Midnight Shift (Episode Five): a Shapeshifter Menage Serial Romance Read online

  Letter to the Readers

  Dear Readers,

  Please be aware that Midnight Shift (Episode Five) is the fifth part in a hot new Shapeshifter/ Paranormal Romance Ménage serial.

  This is Episode Five of a five episode serialized novel. In other words, it is episodic, and not a stand-alone story. Read parts 1-4 before embarking on this episode. This serial is exclusive to Amazon and can be read for FREE through the Kindle Unlimited program.

  Thank you!

  Renee <3

  About the Author

  Award-winning author Reneé George has been a medic, a nurse, a website designer, a small press editor, an artist, and a teacher, but writing is her true passion. Reneé loves creating stories about sexy alpha men (BEST JOB EVER!). She and her family live in a small, mid-western town, sharing their home with two dogs and a very independent cat.

  Connect with Renee!

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  Check out Renee’s website: http://www.romance-the-night.net

  More Werewolf/Shapeshifter Romance

  The Cull Series (Short Stories, Werewolves, Sensual Romance)

  http://www.ozarkshifters.com

  Midnight Shift (Shapeshifter, Paranormal, Urban Fantasy, Steamy Romance)

  http://www.midnightshifters.com

  The Lion Kings Romance (Ménage, Steamy Romance, Historical Fantasy)

  http://www.lionkingshifters.com

  Table of Contents

  Letter to the Readers

  About the Author

  More Werewolf/Shapeshifter Romance

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Epilogue

  The Bear Witch Project Excerpt

  Midnight Shift (Episode Five)

  Copyright © Renee George 2015

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the copyright holder.

  Any trademarks, service marks, product names or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement from the author of this work.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and storylines in this book are inspired only by the author’s imagination. The characters are based solely in fiction and are in no relation inspired by anyone bearing the same name or names. Any similarities to real persons, situations, or incidents is purely coincidental.

  Cover Art: Renee George

  Midnight Shift (Episode Five)

  By Renee George

  A Werewolf Shifter Romance

  www.midnightshifters.com

  Chapter Twelve

  The farmhouse began to shake, the walls shimmering as they clambered toward the stairs. Benie debated going after her father. Trace was bloody, with huge open wounds on both shoulders, elbows, hips, and knees. The extreme damage made it impossible to walk, which meant they would have to carry him to safety.

  I’m dead. Just leave. His words rang like mourning bells in her mind. Leaving without Trace had never been an option. Now, Ian and a woman named Shade—who claimed to be Trace’s wife—hauled him toward the exit while Benie took the back of the group to fight off anyone who came at them from behind.

  “Hurry,” Destan shouted. “Caledon is losing its reality. If you’re not out the door when it moves, you’ll be stuck wherever Garrick takes you.”

  “Let’s go,” Benie said, urging Ian and Shade to move faster. She had some questions for the mysterious woman, but they could wait until they were safely out of her father’s kingdom.

  A guard with a long sword ran toward them as they exited the cellar doors. Benie’s first impulse was to throw herself between the ruffian and her mates, but one loud blast from a 9mm Glock stopped her cold. The sword dropped first, and then the man—a neat hole dead center of his forehead. Benie looked at Shade, the dark haired woman was vigil as she scoped out the open landscape. Benie gave her a nod of approval.

  “Come on,” she said, exasperated when a small army began to converge on their group. She couldn’t take them all on, and even if they did win this battle, it wouldn’t be without casualties. Who could she stand to lose? Her two lovers? Never. Ty Wasape or any of the dragon triplets? Not without regret and guilt. After all, they were only here because she’d insisted on going in to rescue Trace, and they were tasked with her safety. The mysterious woman Shade? The one who was apparently, or at least had been, married to Trace at some point in time? Not even her, Benie thought. I don’t want to lose even her.

  Ty Wasape, the large Native American man, had dropped his large bloody machete on the ground and shifted into a large black bear. He tore apart the guards who’d come at them from behind. She never seen such a large and vicious rendering, and she thanked her lucky stars he was on their side. Destan darted in and around four men, neatly crippling them by slicing major tendons behind their knees, at the ankles, and finally he finish by ramming the blade into the back of one guard’s neck in an upward thrust that scrambled his brain.

  Benie, not to be outdone, pulled her taped down knives from her sides and ran at two attackers, one turning gaunt and pale before her eyes. He bared razor sharp fangs as he leaped at her. Benie side stepped the lunge and rounded on the amphyr, a vampire-like creature, and punched him in the back of the head. He landed face first in the grass, but scrambled to a stand as she flipped over the second man, shoving her knife down past his collarbone and into his heart.

  The amphyr came at her again, his high-pitched scream meant to instill terror. Unfortunately for him, he’d picked the wrong fucking girl on the wrong fucking day. Benie dove forward into a tuck and roll, and she came up, knife at the ready to slit his throat. Another loud blast had her turning away at the last second. Her blade missed its mark, and sliced a wide gash over his left eye. The bullet hole in his chest was what took him down as the fanged man fell over.

