Shifter Variance (The Outlier Prophecies Book 5) Read online

  Shifter Variance

  The Outlier Prophecies

  Tina Gower

  Smashed Picket Press

  Contents

  Newsletter Information

  Also by Tina Gower

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2016 by Christina Smith

  1st Digital & Trade Paperback Edition, 2016, cover design by Christian Bentulan.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or person, living or dead is coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks, is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  For more books by Tina Gower, please visit:

  http://www.tinagower.com

  To readers. Without you there’s no reason to share what I write.

  Newsletter Information

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  Please consider leaving an honest review of this book when you finish reading it to help other readers find it.

  Also by Tina Gower

  Books in the Outlier Prophecies Series

  Romancing the Null (book one)

  Conditional Probability of Attraction (book two)

  Kindle

  Coming Soon:

  Nook, Kobo, iTunes

  The Werewolf Coefficient (book three)

  Kindle

  Coming Soon:

  Nook, Kobo, iTunes

  Standard Deviation of Death (book four)

  Kindle

  Coming Soon:

  Nook, Kobo, iTunes

  Big Bad Becker (An Outlier Prophecies Novella)

  Kindle

  Coming Soon:

  Nook, Kobo, iTunes

  Shifter Variance (book five)

  Correlation of Fate (book six)~Coming in spring 2017

  Half Cup Magic (Ali’s book)~Coming in 2017

  Good Girl’s Guide to Talking Dirty (A contemporary romance)~Coming May 2017

  1

  If the world is going to be a carousel ride with no stops, then I at least want a shower first.

  Becker carefully tucks his sheets around his waist, as if I’ve not already seen his nakedness and he wishes to preserve my innocence. He sits at the edge of his bed, lips pressed together and head tipped to the side. I’m still gauging how much of the phone conversation from my ex-boyfriend Kyle Dillingham Becker heard.

  Although I’m no longer in immediate danger from Wyrd (that we know of) Kyle informed me that Dalia, Ian Becker’s maybe-sister, is predicted to go missing. Worse, if things could get an extra heaping of complicated, the well-respected and revered Michelle Kitman edited Dalia’s case to appear so low a probability that it won’t show on anyone’s radar.

  I sit at his desk chair and peel off the surgical tape from my feet. “I’m sure you heard. Ali’s at work and Lipski’s sleeping. So it’s just you and me.”

  I loosen one end and grimace, trying not to look at the rust red and yellow spotted bandage. Last night we’d traipsed through the woods, followed by three witches who wanted to kill us, and me without my shoes.

  “What did I hear?” He fiddles with the edge of his sheet.

  I stand and limp to the trash. His gaze drops to my legs. I’m currently wearing his shirt and nothing else. He bites his lip—I’m guessing this isn’t how he was planning on spending his first sick day in years.

  I suck in a deep breath. If he’s playing dumb for my benefit, or maybe his own, this would be my chance to go along with it. Considering we were working with the vague knowledge that Becker could or could not go feral depending on a billion factors we had no control or prediction capability over—we’d entered unchartered territory. By involving himself with me—a fateless—someone who couldn’t be predicted on by oracles or seers, he’d made an important part of his own future slightly fateless.

  “Dalia.” I close my eyes and wait for an answer, but nothing comes. Better not to keep secrets, right? Relationships don’t survive on miscommunication. “She’s going to go missing along with the rest of the Turmoil pack. Moderate to high probability. Don’t really know since the prediction’s already been tampered with to appear too low for investigation.”

  He scratches his chest. “Right. I heard that part of your phone call.” He frowns. “Are you sure you should be doing that?” He motions to my feet as I remove the second bandage.

  “I’m taking a shower.”

  “A shower?” His brows crinkle together. “Hold on.”

  I pause in my self-doctoring. But gods dammit, if he’s going to make us rush out of here to rescue Dalia from an unknown fate, then I want to be clean doing it. Maybe I should have showered first, answered questions later. I realize that made me selfish. If we missed Dalia by five minutes it would be on me, a clean-dressed-with-proper-shoes me.

  Becker leans over and slides his phone off his nightstand and pecks out a text message, hits send, sets his phone on the bed beside him, and reaches for his boxers. He shimmies the things on under the sheet and meets me in two steps, scooping me into his arms and depositing me back into his bed. He nudges me until I make room for him to snuggle into my side.

  It’s not the reaction I expected.

  “Becker.” I shove him aside, but his oversized body doesn’t budge. “I’m taking a shower. We’ve got to get on this.”

  He counters my wiggling protests by flattening me under him. “Oh, I’ll get right on that. Don’t worry.” He nibbles my neck.

  Where the hells is my over-reacting, over-protective werewolf boyfriend? His lazy strokes soften me and I melt into the mattress.

