Beauty and the Shapeshifter (Evil Rising, #4) Read online

  Now that her youngest daughter was getting married, Rebecca would focus all her energy on Elsie. Attention Elsie didn’t want.

  She understood her mother’s concern. Unless Elsie found an immortal mate to latch onto, she would live a normal mortal lifespan. Such was the life’s ambition of a siren: find an immortal lover by any means necessary to siphon off their life source, thereby extending the siren’s own life.

  Not exactly what feminist dreams were made of.

  Elsie lifted her head from the desk and flicked off the computer monitor. This allowed her to subtly glance at her reflection without taking out her pocket mirror. She carefully made sure her hair was in place before she turned the glowing screen back on.

  Feminist or not, there was no harm in looking good.

  At this point, Brock didn’t care whether Jackson was stealing. He was close to firing him just so he wouldn’t have to hear him whine any more. Kayla, Jackson’s mother and Brock’s sister, would never let him hear the end of it, but she had to have some idea of how annoying he was.

  Even though this was only supposed to be a simple lunch, Jackson had dragged out the meal well over two hours. Because it was already a late lunch, Brock didn’t get back to the plant until well after five. After a few hours of productive work, he was the last one left in the building. The receptionist offered to stay with him, but he assured her that he would be fine.

  Notably, Jackson had not offered to stay. He went home as soon as they got back from their lunch. Elsie had already been gone, but at least she told him in advance about her schedule for the day.

  He remembered her blush and couldn’t hold back his predatory smile. In two years, she had never shown the slightest bit of interest in him, but in just two short conversations, he managed to crack her shell. She liked his body. She was embarrassed that she did, but her blush told him everything he needed to know.

  Not that he could do anything with the information. She was too good at her job to risk losing her. His grandmother would never accept a mortal for his mate, so he could promise her nothing more than a good time. Still, it was nice to know he wasn’t alone in this little crush.

  With thoughts of Elsie Handeland’s tight skirt wrapped around her toned ass, he powered down his laptop. He gathered all his papers and cords into his work bag and made his way through the darkened offices to the parking lot.

  Lights shone in the lot, but shadows covered most of the old concrete. He made a mental note to look into repaving the crumbling cement. At the edge of the lot, in the darkest shadows, there was a small Ford. He had expected to only see his black BMW, but apparently he wasn’t alone in the plant.

  Brock looked over his shoulder to the plant but didn’t see any obvious signs of criminal activity. He wasn’t familiar enough with the employees to recognize any cars besides Jackson’s Mustang convertible. The small Ford might have been there for days and he would have no way of knowing.

  A cool spring breeze swept in from the east and he was suddenly engulfed by the smell of rotting flesh. He dropped his bag and swung around, using all his senses to locate the source.

  Nothing worked. He didn’t hear anyone, and the smell seemed to be coming from all around him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as his dagger-sharp claws protruded from his fingertips. He didn’t move a muscle as he focused on locating the threat. It made him an easy target to hit as the creature flew out of the darkness to tackle him to the cold concrete.

  It wasn’t the first time Elsie had been alone in the plant before, but it was the first time she didn’t want anyone to know she was there. When she pulled into the lot fifteen minutes earlier, she was given pause when Brock’s BMW was still in the lot, but she decided to go forward with her plan. Brock would hear all her theories in the morning anyway, so if he walked in on her, it wouldn’t be too detrimental.

  Part of her wanted to dress for the secret mission she was going on, but considering she was on a timeline and had to be home by nine to greet her mother, she settled on wearing a peach sundress and nude pumps with four-inch heels. Not something she would ever wear to work, but her mother would expect her to look her best.

  After the gym, her afternoon had been jam-packed with cleaning, cooking, showering, and a good hour spent making sure every curl was in place on her long blonde hair. While she drove back to the plant, she had to carefully move the tresses to the front of her shoulders to make sure she didn’t flatten the curls against her seat.