  “I had that,” she yelled at Shade.

  The tall, dark-haired woman shrugged. She resumed her position under Trace’s shoulder, as she helped Ian carry him further out into the yard. But she kept her gun hand free.

  More bad guys were coming. “Destan,” Benie screamed over the roar of the shaking farmhouse as the walls shimmered and puckered, flickering in and out as it translocated. His two brothers were conspicuously absent. “I hope you have an extraction plan?”

  A group of at least twelve men ran toward them from the tree line, weapons drawn. They were sitting ducks in the empty yard. The dragon ran to her, large silver wings sprouting from his back and tearing his shirt apart. “Hold on,” he yelled.

  Two other full-on, head-to-toe, silver dragons, their bodies the size cargo vans with claws big enough to pick up large prey animals, swooped down on the group.

  “Ty!” Destan shouted. The bear shifter turned back to his human form, his neat braid replaced by free-flowing ass-length hair. He turned a level gaze to Destan, nodded, and held up his hand. One of the two flying dragons dropped down and grasped his arm with one claw.

  It pivoted toward Benie, and she shook her head. “Trace first.” The dragon seemed to nod, and it latched on
to Trace’s waist. The pained moans of her tortured mate gutted Benie, but it had to be done. There was no gentle way to rescue him.

  The second dragon flew in and grabbed Ian and Shade. Benie looked at Destan.

  “You ready?” he asked.

  She’d never flown before, not even on an airplane, but she steeled her resolve and flung herself into his arms. The sensation of air whooshing past her as she watched Caledon completely disappear took the bottom out of her stomach, and silently, she apologized to Destan before throwing up on his chest.

  Ian Arent stared across the living room at the new comer. The woman looked deadly, but she’d helped them escape, and for that he was grateful. When she’d said she was Mrs. Trace Calder, a sickening lump formed in Ian’s gut. Whether he liked Trace or not, Benie needed him, and for Ian, her needs would always come before his own. He’d made that vow when he was twelve and in all this time, nothing had changed for him. Not his love for her or his devotion. Nonetheless, he wished Benie didn’t need the wolf shifter. He knew her feelings for Trace ran deep, but he couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge her love for the man.

  He didn’t want to play the “who came first” game. He’d loved Benie longer, and he wanted to believe he loved her more. Ian shook the petty thoughts from his mind. The important thing healing Trace. When Ian had seen him crumpled on the ground, a disheveled figure of a man, Ian had felt a rage like never before. It had taken every functioning brain cell in his head to keep himself from going full-out wolf and tracking down the man who’d harmed his pack mate.

  Eustan arrived with Trace a few minutes later. Ian helped the dragon shifter put Trace on the bed. Calder was covered in bruises, gaping wounds, blood, and filth. His naked body curled in until he lay in the fetal position. His black hair was clumped and greasy. Why hadn’t he shifted? The change would ease his pain and help his torn muscles and tendons to mend. There was something wrong with Trace.

  “Calder.” He lightly tapped Trace on the back, wincing when the normally strong man flinched at his touch. “You need to turn. You need to heal.”

  “Can’t,” Trace muttered. “...did something to me. Can’t take my wolf form.”

  They’d done something to him? What could they have done that would screw with Trace’s own nature? The man had endured terrific and terrible pain, both physical and psychological, and was never allowed any relief. Ian’s desire to rip out someone’s throat brought his wolf closer to the surface. He liked the new entity he shared head space with. The wolf was instinct, not logic, and sometimes Ian really wanted to act and not think. But to help Trace, thinking was required. He pushed back the wolf, suppressed the rage he had toward Garrick and anyone involved in his pack mate’s torture. He would get some of Trace’s blood, analyze it, find out why he couldn’t shift, and by God, he would fix him.

  Ian moved closer to the broken man and was hit with the smell of feces and urine. “I’m going to help you, Trace. I’m going to figure out what they did to you, and I’m going to make it right. I promise. Then we’ll track this fucker down and take him out.”

  Trace responded with a low groan of pain, and once again, Ian had to fight his wolf back. When he exited the bedroom, intent on getting a blood draw kit from his lab, the dark-haired woman stepped in front of him.

  “Is he okay?”

  Ian blinked, his lip curling into a snarl. “Get out of my way.”

  She held up her hands. “I’m just... worried.”

  Ian pushed past her. He didn’t have time for this stranger. Didn’t have time for her fears. Benie mattered. Trace mattered because he mattered to Benie. The woman, she didn’t matter. Halfway down the stair he heard the front door open. Benie was back, and Ian grabbed the kit and rushed back to the living room.

  Benie stared at him, her red hair wild and in tangles, and her face pale and lined with worry. She had a tan blanket wrapped around her shoulders, and Ian wondered where she’d picked it up. One of the triplets, he supposed.

  “I’ll just go,” Shade said, backing toward the door.

  Benie turned her glare on the leather clad, gun-toting woman. “You stay,” she said to her. Then she pulled the blankets tighter around her shoulders and looked at Ian. “Where’s Trace?”

