They Call Me Death

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  Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520

  Macon GA 31201

  They Call Me Death

  Copyright © 2009 by Missy Jane

  ISBN: 978-1-60504-387-6

  Edited by Heidi Moore

  Cover by Anne Cain

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: February 2009

  www.samhainpublishing.com

  They Call Me Death

  Missy Jane

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my loving and understanding husband. Without his support this wouldn’t be possible. Also, to my four daughters who showed the utmost patience in letting me divide my time between them and my characters. And last but not least, my good friend Sandy, who introduced me to paranormal romance and added spice to my fantasies.

  Prologue

  It was an unseasonably cold day in May when the world as I knew it ended and all hell broke loose. No one expected it. No one predicted it. No one had even gotten close to the truth revealed on live television all over the world. I was standing in my kitchen, hands wrist deep in hamburger meat as I prepared my famous meatloaf. My husband of two years, Hank, was changing our son’s diaper in the living room. We both froze at the sounds emanating from the television’s evening news.

  People were screaming. There were sounds of an animal snarling and ripping clothes, and possibly flesh. I ran into the living room where my husband held our son, Michael, tightly and watched in horror the live feed. Spots of blood on the camera lens tinted the scene a pale red. Through it, we saw the head of a news anchor resting on her desk.

  It took a moment to wrap my mind around the scene. Then it hit me. It wasn’t the cougar sitting on the newsroom desk, or even the way it looked at the camera with eyes that seemed too intelligent and understanding. It was the newscaster’s head lying on the desk while the rest of her body slouched against it.

  I wondered why people were running away and not calling animal control, or the police or…someone. Then I realized the only other people in the room were dead. My husband was shaking while my son wailed in his arms, disturbed by his father’s emotions.

  “What the hell happened? How did that animal even get in the building?” I asked quietly, disbelief clear in my voice.

  My husband turned to me slowly, almost dramatically so, as if we were in a bad horror flick. “It was human,” he said. “That animal was the other news anchor one minute and then…an…animal the next.”

  I wanted to laugh and throw something at him, or just scowl and walk away at the ridiculous statement. But we’d lived together for five years before we got married, and I’d learned Hank well. In all those years, I’d never seen him truly afraid of anything or anyone. At six-foot-two, with a muscular build, he could probably bench press our car with one arm. Nothing ever intimidated him, but what I saw in his eyes and heard in his voice was fear and complete conviction.

  We spent the next hour flipping from one channel to the next and on every one, the story was the same. Shape-shifters are real and they lived among us. In a world made up of billions no one had any clue how many of them there were at the time, but over the next few weeks, as more and more people in high places revealed their true nature and wars broke out on every continent, it became painfully clear there were many. Too damn many. The small town we lived in was overrun. We were near a national park and many of the shifters chose to live close to the sanctity of the trees. Our battle was short lived and most of the humans died. My son, my husband, the only family I had left, were killed before my eyes. I killed my first shifter that day, but she was not my last.

  It took three years for the worst of the battles to end and the lines to be drawn. Nearly a third of the world’s population came out by then, and they were all stronger and faster than humans. Many of the third-world countries were completely overrun, turning into totalitarian empires with an alpha male ruling the land. They figured it out amongst themselves somehow and an uneasy peace kept them settled. In the States, the country was pretty much divided in half. If you looked at a map, it was like the Civil War all over again. The south was human, the north mostly shifters. I say mostly, because some bleeding hearts decided it was okay to let the shifters run the country and stayed up there with them. They had a real live-and-let-live attitude about the whole mess. I might have been that way too if I hadn’t already seen so much death. By the time the country split and the two governments were established, I had more blood on my hands than I could ever wash off, and I ached for more.

  Chapter One

  “Alexia, I need you to switch shifts with me tomorrow.”

  I looked up with a scowl on my face as Tina came into view behind a voice as robust as her personality. Dawn neared and I thought of bed after my all-night duty on border patrol.

  “Tomorrow?” I asked, my voice revealing my fatigue.

  “Yeah, as in twenty-four hours from now. I know you’re on again tonight, but I need to switch. You work noon to midnight and I take tomorrow night for you,” she explained.

  “So, I’ll get what, five hours sleep between shifts?”

  “Uh, yeah, if you shower and eat quickly enough. But then after twelve hours on duty you’ll have the whole night off.”

  Her enthusiasm made me want to hit her. I didn’t need the whole night off, but I didn’t necessarily need a full eight hours of sleep either, I finally relented.

  “Yeah sure, whatever.”

  “Great.” Tina smiled. “Thanks, and hey, if you ever need to switch let me know.”

  I grunted again and walked off to find my bed.

  ***

  Thirty hours later, I was on patrol for Tina after only four hours sleep. I guess I didn’t eat or shower fast enough. Actually, I did both quickly, but it was my inability to put a book down that kept me awake. The only possessions I treasured, other than the photo of my husband and son, were my books. Paper was becoming a rare commodity before the species wars began. Now it was almost unheard of. The fact that I possessed over fifty books never ceased to amaze those around me, and they assumed it was the reason for the security on my building. In reality, I trust no one and nothing. I don’t care how long I’ve known the men and women I patrol with. I only trust one person with my life and that’s me.

