Raptor's Peak: Switch of Fate 4 Read online

  Dakota’s focus returned and she looked around the sweaty room, immediately seizing on someone who looked high up in the operation. He was walking out of a small office in the corner. An older male, late-forties she’d guess, with blond hair being taken over by silvery-gray. He wore no shirt, had some kind of mark on his chest, which was stacked like a wolf’s would be. Her nose didn’t work, but her eyes worked just fine. He was definitely no cat. Too bulky. Maybe even bulky enough that it slowed him down, speed sacrificed for strength. She could appreciate that.

  A big guy, a bear if she ever saw one, mean-looking, with a gnarly-ass scar on his neck, walked up to him with deference, then hung on his every barked instruction. Yup, this was her guy. Now to figure out his rank.

  The bear lumbered away but a cell phone chimed in his pocket. He whipped it out and his face went all mushy-gushy like he was staring at a message from the love of his life. Dakota grinned, imagining her a tiny little thing, all sweet and kind and able to move this mountain with a wave of her hand.

  Dakota turned her attention back to the other guy, the one in charge. He twisted his body to speak to someone in the crowd. The mark on his chest caught her eye; a palm-sized circle with slashes across it.

  The Ingrav. He had it tattooed on his chest? Savage.

  Dakota wanted it. A fierce desire filled her, feeling as much like Instinct as anything in her life, and she decided, right then and there. She was staying. She’d find a way to impress this guy, she’d be sent in where the vampires were, she’d shift, she’d tattoo that mark on her body, and she would be a Cause shifter. The job was as good as hers.

  She tapped a passing male on the arm, gestured at the leader. “Who’s that?”

  His eyes followed her hand. “Jameson? He’s the Keeper.” He looked back at her and sniffed, gave Dakota a funny look and walked away. She was definitely running out of time.

  The Keeper? What was that about? Dakota eased two steps to one side, to catch the leader’s - Jameson’s - eye, then bit back a groan. Shiloh was the person Dakota couldn’t see. She was already there, already talking to him.

  Shiloh looked Dakota’s way and visibly stiffened. Jameson’s eyes followed, locking onto Dakota without changing expression at all. Had they been talking about her? She and Shiloh were the only two females in the room.

  Dakota wasn’t about to leave her future with The Cause up to Shiloh. She headed that way, Shiloh’s eyes a weight on her. When Dakota got close enough, Shiloh gestured toward a bloody sparring ring. “You and me are next.”

  Shit. Right into the fire, and she couldn’t back down, but she had to. But she couldn't. She prayed for a lightning strike, the smoke alarm to go off. Anything.

  Behind them, a commotion sounded. Perfect. She had luck on her side, at least for the moment. Jameson looked over Dakota’s head and Shiloh craned to see around her. The big guy was already moving, but he caught Dakota’s eye and barked two short words, “Don’t leave.” In the second before he looked away again, all she could do was nod. His attention focused behind her again. He stormed past, saying, “Damn it, Aven.”

  Aven? Dakota knew that name. One of Dallas' buddies, another shifter who’d been in the Navy with him. It had to be the same guy. How many Avens could there be, let alone Avens who were shifters? Aven was an eagle, a pure-blood, but he’d never had a problem with Dallas being half-human. If he was here, she still had a shot. Dakota turned around, excitement and hope zipping through her body like a current.

  She saw him. She picked him out of the crowd, no problem, recalling the chiseled features from a picture Dallas had once shown her. She’d thought him handsome then, but the picture didn’t nearly do the real thing any justice at all.

  The male was downright hot. Scorching.

  His hair was so golden it verged on ginger, and he wore an expression that said he’d seen some hardcore shit and lived to tell the tale. His eyes were brown, and edged with laugh lines that all the best men had. He had a beard, a lovely, lush, well-groomed beard, a blend of gold, copper and bronze. She wanted to dig her fingers into that sexy scruff.

  Her eyes moved down Aven’s ripped body, obvious even in street clothes from the wide stance and angry set of his shoulders. Sure of himself. Forceful. She liked it.

  In her mind, Dakota blew out a low wolf-whistle. That is one tall drink of instant panty remover. Dakota would bet that under those clothes she’d find more than enough male to do her right.

