Autumn's Blood: The Spirit Shifters, Book One (29 page)

“There are phones in the offices,” he
said, already striding toward one of the open doors. “I’ll call an
ambulance.”

The distant alarms in the building
were overtaken by the wail of police and ambulance sirens from
outside. Of course, someone would have seen Dumas’ plunge from the
window.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I think
they’re already here.”

Chapter
Twenty-five

IN THE CHAOS, Chogan slipped out and
merged with the increasingly growing crowd. He hunched his
shoulders and ducked his neck, trying to make himself as
inconspicuous as possible. Cops barged past, trying, ineffectively,
to force people to stay back while they entered the building. From
what he could hear, they weren’t yet sure what was going on inside,
only that there had been a “disturbance” and possible gunshots
fired.

He’d already sent a human Enyeto to
the subway station Blake had told the captive shifters to run to.
The bear-shifter had been instructed to take the others to the
nearest police station, briefing them on the way about what to
say—that General Maxim Dumas was the one responsible for their
incarceration and subsequent torture. Though Chogan’s instinct was
to get the other shifters away from here, he didn’t want Blake to
be held responsible. They needed the testimonials of the captive
shifters to clear his cousin’s name. Plus, they should be reunited
with their families and might even need medical attention. Chogan
could do neither of these things.

He lay low, waiting for the initial
uproar to disperse. After ten minutes or so, a couple of paramedics
carried Blake out on a stretcher, handcuffed to the metal handle of
the equipment. The sight tore Chogan. He wanted to make sure his
cousin was all right, but he still wanted to complete his task.
Blake locked eyes on him in the crowd, but said nothing. Autumn was
hauled out right after, no handcuffs this time, but still with a
cop holding her hands behind her back while she struggled and
yelled at them to let her go.

A dark-haired girl and a slightly
older man followed after, also flanked by police. The girl,
teary-eyed and pale, kept shooting glances at the man as if she
thought he might vanish.

A middle-aged man in a dark suit
climbed the steps to address the crowd. One of the reporters pushed
forward, microphone held in hand. “Detective Phillips, what can you
tell us about what happened here today?”

The man shook his head. “Not much yet,
I’m afraid. We can confirm there has been one fatality. Though the
cause of death is probably from falling several stories down to
street level, we’re as yet unsure of the circumstances leading up
to it. Several people have also been found with gunshot wounds,
but, as yet, there are no further deaths to report. We’re hoping it
will stay that way.”

“What about the reports of wild
animals being on the loose?” the reporter asked. “Can you confirm
if they’ve all been captured and where they came from? Did a zoo
forget to lock its gates?”

The crowd gave a nervous chuckle at
the comment.

Detective Philips didn’t seem to find
anything funny. He frowned. “So far, there have been no signs of
any wild animals, despite numerous reports. We’re currently
assuming that part of what happened here was simply a
hoax.”

A murmur rose around the crowd, one of
disbelief this time. Many of them had seen the giant eagles for
themselves.

“Detective?” another reporter called
out, but the man shook his head.

“That’s it for the moment,
folks.”

He walked down the steps, hands held
up as if in defense, as people bombarded him with further
questions. He got into the passenger side of an unmarked car and
the car pulled away from the curb, following already departed
colleagues down the street.

Chogan took a deep breath, steadying
his nerves, and jogged up the few steps to the entrance of the
building. It dawned on him that he not only stood in place of the
detective, but was also in the same position the silver-haired man
he now knew to be General Maxim Dumas had been only a couple of
days earlier. Behind him, a strip of yellow police tape barred the
doors of the government facility.

More reporters had gathered, some
giving live feed to the news channels. He spotted the redhead he’d
spoken to earlier and deliberately made eye contact with
her.

“Do you want that exclusive now?” he
yelled.

She frowned, but nudged her cameraman
and nodded over to him.

Happy the film was rolling, Chogan
raised his voice and called across the crowd.

“I know you’re all wondering what
happened here today. Strange stories of giant animals—eagles,
wolves, and bears. It’s time the truth came out.” He locked his
eyes on the camera, speaking to the people beyond. “Those of you
who are my brothers and sisters, you might have already guessed
part of what happened here today. No longer should we be forced to
live in the shadows, to hide ourselves away as though we’re freaks.
What happened in the building behind me is nothing short of an
atrocity—shifters were being tortured! We should be the ones at the
top of the food chain, the ones ruling the rest of humanity. Don’t
be ashamed of what you are any longer. Stand up, speak out, show
them what you really are …”

A mutter came from the crowd. “The guy
is clearly a loon.”

The producer spoke to the reporter.
“This is a freaking waste of time.”

But the redhead shook her head. “No,
wait. Just see what he’s going to say.”

“You can’t be serious,
Annabel?”

Chogan continued, unfazed by the
negative comments. Another thirty seconds and they’d all be eating
their words.

“Fellow shifters, take this footage
and spread it far and wide. Upload it to every website, send it
viral. Let everyone know what we are is real.”

With that, he called his wolf to him.
Its force soared toward him through the atmosphere. He lowered his
head as it hit, a smash of energy. As always, his wolf was eager to
shift. Where other guides might have been cautious because of what
Chogan was attempting to do, therefore holding themselves back from
the change, all Chogan’s wolf wanted was to exist for
real.

His neck cracked, pain searing through
his body. The surface of his skin burned as though a million bees
were stinging him. He gritted his teeth, bearing the agony by
internalizing it—as he did every time—but by now they were
beginning to elongate, his nose protruding as a snout. Ears
uncurled from the top of his head and instantly his hearing grew
sharper. Every joint in his arms and legs snapped, wrenching into
positions they had never meant to take. Skin splitting at the base
of his spine signaled the growth and unfurling of his tail. His
body yanked and jerked, forcing him onto all fours.