  She had just finished applying topcoat to her nails, which now perfectly matched her dress. It was a pain to buckle up and drive without brushing them up against anything, but they had dried by the time she parked in the mostly empty lot.

  Now she sat in the security office of the plant, reviewing old security tapes. She was able to ascertain that the fake vendor was set up from Tara’s computer at eleven p.m. on April twenty-first. It was highly unlikely that the accounts payable clerk was working that late to input another vendor, but Elsie needed more than “unlikely” to accuse the plant manager of embezzlement. If she could show Brock the video of Jackson in the plant that night around that time, she would have her evidence.

  Getting the video was easier said than done. The security office was inside the plant, but right next to Jackson’s office. She couldn’t go during office hours or he would know she was onto him.

  So here she was, sneaking into the plant after hours. As expected, it didn’t take too long to find the incriminating footage. Because she knew exactly the date and time, she only had to review two tapes until she found what she needed. Sure enough, Jackson was hanging around Tara’s computer that night.

  As she loaded the video onto the USB drive she brought with her, a loud bang echoed through the plant, and the walls shook around her. Instinctively, Elsie dropped to the ground and covered her head, expecting the building to cave or windows around the security office that looked out onto the plant to shatter all around her.

  After ten long seconds of crouching in the corner, more sounds emerged from the plant floor. Sounds of a fight.

  Elsie cautiously crawled over to the windows, careful not to make a sound. She raised her head up until her eyes could look out the window, and her heart sank. A man and some sort of monster were engaged in the most brutal confrontation Elsie had ever seen. She might have been raised around vampires, but the brutality of supernatural creatures had always been carefully hidden during the parties and family gatherings she’d been to.

  This was brutal, and she knew one of the fighters wouldn’t survive. She couldn’t see the man’s face with how fast they were moving and how far away she was.

  Even with those restrictions, it was obvious that the other fighter was not human. He wore no clothes, and his skin was a blackish-gray coloring over a muscled body. Long ears stood out from his head, and nappy hair stretched down his spine.

  As the monster swiped a clawed hand at the man, he was just able to duck as he landed his own blow to the monster’s throat. Elsie squinted as she tried to see better. Blood covered one side of the man’s face, but his white shirt and black suit jacket were visible.

  Realization filled her. “Brock,” she whispered in despair. He was being murdered in front of her and there was nothing she could do. She tried to focus on the monster. Maybe if she could identify him, she could kill him.

  With what? She looked around her, but there were no weapons. She could hit him with a metal chair, for all the good it would do. She dragged herself over to the security guard’s desk and opened the drawer. Her hand fumbled around in the dark until she grasped the scissors. Very few immortal beings could be killed with scissors, but they were better than nothing.

  She made it back to the window just as the beast grabbed Brock by his shirt collar and threw him against a Hilo forklift thirty feet away. He landed with a loud thud on the hard plant floor. A low sound of grief emerged from her throat and the monster turned to look directly at her.

  Fear clawed up from her stomac
h as she suddenly felt nauseous. Pitch-black eyes stared at her across the plant. Those eyes told her everything she needed to know about the monster. She knew exactly how to kill him and even had bullets that would do the job in her backseat. She also knew that she would never live long enough to make it to her car.

  The myotis had her in its sights and it was only a matter of time before he pounced. A particularly vicious creature, they were known for their strong family ties and their love of sirens. Namely, raping and eating sirens.

  Not willing to just stand there and wait for her death, Elsie ran. Her heels slowed her down, but that wasn’t what made her fall. A cold and leathery hand gripped her arm and smashed her into the nearest wall. Unlike Brock, she was only tossed three feet, but the impact still echoed through her entire body.

  As her rubbery legs gave out, she started to slide to the floor, but that cold hand was back. This time, it wrapped around her throat and lifted her until her toes just barely touched the ground and most of her weight rested against the hand that held her captive.

  As her lungs fought for air, her hand tightened on the scissors. With one forceful thrust, she stabbed them through one of the beast’s black eyes.

