Page 31 of Secret Shifters Next Door

I took the lead, taking Steff’s flashlight and pushing through the underbrush. What my light fell on was awful. I pulled up short, my feet sliding in the leaves on the ground. The others stepped in beside me, a muffled chorus of curses and disgusted sighs erupting from them.

Shifters weren’t like the werewolves or vampires of mythology. We weren’t immortal, everlasting creatures. We were born, we grew old, and we died. We were stronger and faster, and we could withstand a lot more injury wise and heal fast, but a bullet to the head or heart? A knife across the throat? Yeah, that killed us just as dead as a human. This man had died, and it didn’t look like it had been quick.

Steff and I circled the body, looking at the wounds. He’d been cut dozens of times with a blade of some sort. There were burn marks around each wound, like the knife had been hot or something.

“Fuck,” Miles said. “Can’t you smell that?” He was shaking.

I sniffed the air, and picked up the faint metallic scent that wasn’t the iron scent of blood. “What is that?”

“Fucking silver, man. His whole body reeks of it. They used silver knives on him, that’s why he’s burned. Bullets, too.”

Being a wolf shifter, Miles was much more sensitive to silver. He avoided it like the plague. Some myths did have a kernel of truth to them. Passing the light over the body again, I spotted several bullets––three in each leg, another in each hand, two in the stomach, and one in his forehead. The kill shot. But the others? The others had been meant to injure. This shifter had been tortured, viciously and without mercy. Bile rose in my throat. I didn’t know this man, but in a sense, he was a brother. A shifter like me, hiding among the human population, and he’d been hunted down, tortured, and murdered.

“We need to look into this, but I think our gut was right. Hunters. No way anyone else would do something like this. That means none of us are safe,” Steff said.

I looked up at him, an overwhelming sense of fear and uncertainty settling over me. If they found out about Harley and the baby, would they go after her? The baby might be born shifter or human, but there was no way to know. If they found out, they would kill my child just like they had killed this man. Hunters had a reputation. They would bash the baby’s head in while it slept in its crib, all because they wanted to eradicate our race.

My dragon’s anger flashed, my own raging along with it. Whether I was a family man, or whether Harley would allow me to be a part of her life, I wouldn’t allow this. There was no way I would let those sons of bitches anywhere near my child, the woman who carried it, or her daughters. I would die before I allowed that.

FOURTEEN

HARLEY

Sunday was makeover day. I’d promised the girls we would go get their hair done and have mani-pedis the weekend before school started. I’d put it off on Saturday, taking the day to rest and catch up on work. Luckily, the salon in town was open on Sundays. So, here we were, three ladies on the town, ready to get pretty.

It had been a week since the showdown with Tate. He’d been good on his word and kept his distance, giving me time to process. There had been a lot to think about, and most of my thoughts surrounded when and how to tell the girls. Today was the day.

We all got trims and simple styles. I’d vetoed Jordyn’s request for a crazy trendy haircut and Mariah’s pleas for red streaks in her hair. The relaxing effect of the manicure and pedicure evaporated as soon as it was over. Anxiety, fear, and dread swirled in my chest as I paid and left a tip.

“You want to get lunch while we’re out?” I asked the girls.

“Oh yeah. I’m starving,” Jordyn exclaimed.

“There’s a pizza place down the street. That okay?”

“That sounds good. We haven’t had Colorado pizza yet. Do you think it’ll be as good as New York?” Mariah asked.

I had a hard time not smiling. “I’m sure it’ll be fine, but I doubt it. Let’s go give it a try.”

We walked in silence. It was an enjoyable day, but I still didn’t know how to broach the subject with the girls. I had multiple ideas, some too silly, others too serious. By the time we got to the restaurant door, I had decided to be straight forward.

The scent of sourdough crust and tangy tomato sauce greeted us. The restaurant looked like a lot of the pizza places around Manhattan. I grinned at the little slice of home. The bell above the door jingled, and a small man with white hair, a mustache, and an olive complexion came out to greet us.

“Such lovely ladies. Hello, what can I do for you today? Pizza? Stromboli? Pasta?” His voice had a familiar lilt I couldn’t place.

“Um, pizza,” I said, smiling at him.

He tapped his ear and widened his eyes. “For the ladies? Anything. What can I put on the pie for you?”

I ordered our usual. “Half pepperoni and mushroom, half sausage and onion?”

“I will take care of it. Sit, sit. I’ll bring you drinks.”

“I’m sorry, your accent? Where are you from?” I asked, despite myself.

He patted his chest. “Born in Sicily, raised in Brooklyn from the age of six.”

“Oh wow,” Jordyn said. “We’re from New York, too.”

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