Free Dead Shifter Walking by Kim Schubert Page B

sickly looking
purple at my ribs. Taking a deep breath, I probed, seeing if
anything was broken; it hurt like hell and I had to sit when my
vision tunneled, threatening to end my rudimentary first aid. But
my luck held; nothing was broken.
    Throwing my ruined clothing away, I climbed into
bed naked; my body would heal faster than a normal human, but not
as quickly as a shifter or a vampire. The sting of first blood
would take days to fester out of my system and I would be crankier
than usual; that’s just great.
    I drifted to sleep quickly, dreaming of the ways
I was going to kill Steven. I was underestimating him; it wouldn’t
happen again.
    My watch alarm woke me up at 9 a.m. My body was
demanding more rest, but I had to deny it. The scalding hot shower
helped loosen up my left side, but it was still sporting ugly
yellow bruises that only renewed my plans to kill Steven. What I
had seen last night as a gash on my left leg was now a thin scab
running its length, causing me some discomfort as I got ready to
face this day.
    Dressing in my working leathers, I called the
manor from a coffee shop five blocks away from my hotel.
    “Grams,” I said.
    “Olie,” she responded distractedly.
    “First, I need a car, preferably Jerry, sent to
the address I texted you with an extra phone and gun. Second, call
Kass and tell her plans have been moved up. Third, no shifters are
to be trusted with the exception of Darren,” I said, leaving no
room for argument.
    “Understood,” Grams said. “Are you—”
    I hung up on her; she was going to ask if I was
okay. I sighed, drinking my overpriced coffee. What did she expect
me to say? Yep, I’m great, had a hit taken out on me, some gnarly
bruises, and now I potentially have a whole new list of people I
needed to kill. Yep, I am fucking fabulous.
    I was trapped in a deep, dark pit of
self-loathing, one I knew all too well. I had long ago given up on
ever climbing to my freedom; instead, I distracted myself by
throwing myself into one life-threatening situation after another.
If I were honest, brutally honest, I would look forward to the day
when the knife was true, a bullet my last sensation, and death was
my next big life move, not marriage and kids. How fucked was that?
The sick part was that I felt sure I deserved to never ever be
happy. Not after everything I had done, not after the blood that
coated my blades, not after the decisions I had made; happiness was
not destined for me.
    I wanted to push those emotions down deep but I
didn’t have the energy or reason to. Instead, they lingered just
beneath my skin, sealed from the outside world but raging inside. I
took another sip of the coffee as “The Beast” pulled up. I wanted
to smile but didn’t have it in me.
    Opening the passenger door, I gave Jerry
directions to the police station. I still had a date with
Mercer.
    Thankfully, Jerry wisely didn’t say a word more
than to acknowledge my directions. Either Grams had warned him or
he picked up on my obvious body language. I had a tentative
relationship with him at best; given my current mood, I could ruin
the entire thing, and it had been a long time since I had
companionship on my treks. Did it really matter, I questioned
myself, given that in a few days or weeks, I would likely be gone
again for who knew how long and forgotten, except, of course, for
my legendary itch to kill.
    Pulling into the rain-dampened parking lot, I
turned to Jerry. “In or out?” I asked.
    “Out,” he responded, playing with the radio. I
hopped out and stood there a moment debating if I should say
anything else. I wanted to say I was sorry for my misery and
dragging him down and that it was probably best if he got himself
out of this now. I closed the door instead, zipped my jacket, and
added a few notches to my self-hatred, forcing my emotions within
the boundaries of my skin.
    At 9:45 a.m. I sat at Mercer’s desk, waiting and
staring at my bruised hands holding my warm coffee. I could feel