  And across from him? Maze, completely stoic, not even attempting the winning smile she’d come to expect.

  Apparently Dakota wasn’t the only one making an impression.

  Chapter 8 - Playing Chicken

  “I said, who are you, and why do you smell like a dead man?”

  Aven spit his words, his aggression palpable to everyone in the crowd gathering around them, but he only had eyes for this asshole who smelled like a hawk, and not just any fucking hawk but one particular hawk: Cage.

  But Cage was dead. Cage had died eighteen months ago. Aven had been to his funeral.

  Cage had been a close friend, a CIA maverick who happened to be a hawk shifter. But hey, the CIA didn’t need to know that, did they? Not even when it benefited them.

  Aven, Cage, and Dallas, they’d shifted together a couple times in the coastal Mediterranean forests, waiting on their op to be a go. Golden eagle and red-tailed hawk dropping rocks on the sleek, black jaguar’s head as he streaked through the brush below, trying to catch the raptors in his massive jaws when they dropped down for rocks.

  He and Cage had been friends for seven years. They hadn’t seen each other often, had mostly kept in contact through text on encrypted phone apps, but when Cage had died, it had scarred Aven in a way he hadn’t expected. He still felt the sting of that loss.

  And this fucker had the gall to scent exactly like that red-tailed hawk? No way.

  Aven postured, feinting a fist at the male but pulling it early, watching the male’s reaction closely. The stranger moved almost before Aven did, like he could feel what Aven had been planning. His vibe fluttered with surprise, with offense that was almost personal, then disappeared faster than Aven had ever felt anyone disappear it.

  Aven backed off a step, still breathing deeply, begging the male’s scent to prove him wrong. Even if it meant Aven’s nose was fucked up, too, along with his raptor senses. Up close, he could tell the male did not scent exactly like Cage, but more like ninety-nine percent Cage. That should have been enough. He should be Cage. Shiloh and Ryder were twins and they didn’t scent more than fifty percent alike.

  He dialed in tighter on the scent. What was different? The smell of burnt feathers was heavier, lingered longer than it had with Cage. And something was lighter, something that had been thicker in Cage’s scent and was barely in this shifter’s at all. Like his scent had all the same ingredients as Cage’s at different strengths.

  But the male was not Cage. But the male’s scent still said he was Cage. Didn’t it?

  But he was not Cage. Similar eyes, build, and skin tone, yes, but still not Cage. The eyes were set further apart, his jaw wider, his cheekbones higher, plus he was three inches shorter than Cage. You couldn’t fake a height difference. Not Cage. But scented just like Cage.

  It made no sense. It could not be. And it pissed Aven off.

  Another shifter came in hot, shoving Aven with a forearm, just a little nudge to say, “knock it off”. It was Jameson, wanting him to back down. Sorry boss, can’t do that right now.

  Aven ignored Jameson completely. He growled into the strange shifter’s face again, “You deaf? I want your name.”

  The guy’s eyes went as steely as his voice and his aggression spilled, along with his name. “Maze Ahoskie.”

  Not Cage Catawba. No matter how close he scented. Aven sank back slightly on his heels, his mind racing to regroup.

  Maze leaned in, taking up the space Aven had relinquished and then some. His lip curled around his snarled words. “What the fuck is y
our problem?”

  Aven said nothing, just stared at Maze without blinking, shutting down his confusion so this raptor wouldn’t feel it. If it was go-time, then it was go-time, but he wouldn’t be the one to say so.

  Next to him, Jameson started to speak. “Aven-,”

  Maze’s vibe was pure punk. He jammed his hard jaw in Aven’s face. “Aven?” he said, his aggression ramping up even higher. “Let’s take it to the ring, Aven.”

  Maze pulled his shirt off and threw it to the side. He toed off his boots and ripped his tear-away pants, standing naked for a split-second before he shifted cleanly into a red-tailed hawk and came straight for Aven’s face.

  Definitely not Cage.

  Not that Aven needed any more evidence, but Cage had been smooth enough to talk his way out of almost any conflict. Even in bar fights, Aven had never seen Cage throw a punch before he’d dodged two. A male that deadly had to know how to hold back. This hawk didn’t know shit about that.