  To her horror, he didn’t even flinch. Black blood flowed from the wound as he tossed his head back and laughed. His free hand pulled the scissors from his eye socket and more black sludge leaked out.

  The smell was so pungent that Elsie was almost glad she couldn’t breathe. He brought the black slime-covered scissors close to her face, and fear overcame any bravery she had. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and looked away.

  The slime was cold as the scissors were pressed against her cheek. “What’s wrong, pretty lady?” He ran the scissors down her face and neck. He pressed the edge into the delicate skin of her neck but didn’t break the skin. “You can dish it but you can’t take it?”

  He moved the weapon farther down, pushing against her breast and stomach until the now warmer blade rested against the bare skin of her thigh. The implications of what he intended rocked through her. “Please,” she creaked out. Humiliating tears fell down her face to mix with the trail of his dark blood against her pale skin.

  He lowered her half an inch, but it was just enough for her to rest her weight on the ground and gasp in air. His deformed face leaned in close to hers, and a raspy tongue that felt like sandpaper licked up her tears. “Keep crying, pretty lady. I love the taste,” he whispered against her ear; she cringed at his foul breath.

  The scissors were raised, gathering the skirt of her dress as the sharp and dirty blade approached the top of her thighs. Unable to hold back, Elsie pushed against him with all the strength she could muster as a scream ripped free from her throat. The beast didn’t budge, and his lipless mouth curled at her misery.

  As any remaining hope left her, a sharp piece of metal was stabbed through the beast’s shoulder and he was ripped away from her. As the myotis fought to remove the pipe, Elsie steadied herself against the wall. Brock stood in front of her, but it wasn’t the Brock she remembered. Blood covered half of his face, making it unrecognizable. Claws had replaced his fingers, and his mouth protruded forward an extra inch. Large fangs pushed past his lips as a continuous growl emitted from his throat.

  Werewolf. Before she could take in any more of the transformation, he turned away from her and charged the myotis. Despite the pipe, the myotis was still strong and dangerous. Even worse, he was almost impossible to kill.

  Except for the cursed bullets in her car. Elsie flipped off her heels and ran for the parking lot. The sounds of the fight raged behind her, but she didn’t look back. “Hold on, Brock. Just hold on a little longer,” she muttered as she reached the car and wrenched open the back door.

  Her hands shook as she grabbed for the pistol and bullets, kept in two separate boxes under the driver’s seat. A birthday present from her stepfather. She silently sent out a thank-you to him as she loaded the gun with the cursed bullets.

  Before she had the last bullet in, she turned to walk back into the plant. Considering the myotis wasn’t on top of her, she was reassured that Brock was still alive. She walked in the door that had been blown off its hinges when the fight originally spilled into the plant.

  The magazine slid smoothly into the handle, and she pulled back the top to load a bullet in the chamber. She softly stepped into the plant and saw Brock and the beast brutally pounding on each other. She couldn’t see who had the upper hand; the blows seemed to be evenly vicious. Seeing Brock holding his own against a myotis was shocking, to say the least. She had worked alongside him for years, never suspecting the brutality hidden underneath his designer suits.

  No time to think about it now. She knew she should aim for the leg or the arm. Where there was one myotis, there were more, and they would be out for blood if he didn’t return. At the moment, logic was not working for her. All she could see was his evil smile as she screamed against him. All she felt was his sandpaper tongue scraping against her tears.

  As Brock was pushed away, she raised the gun and unloaded five bullets into the beast’s chest.

  “Elsie!” She shook at the sound of Brock’s voice. How many times had he yelled her name?

  He walked up to her cautiously, and Elsie realized she was pointing the gun straight at Brock. She lowered the weapon and flicked the safety in place.

  Brock was back to normal. Well, he didn’t have claws or fangs anymore. He was still covered in blood, and his fancy suit was destroyed. Normal. Right.

  The myotis was motionless at Brock’s feet. “Is he dead?” She couldn’t bring herself to poke him to find out.

