vet stopped short, eyeing him with concern.

      The vet nodded a hello to me, and listened while I quickly went over what we knew of the wolf shifter's situation and critical condition.  His gaze ran over the wolf as I talked, cataloguing what he could just by sight.  It seemed enough to concern him.  He pulled on gloves. 

      Do I have your permission to treat you? asked the vet.

      The

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