  I watched the sun set from atop the fifteen-foot-high, eight-foot-thick wall separating the newly formed cities of Circe and Georgetown with my hand on my gun. We used to have sniper rifles for wall duty, but some idiot thought it would be fun to pick off any easy targets within a few yards of the border. He was taken into custody and quietly reprimanded, then discharged. Last I heard, he’d become a bounty hunter. All he accomplished with his kills was stricter rules for the rest of us, which pissed me off. I normally don’t condone killing innocent bystanders but he was killing shifters. In my book, most shifters stop being innocent by puberty.

  “Beautiful up here isn’t it?”

  I turned to see one of the new recruits watching dusk with me. I couldn’t remember his name, but he made me think of a young Tom Cruise. I suddenly wondered what happened to th
at particular actor when it all went to hell. As far as I know, Hollywood was destroyed by shifter hands.

  “Yeah,” I muttered.

  “So, you’re Alexia, right?”

  I looked at him but said nothing.

  “I’m Scott.”

  I felt more than saw him take step toward me and my shoulders tensed.

  “I was just wondering ’cause I kinda heard some things,” he continued.

  I began to walk away.

  “Uh, I just meant about your weapons. Hey, I could really use some pointers you know? Alexia?”

  I heard the desperation in his voice. It was almost as bad as the hero worship I’d heard in the hard-core killers we sometimes got. I never kill by choice, but the men don’t seem to realize that. Or if they do, they won’t admit it. They join because of the killing, trying to justify it with patriotism. If anyone had told me four years ago I would be walking around in fatigues, toting a gun nearly every waking moment, I would’ve laughed myself into tears. Shows what I knew. My gun had quickly become an extension of myself and my army uniforms the only clothes I owned. But not by choice.

  “Alexia, come on. I just wanna see the sword you carry. That’s all, I swear.”

  I turned around and drew my sword in one swift motion. The newbie froze in his tracks and stared. I could only imagine what he might’ve heard from our colleagues about me and my toys. My commander keeps denying my request to carry my submachine gun, a Ruger MP9, on wall duty. I’m only supposed to keep it for raids. Instead, I’m forced to carry a handgun, a Glock 18 in a shoulder holster. Of course, it’s loaded with specially made silver bullets. At least part of the legends is true. I’m the only one who carries a short sword. Yeah the guys used to laugh at me too. That stopped when a reptilian shifter leapt onto my partner and I couldn’t get a clean shot. Instead of drawing my gun, I decapitated the son of a bitch. No one laughs at me now.

  “Seen enough?” I asked with a sneer. He nodded. “What are you even doing here, Scott? What do you expect to get out of this?”

  He seemed to ponder my question as I silently waited for his response. I wasn’t expecting much, and I wasn’t disappointed.

  “All I’ve wanted since the start of the war is to serve my country,” he said.

  “And I’m sure the armed forces of the Combined Human States loves you for it,” I replied sarcastically.

  “What else was I supposed to do when the world went nuts? It’s been four years since my family ran south to get away from the mangy animals.”

  His steady gaze returned to the lingering rays of the sun slipping below the horizon. I remembered sunsets on the California coastline that brought tears to my eyes. The CHS is made up of all of the states from the west coast to the east coast south of Colorado, including most of California, and all of Latin America. The rest of the former U.S. and all of Canada now belong to the shifters, appropriately called The Federal Nation of Therianthropes, or FNT. The shifters have their own government, their own military, and their own laws to follow. We have a fifteen-foot-high, eight-foot-thick, steel and brick wall effectively separating us from one ocean to another, and still rogue shifters find their way into our country. The rules are simple. If you’re a human you don’t go into FNT without a permit or a sponsor. Some humans go north for business, some out of curiosity, others for adventure. However, if you’re a shifter you don’t enter CHS period. There are no permits, no sponsors, no exceptions.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” I reminded Scott, as full darkness settled around us and I slid my sword back into its sheath.

  “I wanna kill ’em, Alexia. I wanna kill ’em all.”

  Luckily for him, our job doesn’t take much thought. The human government refuses to allow any type of shifter into this country legally for any reason whatsoever. That’s what makes our job easy. If I see a shifter on our side of the wall, I kill it, no questions, no red tape. It’s so simple. Some days I think my job might be too easy. But now they’re starting to get creative. Along with contact lenses to hide the telltale sign of a shifter’s animal eyes, they’ve found a way to trick the DNA scanners at the borders. Now we have to become more vigilant, more ready and willing to kill. Some days, I feel a little bit like a wild animal myself.