  Aven was ready to one-up him already. He didn't have to get naked. He shifted cleanly into his eagle, his clothes melding to feathers perfectly, satisfied as hell when Maze the asshole hawk flinched in surprise in mid-air.

  With one solid push of his larger wings Aven was up and was out of Maze’s reach. All around them shifters shouted and pushed back, Jameson knocking a few of them over. He knew what it was like to fight a raptor, and as big a wolf as he was, he had never been able to beat Aven. No wolf had since Aven had been a kid.

  Bears were only a worry for lazy flyers, and only because one swipe of their paw could break every bone in a raptor’s body. Cats were the only serious cross-species threat. Their powerful jumps and gripping claws could catch a raptor by surprise. But even then it was just a matter of knowing where they were and staying out of reach.

  Raptor fights were different. Raptors couldn’t get away from other raptors.

  Maze’s asshole hawk came at him, talons first. Aven tucked his wings and scooped through the scant space beneath Maze’s outstretched legs, then unfurled and pushed hard, aiming as high as he could go. Up to the space just under the thirty-foot ceilings, where the ductwork and framing made flying treacherous.

  The fight was on and the fight was for real, but Aven’s attention was pulled to the crowd below by a female presence. A sultry, passionate presence that made him want to show off. Could it be Dakota? She was the only female besides Shiloh he expected to see at Sparring.

  Holy shit, if that was her… Aven sent out every sensual feeler he had and they came back scorched at the tips. Whoever she was, she was hot like lava, flowing deep underground. Aven wanted to soar around that presence, soak it up, catch the heated air blasting off it. Half of him wanted to leave the fight and find that female, whoever she was. Inhale her scent, maybe touch her. The other half wanted her to see this.

  Maze was on his tail. Aven didn’t react, he turned, hard, back stretched, talons out. Maze did the same and they locked talons, gripping tight, spinning through the air as they fell.

  Death spirals always impressed the ladies, but in this case, Aven was larger and heavier. If they didn’t release, he’d hit first.

  They broke off as their tail feathers brushed ground. Aven knew that, like him, Maze was forcing his wings through the heavy air, using every ounce of his energy to lift himself back to their starting point. Aven flew to the top of the giant space, as high above the crowd as he could get without snapping his wings on steel.

  Female eyes were still on him. Aven felt them like a caress on his feathers. He searched for her as he flew, but every time he took his eyes off Maze the smaller, lighter, quicker bird went for his throat.

  They locked talons again. Aven did not have time for bullshit. He ripped and tore with beak and talons. The hawk skree-ed in rage, the sound reverberating in the closed room, making shifters cover their ears and groan.

  Maze retaliated. They fought to maim, releasing the spiral only inches from the floor, then flying to the top to do it all over again, both dripping blood.

  Aven had a move that always worked, one that Cage himself had taught him. Aven steeled himself in the air, twisting, dedicating his next move to his dead friend, letting go of the idea that somehow this hawk could be that hawk. It could not be.

  A wave of something pushed off Maze from yards away. Remorse? Aven couldn’t tell. He didn’t have time to wonder. Maze flew at him. He flew back. In the split-second before they locked talons, Aven shot forward and went for a talon, piercing the biggest joint with his beak, ignoring the skree. He scratched at bone and twisted wing, pumping the air, pulling against Maze as the hawk fought with all he had and they hurtled toward the ground in a riot of feathers and noise. The talon bent, gristle grinding, about to snap off—

  Maze gave up. A foot from the concrete he surrendered, shifting out of his animal form, yanking his bloody man-toe out of Aven’s mouth. He landed hard on his naked back on the concrete.

  Aven hovered a yard off the floor, his wings beating a tornado that ruffled the hair and clothes of the shifters around him. Maze glared at him from the ground. Naked. Bloody. But he’d kept that toe.

  Aven shifted then, landing close on booted feet, like jumping off a boat.

  Jameson strode into the center of the ring, pointing at Aven. Shifters clapped. A few newbies cheered.

  Maze pushed to his feet. He gathered his clothes and held them in front of his body with one hand. He held the other hand out to Aven. “Nice move,” he said.