  “Hello,” Benie said.

  Trace’s soft moan startled her. He was a shapeshifter. An other worlder with unique abilities to survive much worse than this. She gulped the thick knot in her throat and looked for answers in the one person she could always count on. She turned her gaze to her best and oldest friend. “Why isn’t he healing?”

  “He can’t shift,” Ian said. “I’m going to figure out why.” He stepped forward, opening up a white tub. Inside he had a rubber arm band, a tube with a red cap, a tube with a purple cap, and a butterfly needle. Benie was familiar with the equipment. Ian had used the same kind of kits to draw her blood in the past.

  Benie walked to the far side of the bed—the side Trace’s face was turned. She tried again. “Hello.”

  He cast her a quick glance, but just as quickly, he looked away.

  She reached out. His head jerked up and away from her. Alarmed, Benie scrambled backward and fell on her ass. His normally soft brown eyes were golden—the color of pale ale. Under the bruises, the blood, the filth, was a man she loved, but she barely recognized him.

  Destan knocked on the door and poked his head in. “Can I help?”

  “I don’t know what to do.” Her nosed stuffed up as tears prickled the corners of her eyes.

  The dark beauty, Shade, peeked her head in behind Destan’s. “I’ve run Trace a bath, if these guys want to carry him in. He needs to be cleaned so his damage can be assessed.” Her words were clinical, dispassionate. And in a way, the coldness made Benie feel better.

  She nodded her head. “Yes.”

  She went ahead into the bathroom, stretching her hand to the tub. Steam rose from the white porcelain, so she added cold, testing it on her forearm. Just the right amount of warmth.

  When Ian walked in cradling Trace in his arms with such tender care, Benie wanted to weep. “Can you set him in the tub?”

  He answered by laying Trace gently in the water. Trace’s soft moan of pain gutted Benie. She took his hand. He felt real and solid. Without looking away, she reached for a bar of soap and worked it into a creamy lather. She took the cloth Ian handed her and began to wash Trace in light, smooth strokes.

  “Don’t,” the broken man whispered.

  Benie let the blanket fall off her shoulders. “It’s okay.” She kept her voice steady, soothing. She took his hand again and with the other kept washing him, careful to not press too hard over the deep wounds in his joints.

  At one point, Benie gently pushed him forward with Ian’s help, careful to protect his head as she washed his back. Her Trace, her beautiful, magnificent man. Garrick had tried to destroy him, and for that, she would return the favor. As the dirt and blood washed away, she began to see him again, the strong warrior she fell in love with. The man her body and her marks had chosen as worthy. He’d survived the torture, never once giving her up. He was more than worthy. A swell of emotion forced her to her feet. She positioned herself behind Trace and sat down in the few inches of water. She straddled him then eased his head to her chest, and stroked his hair.

  Ian took the detachable shower down, turned on the water, but not so much that it shot out in a hard spray, and kept his hand under the shower head until the temperature was warm without being hot. Benie swelled with love for Ian. Her friend who had always been there for her, and even now, he was doing everything he could to make her happy. She tried to convey her gratitude with a look, and Ian’s gentle smile told her he understood.

  He unplugged the tub to let the water drain. Carefully, he held the shower head inches from Benie and Trace’s bodies to rinse them off. Benie stroked Trace’s arms, whispered comforts and reassurances. She tried to love him through the pain—grateful she didn’t have to do it alone—as the warm water washed t
he dirt and grime down the drain.

  When they’d finished caring for him, Max, the mute brother, waited in the hall to help. They dried Trace with a large, white towel and took him back to the bedroom. A new, multi-colored bed spread draped across the bed. The stand on the right had 4X4 gauze pads, a bottle of betadine, sterile saline, rolled gauze, tape, and scissors.

  Max inclined his head toward the medical supplies. Benie nodded, and the young man went to work on tending to her lover’s wounds.

  “You’re safe,” she whispered, crawling in to bed next to Trace, careful not to get in Max’s way. “You’re safe now.” But even as she said the words, she found it hard to convince herself they were true. Until Garrick was dead, none of them would ever be safe again. “Ian.” Her gaze fell on her other lover. “We can’t lose him.”

  He nodded, his blue eyes almost black in the dim light. “We won’t.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Hot shame filled Shade. She had once been married to Trace Calder. She had once loved him, even if it hadn’t been an enduring passion. She’d been young, dumb, and full of cum, as the saying went. Only later did she realize she wasn’t relationship material. She’d left him, and at the time, and still now, believed it had been the best gift she could have given the man.

  She worried his condition was because she’d told Keane about Trace’s involvement with this young woman Benie. Keane had been a trusted friend. He’d helped Shade to find a different path when she wanted to leave Trace. He understood she would bring their friend nothing but misery. She couldn’t seem to love anyone. Not completely. Trace had deserved better. Still, if her revealing Trace’s relationship to the woman was responsible for his torture, she would put Keane down, old friend or not.