Free Shifter's Claim (The Shadow Shifters) by A. C. Arthur

him with what it thought was an inevitability. This time Bas would not give in, not even an inch. He pushed back, sending the beast an undeniable message.
    Not here. Not now.
    Bas had changed into dark khakis and a polo shirt, the closest he could get to dressing casually. On his feet were his black steel-toed Timberland boots, probably the most urban item he owned. In his front right pants pocket was his cell phone, in the left his keys. He focused on the here and now, the important things versus the unthinkable.
    Then there was a sound. He looked down the hall to his left. Nothing.
    Conference rooms were located on the second floor. They didn’t book many conferences here as he preferred the place to be used as a serene getaway and not another place to work. There were no guest rooms or other amenities, just the conference rooms. And only one conference room was in use at the moment. So why did he believe someone else was there?
    As quickly as the sense of … who, he wasn’t quite sure, had appeared, it disappeared and Bas cursed softly under his breath. For the first time in he couldn’t remember how long, Bas felt off, unbalanced, and uncertain of something as normal as walking down a hallway. He didn’t like this feeling, not one bit.
    “What if this is a setup?” Paolo, a guard with the deceptive looks of a teenager, spoke as Bas finally entered the room.
    Paolo had been one of Bas’s blue team members for the last two years and in that time the shifter had more than proven his worth. For that reason, and because he was active in the community as the head of a nonprofit that helped to keep wayward teens off the streets, Bas had a tremendous amount of respect for him.
    “We’re planning for that contingency,” Bas chimed in, determined to keep his head in the game.
    Jacques, who sat to Bas’s left, ran his fingers slowly over the screen of his iPad. “I’m sending pictures to everyone’s phone,” he announced.
    “These are the faces of the rogues who were reportedly at that warehouse in D.C. before it exploded,” Bas told them. “But not after.”
    “So these are the ones we’re looking for tonight?” Syfon, the blue team leader, asked from the far end of the room.
    “We’re looking for anyone who has something to do with that shipment. Whether it’s a driver or a runner or the goddamned ringleader, I want him,” Bas told them emphatically. “Preferably alive.”
    “Rogues don’t come willingly,” Syfon announced, as if it needed to be confirmed.
    Paolo gave him a smirk. “And we don’t ask politely.”
    “I want everyone to stay sharp out there. We have no idea who may have been given the grand task this time. And if these are the same synthetic drugs that have been killing off humans in D.C., I don’t want them arriving on American soil on my watch. Am I understood?”
    Jacques looked around the room to the legion of twenty guards he’d trained personally. When his gaze returned to Bas they both looked to Paolo whose stare was aimed directly at them. The three of them nodded and Syfon stood first.
    “Understood, FL,” he said, giving Bas another nod. Then he gave a motion with his right hand, two fingers up, turning in a small circle. The others around the table stood, giving the same signal—the blue team solidarity motion—and they headed out of the room.
    “Paolo’s a good soldier, albeit sometimes he can be a loose cannon,” Jacques said when only he and Bas were left in the room.
    Bas nodded. “He is. That’s why I want you to keep him close.” No other words were needed. Bas and Jacques had been together for a long time, Jacques being elevated to Lead Enforcer about ten seconds after Bas had been named FL. They were partners in this mission and damn good friends. So Jacques knew exactly why Bas wanted Paolo kept close and agreed with him wholeheartedly. It’s also why Bas felt safe in what he was about to ask.
    “Do you smell it?” he asked, his voice’s timbre