  Aven only stared at him. Maze left the hand there, insisting on a shake. Aven stared. Maze insisted. Aven nodded once sharply, then shook Maze’s hand.

  Maze turned and strode away, limping just a little.

  Aven hoped it took a few more shifts to get that toe right.

  Chapter 9 - Flip The Bird

  Jameson materialized at Aven’s elbow like a fucking genie and growled through clenched teeth, “My office. Now.” It didn’t take a raptor to tell he was pissed.

  But Aven wanted to go find that female, the sultry one who raised the temperature of whole damn room. He could feel her. Still. The female who might be Dakota.

  Jameson growled again, low in his throat. Telling Aven he could say no, but he’d have another fight on his hands if he did. Talking would be faster. Aven followed Jameson to one corner of the room, to an office that used to belong to Flint’s brother Bryce, and was now full of Cause business.

  Jameson closed the door and turned on Aven as soon as they stepped inside, expression carefully controlled. “What the hell was that about?”

  Speaking of messes, Aven’s everweft was off again, but only a little. He unbuttoned his untucked shirt, quickly, then buttoned it correctly and tucked it in. At least his ass wasn’t hanging out.

  He weighed his words as he tucked. How was he going to tell Jameson the truth without sounding crazy? “My last op with the SEALs was a long shot that went bad. A friend ordered it. Cage Catawba. Everything that could have gone wrong, did. My buddy Dallas got snake-bit,” Jameson winced as Aven went on, “and shot in the foot, and a human died.”

  Jameson gave him a ‘go-on’ gesture. Aven went on. “I tried to figure out why it all went bad. It's like something was off in my raptor senses. It still is. I don't know what, but there's something wrong inside me." He gave Jameson a meaningful look. Jameson would know what it meant. Jameson relied heavily on Aven's "raptor senses."

  “I called Cage’s phone, but he didn’t answer.” Aven lowered his voice. Habit. This business still haunted. “I went to his place. Turns out there was plenty about Cage I didn’t know.”

  Aven blew out a breath. He saw the scene every time he closed his eyes at night. Overturned furniture, papers strewn across the apartment, blood spatter over all of it. He met Jameson’s eye. “Cage was dead. I heard sirens and got the hell out of there. I stepped out on the street and somebody shot me. I still don’t know who or why. My shoulder got blasted to hell. No chance to heal it because the local cops were already there.
” Aven kept his bitter reeled in. “Immediate medical care screwed me. If I’d had a minute to shift the Navy would’ve never known. The Navy handed the whole incident over to the CIA. They debriefed me, but of course they won’t talk about it or Cage.”

  Jameson still stared, making Aven realize none of that answered the question. His senses kept taking hit after hit and his brain still reeled from it. He gathered his loose ends. “Long, shitty story short, I think I missed something on that op, same as I did at the gold mine. Tonight happened because I could swear Maze out there scents like Cage.”

  Jameson gave Aven a hard look. “Exactly?”

  Aven nodded. “Ninety-nine percent. You ever heard of that before?”

  Jameson shook his head, shot Aven a puzzled look. “Do you think you were wrong about his scent?”

  Aven ground his teeth against the question. He’d screwed up something, but this? Scenting a shifter all wrong? Those were the basics, toddler stuff. What had he been thinking, going after Maze? Why would his senses be solid for months after the op, and then suddenly go haywire again? Was Aven getting worse? The twist in his stomach kept him from answering.

  Jameson’s phone made a happy ding and he whipped it out of his pocket, waving Aven off like the topic could wait. Jameson smiled at the screen like it was his best friend. “Cora wants me to pick up a pizza on the way home. Think she’ll notice if I get them to put spinach on it? You know, for the baby?”

  Aven smiled in spite of his churning guts. After more than a century and a half of waiting for a mate, the Keeper was going to be a father. That is, if Cora didn’t stab his overprotective ass first.

  Jameson put his phone away and stepped toward the door like he was about to leave, then turned back to Aven, asking, “Other than the scent thing, what do you think of Maze?”

  Aven didn’t answer right away, knowing he was being asked for his official raptor expertise, not wanting to mess it up. Maze’s scent still confused Aven, but other than that, did he have any real reason not to trust the guy? “For damn sure he knows how to fight. We need fighters.”