  “But Dalia…”

  “I texted her to come back to Angel’s Peak ASAP.”

  His touch relaxes me, but my mind won’t let go of the current dilemma. Except Dalia’s predicted missing person case isn’t the tip of the iceberg. Michelle Kitman, hero to every predictions actuary everywhere, is the one who tampered with the case. I couldn’t quite understand what it meant.

  My brain kept coming around to this new development. Why? What is her motive? Was there something else going on I wasn’t aware of? Is she helping Wyrd or New Karma? Or both?

  Becker kisses my neck a few more times and stops. “You’re not happy.” He eases away from me and waits for my explanation, but his fingers stray along my stomach.

  “I’m just a little shocked is all. Don’t you want to track D
alia down and meet her on the road? We can’t risk her getting nabbed between there and here.” I push him away, this time I’m successful and he moves to let me go. “And I want a shower before we do any chasing.” I eye him, thinking of a better way to get him on my page. “Don’t you want a shower?”

  He straightens. “Yes…” His hand moves down my thigh and cups my calf. He lifts my feet and sniffs.

  It tickles and I jerk from his grasp. “Is this some kind of fetish?” I giggle.

  He catches one of my feet and sniffs again, a half grin creeping on his face. “If you’d spent your youth in hospitals while your dad dressed injuries of all kinds, you’d get a scent for infection, too.” He sets my leg down. “Hold on.” He goes for his phone again. Texting.

  “Given I’m not a wolf, I doubt that’s how I’d have spent my youth.”

  This person texts back and a short conversation takes place. Becker sets his phone down again. “There’s a slight risk of infection, but it’s also an opportunity to clean around the wound more effectively at least, says my dad.” He tips his chin to his phone. “I think he’s curious now. I haven’t really told them about you. Not exactly.” He scratches his chin. “He wants a picture.”

  I reflexively cover my upper body with the nearest object, which happens to be a Labrador-sized stuffed dragon. “Maybe, um, after the shower and proper clothes.”

  Becker blinks, confused for a second, then laughs. “Your feet, I meant. He wants a picture of the lacerations so he can advise on the shower.”

  Oh, ha. I kick off the sheets and swing my feet onto a mountain of pillows. Becker takes the picture at just the right angle so the rest of me is safely hidden from view.

  “Handy having a dad who’s a nurse,” I say.

  Becker concentrates on cropping the photo to include only my feet. “Yeah,” he says absently. “And if you ever have a nervous breakdown my other dad will come in handy too.” His brow furrows while he waits for his dad’s response.

  An undeniable tension sneaks between us. Becker’s shoulders appear stiff and forced into an unnatural position. I lean forward and rub my fingers over his chest. I want to rush in and fill the silence with reassurance that he’ll never require that kind of help again. That he never has to worry about having a breakdown or going feral, because he has me. He has pack again.

  But those are empty promises. I can’t assure him of anything for his future. Not anymore. Not by me. Especially not me. Sometimes hope can be an effective, unintended weapon.

  “Let me see your phone for a second,” I whisper.

  He hands it over. I nudge him to lie next to me and I snuggle up close, dropping a kiss on his cheek and holding the phone above us at an angle. I bring it back down to inspect the product. Not perfect. My hair is a greasy, twig-infested mess. Becker’s stubble is nearing beard status. He has a satisfied look on his face that nobody would mistake. He obviously got laid.

  I sigh, giving in to my fear of commitment and what this next step will mean for us both.

  I show him the photo. “You can send that one to your dads.”

  He takes a long look at it, a small smile twitching on his lips. “They’ll love that.” He places his phone down onto his chest and lets out a long breath. The concentration on his face giving away a darker emotion under it.

  I test him with a flutter of fingertips on his bicep. “Becker?”

  He doesn’t break from his deep thoughts.

  I try again. “Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?”

  “The shower.” He gathers himself, pushing up from the bed. “Maybe you should take a bath instead.” He disappears into the bathroom. There’s a moan from the pipes and the unmistakable rush of water into the tub. “You’re in luck. I have one clean towel.”

  His forced optimistic hero routine doesn’t fly.

  I bite the insides of my cheek, letting that familiar heat of anger flame out. If Becker won’t be honest with me, we’re doomed. But I can’t solve this by a knock-down-drag-out fight. And definitely not by avoiding and waiting for him to come to me. If he’s troubled about the prediction from the Wyrd witches that he’s going to turn feral, we need to be open about it.

  Although, maybe talking about something we have no control over is a recipe for disaster. Especially to a wolf like Becker who’s prone to anxiety.

  Becker appears at the doorway that connects his room to the master bathroom, clutching a towel. “So I have one towel and I’d like to get clean too.” His skin marbles in red blotches down his chest and on his face. He clears his throat. His eyes shift to the floor, and he looks up at me through his lashes.

