Chapter One
S
omebody was going to die before the night was over and Shane felt eighty-five percent sure that it wouldn’t be him. Usually he’d give himself higher odds—much higher, but the bleeding gash in his side and the fact that he was on his third attacker made things a bit more difficult.
Difficult, but not impossible.
He ran through the deserted warehouse, the dark building somehow managing to seem cavernous, yet claustrophobic at the same time. His footsteps echoed throughout the nearly empty interior, the wet slapping sounds screaming his location to the asshole who was tracking him. Just for good measure he knocked down a nearby metal shelving unit. As it fell to the floor with an ear-jarring crash, Shane gave a smile he knew to be feral.
Yes, that’s it mother fucker. Come and get me.
He flipped the hood of his black cloak over his face, then grabbed his twin short swords, giving the blades an experimental swing before he crouched into a ready fight position. Even in the dim light he could make out the patches of blood already marring the metal. A souvenir from the past two battles he’d engaged in only moments before.
One! That’s how many Rattler shifters were supposed to be there. His informant had been quite adamant about that fact. Now, as he looked back and reflected, perhaps a bit too adamant. Shane let out a soft growl. Damn it, he should have known better than to trust a frigging Hyena shifter. Those idiots were always looking for the first chance to shank you in the spine.
Now, thanks to the chuckling backstabber, what should have been an easy mission had turned in a colossal fuck-me of epic proportions. Instead of coming in and finding his target alone and vulnerable, Shane stumbled across nest of Rattlers, a pile of drugs and an even bigger pile of human bodies.
Not even someone as screwed up as Shane thought any of those were the ingredients for a fun evening. He let out a snarl of frustration as he waited for the final Rattler to attack. It didn’t take long for the snake to show himself. A set of red glowing eyes rounded the corner and slowly made their way toward Shane. A few steps closer and he could finally make out the body belonging to the creeper peepers, an overly muscle bound, bald man who stood at well over six foot, five inches. To add even more to his ick factor, his body was locked halfway into his shift so his skin had a brownish-green, scaly appearance. When the man flicked out a forked tongue to taste the air, Shane curled his lip in disgust,
Oh yeah, this guy needed to die for sure. If for nothing else than for grossing Shane the frick out. Nothing that ugly and mean should be allowed to live.
“Did you think you could actually run away from me?” the Rattler asked, his voice so gravely it set Shane’s nerves on end.
“Not really. I just wanted to see how long you’d chase me,” Shane replied in his best bored tone.
Years of practice allowed him to keep his face as impassive as ever. While inside his heart may be pounding as a ton of adrenaline shot through his body, on the outside, he knew he looked as cool as a Michigan winter.
“You made a huge mistake in coming here tonight,” the other man sneered.
“Funny, that’s the exact thing the last idiot said. That was right before I sliced his head off.”
“I saw that you left it sitting on a shelf.”
Now Shane allowed himself a flicker of emotion as he flashed a dumb-much look. “Yeah, it was supposed to serve as a warning, but it looks like you ignored it. Pity really since I’m really sick of killing you snakes tonight.”
The Rattler flicked a dismissive glare over Shane’s body. “Really? Do you honestly think you can take me down?”
Shane knew exactly what the Rattler thought as his gaze assessed him—a short, thin feline shifter who looked barely out of his teens. With his mop of slightly curly, dirty blond hair peeking out from under his hood and wide, brown, innocent eyes, Shane often got mistaken for the choir boy type. A mistake that’d cost many of his enemies to lose their lives.
The Rattler gave Shane a look of utter contempt. “I’m thinking a tiny thing like you won’t even make a decent meal.”
Shane flashed back on some of the partially digested bodies he’d stumbled across when he first entered the building and had to repress a shudder of disgust. Yet, people often accused him of having poor table manners. At least he didn’t regurgitate his meal back onto the table.
The snake continued, “I think maybe I’ll just rip you to pieces and serve you on crackers.”
God, how he hated it when they tried to get clever with their death threats. Shane made no attempt to hide that he was rolling his eyes. “Can we get this thing going? I have another job penciled in for tonight and I’d like to get to it before it gets too late. I really hate to miss my nightly Conan fix. It makes me cranky.”