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The scene looks like the artistic director for Playgirl magazine is going through a Boris Vallejo phase. My somewhat-more-than-boyfriend is a hairy Conan the Barbarian crossed with the sort of physique often attributed to Ancient Greek gods.
I stare at him. It’s hard not to.
Kingsley gives me this innocent hand turn. “What? You mentioned remote woods. Finding people. I figured you’d be asking me to put the nose to work right away. If so, who needs clothes?”
“You’re not wrong. Just wasn’t ready for the sight.”
I take his hand. He casually slings a small bag over his shoulder, likely packed with a change of clothing. Or rather, clothing. Can’t really call it a ‘change of’ since he’s got nothing on right now.
We land next to the cabin, near some bushes.
“One other thing,” says Kingsley, “what’s this all about?”
I fill him in, which doesn’t take long. Missing person, thought she was abducted and murdered, turns out she wanted to be up here. Police looking for the three of them, but didn’t know about this place. Weirdly, found the boy wandering around on his own. Kid was unhurt but hadn’t a clue what happened. Said kid is presently with Mary Lou. No police until we figure out what the hell is going on.
“Got it,” says Kingsley, winking, and still naked as the day he was born. “In other words, another day in the life of Samantha Moon, vampire private eye.”
“Something like that.”
“Mind if I get to work now?”
“Be my guest.”
With that, the transformation is instant, though not exactly silent. He grunts, dropping to his knees and hands, throws back his head. I look away because for some reason I don’t like watching my honey buns turn into an animal. That done, he dashes off, nose to the ground.
As though the shadows themselves came to life, Kingsley drifts in and out of the tree line at the edge of the clearing around the cabin. The sight of a huge, majestic black wolf occasionally staring at me with his pale yellow eyes hits me with simultaneous awe as well as a bit of involuntary anxiety. Like, Iknowit’s Kingsley andknowhe’d never hurt me… but for a few seconds, the primitive part of my brain sees an impossibly large wolf and reverts to cavewoman mode where people had to run for their lives from monsters like that.
I am really glad he’s on our side. Wouldnotwant to be anyone he’s hunting.
Odd thing about wolves. We’re only here looking for a scent trail, but something about the way he moves, the way he stares into the distance, puts me on edge. And, yeah, it’s all in my head. Sometimes, it’s easy to forget Kingsley is in there and I’m not looking at an ordinary—but huge—carnivore. Then again, weres are known to sometimes lose control of their higher reasoning and embrace the beast within.
It’s part of the reason the whole ‘werewolf vs. vampire’ thing started. Undead vamps tweak out animals. Remember how cats used to always hiss at me? Same concept. Every so often, a vampire just being near a werewolf would freak them out. It’s like sneaking up behind someone and popping a paper bag, only rather than jump and yell, they rip your head off. Started a bit of a war here and there.
Anyway… I don’t have that effect on animals anymore so I’m at ease around most werewolves. And cats, thank god. Love cats!
I hurry along behind him, somewhat surprised by the straightness of the path Kingsley’s following. It suggests Carson and Gemma might have either been going to a specific place or followed someone… or something. I picture the two of them sitting on the chairs outside the cabin talking, when they see some strange in the trees and foolishly decide to chase after it. Or perhaps they’d been entranced to follow.
Another surprise happens barely two minutes later when Kingsley comes to an abrupt stop. He looks around, sniffs a bit more, then shapeshifts back to his human form. Can’t say I object to the change of scenery. His wolf self is majestic, but so are his human muscles.
“See anything above us?” asks Kingsley in his ‘just shapeshifted’ super gravelly voice. It’s like a seriously sexy version of sounding hung over.
I peer up. “Nope. Why?”
He takes a breath, then stands. “Because their trail just stops.”
“Stops?”
Kingsley turns to face me. “Yep, stops. Like when I’m following you and you teleport.”
“When have you followed me right before I teleported?” I blink.
“I haven’t. Just saying it would be like that.” He scratches his head. “Use some of that psychic power of yours. Maybe they went through a faerie circle or something. I’m going to do a spiral. Maybe they just got picked up and carried by a bear or something. The scent trail might resume somewhere nearby.”
“Er, right…” God, I hope it wasn’t a bear.
As Kingsley once more turns into a wolf, I try to open my psychic feelers to input from any nearby source. ‘Try’ is the operative word here as I’m not exactly too experienced with this stuff yet. Just when I’d gotten used to having mind control and telepathy, blammo—my powers change. No one warned me being an immortal would be similar to working an office job: as soon as you get used to your role, the company changes it entirely.
Sigh.