  I rub my chin, pretending to decipher his meaning.

  He points his thumb into the bathroom and quickly lowers his hand to scratch his chest. “I mean, you could use the towel first. Or the bathroom.” He glances around behind him. “Let me just, uh. Hm.”

  Now who could say no to a horny werewolf?

  “Becker.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Would you like to join me in the bathtub?”

  His eyes go wide and he swallows a few times, unable to answer right away.

  I inch off the bed and shrug. The extra-large shirt covering me falls off my shoulder. “I mean, you have to be sure I do a good job cleaning the wounds, right?”

  He nods. Vigorously. “That’s what I meant.”

  I stand, but he flings the towel over his shoulder and catches me as I rise. He tucks my legs over one arm and I tip backwards into his other. Caught by surprise I grip around his neck.

  He jogs us into the bathroom and I let out a scared squeak when he lowers me into the half-filled tub. “What are you doing?” I scramble to sit up. The bottom of his shirt I’m wearing is soaked. Along with my only pair of clean underwear that Ali brought over this morning.

  I swallow down a hiss as the soapy water stings the cut under my pinkie toe and the prickles of raw red skin on each heel.

  He crawls in after me, pupils dilated and glowing teal eyes. No hint of gold—a good sign? I don’t know. He makes quick work on my shirt buttons. As in he unbuttons the top two but the rest ping off when he pulls the front apart.

  He paws the fabric away from my skin. “I’m sorry, that was clumsier than I’d imagined in my head.” He dips to kiss my chest. “It’s going to be like this for a while.” He kisses down my front and thrusts his boxers off. They hit the tile with a wet thwack. “Maybe forever. I’ve never been graceful.” He grips each side of the tub and his gaze grows more intense.

  His cell phone rings in the distance. Neither of us acknowledges it. It chirps six times and stops.

  “You were plenty graceful last night.” I ease forward to kiss just above his belly button while my hand explores down his thighs and between his legs. “I’m not complaining.”

  He bites off a curse, his breath sawing in and out as if he’s just come back from a run. I test him with an experimental lick.

  He dances away from my mouth, going straight for my underwear. “Here I was attempting to be a gentleman and clean you first.”

  I lift myself to make it easier to get the rest of my clothing off. My shirt and underwear land on the floor next to his. A small puddle is forming and the water level in the tub is much higher with both our bodies inside.

  Becker shuts the faucet off. “We can do the doctoring later.”

  He kisses me and attempts to shift us into a better position, but ladies and gentleman, this is the worst place to have sex. Becker gets an A for effort, not seeming to notice the space constraints. And to be honest, I’m so delighted he can’t help himself, it’s got me excited all over again. He gently massages my leg and hooks it over his shoulder, moving himself into place.

  Becker’s phone goes off again.

  His forehead lowers to my shoulder. I think he’s distracted by the phone so I encourage him forward with my foot. He resists.

  Ian bites my shoulder and lets out a long groan. “I forgot the condom.”
br />   Fateless werewolf babies. Right. I loosen my leg from above his shoulder and give him room to move away. “We can do other…things.”

  He pauses, considering.

  The phone rings again.

  I sigh. “You need to get that. Someone is going to a lot of trouble to get a hold of you.” And with all that’s going on, we can’t play pretend that our lives aren’t a tangled mess right now.

  Becker reluctantly and gingerly removes himself from the tub. The moment he stomps off to his room, I quickly wash my hair. Dalia’s got some vitamin enriched stuff that promises to make my hair shiny and add volume. For showmanship. What?

  I turn the label over and see it’s a pet shampoo for horses. Too late now, I’ve got it all lathered in, so I dunk my head under water and rinse it out. At least now Becker can make a run with me for best of show. The conditioner is for humans. Thank the goddess for small favors.

  Soaping my body at lightning speed, I rinse it all off and drain the tub. Snatching Becker’s towel, I dry, patting the pads of my feet so I don’t irritate the injury. Walking is a chore. Especially on the hard surface and being careful to not slip in the water mess we’ve created.

  I didn’t think I took long, but I stop at the door to Becker’s room to see he’s already dressed in a navy blue Angel’s Peak Police Department T-shirt, faded jeans, and a hat shoved down low. He sits at the end of his bed with his phone dangling between his fingers.

  His jaw is tight and his eyes flare. “We’ve got a problem.”

  I wrap the towel around me, suddenly self-conscious. Somewhere in the back of my mind my biggest worry is that I won’t have a chance to get dressed. In the last few days I’ve chased after suspects in pajamas, last night a shirt and barefoot—this time I’ll be running around chasing villains in a towel.