Distantly, he was aware of the cries
of alarm, shock, disbelief, horror even, rising from the
crowd.

His clothes fell, unrecognizable, from
his body. The change was complete.

Chogan lifted his wolf’s head and
howled.

Chapter
Twenty-six

AUTUMN SAT AT Blake’s hospital
bedside, her fingers linked with his on top of the white starched
sheet, her eyes trained on his face.

He’d recovered consciousness when the
ambulance had arrived, but then sunk back again in the back of the
vehicle. He’d not woken again since.

She stared at the backs of his
eyelids, at the network of light blue capillaries shielding his
eyes, and prayed they would open. The sheet barely covered his
naked torso, though bandages wrapped around his abdominals, chest,
and across one shoulder where he’d been shot. Circles of monitors
to trace his heart rate had been attached to his chest, and IVs
plugged the veins in his arms.

The sight of him looking so vulnerable
filled her with dread. What if he didn’t recover?

No. She kept reminding herself of one
of the reasons Dumas had been so interested in shifters—their
ability to heal quickly. Blake was strong. He would come back from
this.

The doctors said it was normal for his
body to shut down in order to recover from the gunshot wounds.
Plus, he had lost a large quantity of blood and was running a
temperature of one hundred and four degrees, something Autumn
suspected was down to his shifter genetics rather than the
infection the doctors were treating with a high dose of IV
antibiotics.

At least the handcuffs attaching him
to the bed had been removed. The police had taken Autumn’s
statement, explaining how Blake hadn’t kidnapped her—she’d gone of
her own free will—and that Dumas’ death was down to self-defense.
That, together with the back-up statements from Peter Haverly, Mia,
and the three captive shifters, explaining how Dumas had been the
one to do the kidnapping, had quickly cleared Blake’s
name.

She had done her best to try to
explain things to a baffled Mia. Her friend was relieved to learn
Toby West was safe, though much of the rest of the story left her
with her mouth hanging open in disbelief. Autumn noticed her
incredulity hadn’t stopped her friend from allowing Peter Haverly
to take her under his metaphorical—in his case—wing. Mia, though
stunned, didn’t seem to mind the obvious interest he was showing
her.

Autumn glanced down to see Blake’s
eyelids flickering. His fingers tightened around hers.

“Blake?” Her heart hitched in
hope.

His eyes opened fully and she found
herself with a stupid grin plastered on her face, her eyes brimming
with tears.

“Autumn … you’re safe.” His voice came
out as a croak. “You’re here.”

She squeezed his hand, her voice
choked with emotion. “Where else would I be?”

His eyes locked on hers. “What
happened?” As he spoke, he seemed to grow stronger.

“You were shot. They brought you to
hospital, remember?”

But he shook his head. “No, I mean
what happened with Chogan? What did Chogan do?”

She didn’t want to tell him, worried
the news would set his healing back. Earlier, the small television
mounted on the wall in the corner had been on, feeding the news
report into the room. She’d switched the box off, unable to stand
to watch any longer. Terrified about what it might mean.

She bit her lower lip, shaking her
head.

His fingers squeezed hers, hard,
almost on the verge of pain. “What did he do?” His voice was a
growl.

She knew she had to tell him. “He’s
tried to expose you all. He shifted on camera, in front of a live
news crew.”

His eyes darkened and he pushed
himself to sitting. “That goddamned idiot. I knew he’d try to pull
something like this.” Blake reached down and tugged the sensors off
his naked chest, sending the monitors into a beeping
frenzy.

“What are you doing?” she asked in
alarm.

“Damage limitation.” He yanked the
drips from his arms, bright red blood welling in the holes that had
previously been plugged, trickling down his wrist.

“Blake, you’ve been shot. Stop that!
You need to rest.”

He swung his legs off the side of the
bed, and despite the circumstances, she couldn’t help but admire
the powerful, thick thighs on display. “I can’t. God knows what
sort of shit storm Chogan has stirred up.”

She shook her head, frantic. “It’s
okay. People don’t believe the footage is real. They’re saying it’s
a hoax and the news crew and other eye witnesses were paid
off.”

So far, the human nature of trying to
rationalize anything not understood had kicked in, and rather than
thinking what had happened was real, theories of magic tricks and
video doctoring were being batted around.

“It doesn’t matter. There will be
other shifters who he’s reached out to who will see the footage and
agree with him.”

Called by the monitor alarm, a couple
of nurses, followed by a doctor in a white coat, came rushing into
the room.

“Where are my clothes?” Blake
demanded.

The doctor frowned. “Mr. Wolfcollar,
what do you think you’re doing?”

“Getting out of here, that’s what. Now
get me my clothes!”

Autumn had gathered the clothes he’d
been wearing before he’d shifted from Dumas’ office, knowing he’d
need something to wear when he got out. It appeared as though he’d
managed to kick off his boots and get his jeans half-off before
he’d shifted, but his white t-shirt was basically in tatters. At
least he hadn’t been wearing clothes when he’d been shot, so
eliminating gun holes and blood from them. However, the reason for
his nudity had been difficult to explain to the paramedics. Now,
what remained of the jeans, t-shirt, and boots were folded in the
small closet in the corner of the room.

Autumn grabbed the items and handed
them to him with an almost apologetic smile, though she had no idea
what she was supposed to be sorry for.

Blake pulled on the tattered garments,
the muscles of his thighs glimpsed between the tears in his jeans,
the shredded t-shirt exposing his thickly muscled chest and biceps.
The bandages he wore offered more covering.