  “He’s very dead,” assured Brock. “Let’s go talk somewhere.”

  “Great,” she muttered. “That means I’m dead too. Fuck!” She turned away from Brock and stormed back to her car. How long did she have until his clan found her? A minute? A day?

  She had to get moving. Pack up some stuff and make a run for it. She had some savings and Rebecca had connections. She could camp out with the vampires in Canada until the heat died down. Which would never happen. The myotis clans never forget.

  “Elsie, we need to talk about what you saw.”

  “I need to get out of town before his family tracks me down. I suggest you make yourself scarce too.” She was the one who pulled the trigger, but who knew how a vengeance-crazed mama myotis would be?

  She jumped into her driver’s seat and turned the key in the ignition as she shut the door. Brock was there before it closed. “We need to talk about what I am,” he said.

  Elsie rolled her eyes in frustration. She was going to die and he was worried about his secret werewolf identity! “Good-bye, Brock.” She hit the gas and drove off, leaving him in the dust.

  The drive home was a blur of broken traffic laws and thoughts of how the myotises would kill her. When she pulled up to her small town house, her heart sunk when she saw her mother’s Mustang parked outside the front door.

  For one, she didn’t want her mother in danger. Secondly, she looked terrible and her mother would point it out incessantly. Her sweat had flattened out her hair, and her new dress was streaked with myotis blood and dirt and grease from the plant floor.

  To top it all off, she had abandoned her shoes when she fled the plant. As she stumbled up to the door, barefoot and gun toting, her mother opened the door for her. Rebecca’s jaw dropped so far down it almost touched the grass. “Elsie Daisy Handeland, what did you do?”

  Etta looked equally shocked. “Are you okay?”

  Elsie stared at her sister but didn’t answer. No. Nothing was okay.

  Elsie was rather curious as to how her mother got into her home, considering she knew the doors were locked, but when she had learned that her stepfamily was an integral part of the vampire monarchy, she stopped questioning the small and strange things her mother did.

  “I killed a myotis. I think his clan is going to hunt me down and I need to leave.”

  Her mother scoffe
d. “Ridiculous. You are Roman Entin’s daughter. They wouldn’t dare touch you.”

  Elsie shuddered at the memory of just how willing the myotis had been to touch her. “I am not about to start a war. I just need to get out of town and lie low for a while. Besides, I’m his stepdaughter.”

  Rebecca shook her head. “You know Roman loves you like one of his own. He and Thomas have always considered you girls family.”

  Elsie glanced to Etta just in time to see her look away and blush. Thomas had more than just “brotherly” affection for Etta, but she passed him over for a vampire on the high council instead of one whose only claim to power was his father’s position.

  “Mama, you know I consider them family too. That’s all the more reason to avoid any confrontation. I don’t know what I would do if either of them got hurt on my account.”

  “No daughter of mine is going to get murdered by a barbaric bunch of batboys!”

  The doorbell rang before Elsie had a chance to calm her down. Everything went quiet as the three women looked to the door, almost expecting myotises to kick it down. “They probably wouldn’t ring the doorbell,” murmured Elsie.

  Even so, her cowardice was proved by her inability to walk to the door. Her mother sighed. “Oh, for goodness’ sakes.” She pulled open the door and outside was a bloody and dirty Brock.

  Elsie’s eyes widened. No, no, no, no, no. Brock could not be in the same room as her mother.

  Rebecca’s eyes narrowed as she scanned Brock from head to toe. “Hello there. Elsie didn’t mention she was having a gentleman caller.”

  Brock’s own eyes narrowed as his nose twitched. His grimace told her he was scenting something he didn’t approve of. Determined to avoid a brawl, Elsie pushed past her mother. “This is just my boss. Get your mind out of the gutter, Mama.” She grabbed Brock’s hand and pulled him into her home. Normally she would scold him on her front lawn, but considering she expected assassins to show up at any moment, the kitchen seemed like a much better idea.