  ***

  It was nearing midnight as I stood in one of my favorite spots, observing the activity below. One thing about shifters, they’re a horny bunch. Within feet of their side of the border you can get laid, watch someone else get laid or do any other perverse thing you can come up with. It always amuses me to take new recruits to the red zone and let them get an eyeful on their first night. This twenty-mile section of the wall is dubbed the red zone because of the district it borders. It’s basically the red-light district of the shifter border city of Circe.

  I know what you’re thinking. I said it’s my favorite spot and now you must assume all kinds of terrible things about me. Well, you can stop. I hadn’t thought about sex since I witnessed my husband’s throat being torn out. But there are humans who don’t have my qualms. Humans and shifters alike descend on the red zone in droves. That’s what made it my favorite zone. It’s a hot spot for kills.

  For a Friday night, it was actually pretty slow. The usual bars and clubs were packed with activity, and I spotted about two dozen humans walking along the street. At the corner of the border road and Main, I saw a man in black looking at the wall from beneath a streetlight. I took note of him and continued my perimeter watch. Five minutes later, he still stood there, but his head turned as he followed me.

  I did a mental tally of his features—bronze skin, ass-length brown hair with streaks of gold, eyebrows of golden brown, only a shade darker than his skin. His high cheekbones and narrow chin were almost feminine. He had broad shoulders and stood perfectly straight and still, like a statue on display. His long black coat hid his body well, but I was almost positive it would be athletic.

  He appeared feline to me, though I was still trying to get the hang of separating the species. The canines are usually easy to pick out, as many of them have overbites and the felines can’t hide their teeth when they talk. As for the other species, only the reptilians can be spotted by their skin, and any of the water species who opt to walk on land can be discerned by their glossy eyes. They all have a membrane over their eyes to keep them from drying out, giving them the appearance of being blind.

  I looked away from him and scanned the street and people below. He stood almost directly in front of me, though I was atop the fifteen-foot wall. I walked a few feet and repositioned myself so he would have to turn his head to keep me in his sight. I glanced back, and he still watched me. His blank expression, as if he didn’t have a care in the world, didn’t fool me. I considered it for oh, about a second, before pressing the button on my radio to signal my partner for the night.

  Lance Ulrick walked over with his usual tough-guy swagger, blond ponytail swishing behind him. At just over six foot, he is one of the shortest men on wall duty at night, but the width of his shoulders makes up for it. Of all of the gung-ho “I love to be military” men in my unit, Lance is the worst. If he’d been born a shifter, he would surely be an alpha. I hate patrolling with him almost as much as he hates me. I’m the only woman in our unit he hasn’t slept with. I know I get appreciative looks from the men around me when they think I’m not looking, but there is no desire in my life, no joy. No peace.

  “What’s up, Lex?” he asked, using my hated nickname with full sarcastic intention.

  I met him halfway and smiled, freezing him on the spot. Anyone who knows me knows I never smile out of mirth. If you see me smile, you’d better have a weapon in your hand. Lance crossed his arms over his muscular chest, nonchalantly putting his fingers on his holstered weapon. My smile broadened.

  “One o’clock, dark coat. Lover boy can’t get enough of me,” I whispered.

  We stood downwind. Most shifters have enhanced senses, including the ability to hear from amazing distances. Lance returne
d my grin and leaned over as if to brush something from my shoulder, turning just enough to glance at the street corner. Then he quickly straightened and shook his head.

  “Either I scared him off or you’re hallucinating, Lex. Ain’t no one there now,” he replied.

  I looked over my shoulder and saw what Lance saw…nothing. The mystery guy was gone, and there was no sign of him anywhere.

  “You wanna write it up?” Lance asked.

  I thought on it for a moment. “Nah, I didn’t get much sleep before my shift. Maybe I’m just getting paranoid,” I said with no conviction.

  He laughed and raised his thin eyebrows. He knows I’m the least paranoid person in the entire army. Many people accuse me of having no emotions whatsoever. I used to have them, and showed them quite often, but they died with my family, washed away with the gallons of blood.

  “Yeah, okay. It’s after midnight, your shift’s over now. Go get some sleep,” he said over his shoulder as he walked away.

  I waited ’til Lance was out of sight before looking back at the street corner again. The guy in black hadn’t reappeared. I shook my head and sighed as I walked to the stairs. Before I took more than two steps, I heard the sound of men arguing behind me on the Circe side of the wall. I glanced around and saw a group of about a dozen men, shifters and humans, crowding the nearest checkpoint between the cities. I stayed on the wall and walked over to take a look.

  “I don’t give a damn what you said, human. I said we can go wherever in the hell we want, you got that? You’re nothing but cattle!”

  I peered into the center of the crowd and saw a short, stocky guy with amber eyes. They were canine, as was the pronounced under-bite. He looked like a bulldog, sans the leash he obviously needed. He stood arguing with the two checkpoint guards as the men behind him grew agitated. Though there were humans in the crowd, it was hard to tell if they were agreeing with the shifter or arguing against him. Overall, it appeared the situation was going from bad to worse.