Shifter In Arms: Pepper Valley Shifters, #3

CHAPTER ONE

(1995)

Forrest was so tired of Finn! Yes, Finn was his dad . . . or so it appeared. They both had reddish-brown hair, broad shoulders with a lean-muscled build, and quick tempers. His own green eyes differed from Finn’s blue ones, but Forrest had seen enough of his absentee mother to know that her eyes were green. Plus, she had sworn Finn was his dad.

Finn had constantly insisted upon Forrest growing a set and becoming a man, so it was beyond him what irked him about being called Finn instead of Dad. Forrest thought he was being rather nice by calling him Finn. There were so many other names he could call him, though most were not to be said in mixed company.

Another one of Finn’s rules: do not curse in front of ladies, and not ‘women’ or ‘chicks’—you must call them ladies.

His dad was strict, no doubt about it . . . except when it came to his sister, Fiona. Three months ago, Finn had come home with the cutest eight-year-old Forrest had ever seen, then announced that Fiona was his daughter. She had red hair, blue-green eyes, and was small for her age, but Fiona was the sibling Forrest had always wanted. If only she had come along sooner than his senior year of high school. She’d definitely mellowed the old man, though he was still quick to point out all of Forrest’s mistakes.

As the shifter clan-leader of Pepper Valley, Colorado, Finn felt as if his son should be held to a higher standard.

All Forrest wanted was to get the hell out of Pepper Valley. He had applied to every military branch, but something unexpected had happened. Out of the blue, the D.E.A. had called and wanted to recruit him for a new shifter division.

It had taken him about five seconds to consider the offer before he accepted, then hung up with a loud whoop of excitement.

Fiona had given him the sad eyes, so when Finn exclaimed I’m proud of you son! Forrest had almost fallen to the floor in shock. It figured that Finn would be happy to get rid of him.

CHAPTER TWO

Forrest disembarked the plane and stared at the faces. He did not have a lot of possessions to take to Washington, D.C., so a carry-on was all he had.

A guy with blond hair and brown eyes walked up to him, gave him the once-over, and smirked. Which museum do you want to hit first, Foster?

Forrest paused. His brows were narrowed in confusion. I’m not. . .

Natural history, that’s a great one! The man punched him in the shoulder.

Uh, yeah, I . . .

I hear they have training exercises for the workers, including how to work with animals for security.

Forrest was starting to catch the drift. Okay, so training started now, and it included a false identity. He was going undercover. Kick ass!  At least Foster wasn’t too different from his own name, but that was probably the point.

He followed the guy out of the airport and into a waiting dark sedan with tinted windows.

Hello. I trust your flight went well, Mr. Scott.

Forrest stared at the dark figure to his left and nodded. He had just turned eighteen, and had never really been called Mister Scott before.

Noah Kline. I’m your team leader. Terry is your teammate, though his name is Trey for now, and he’ll help you get set up.

Forrest moved his eyes from the mocha skinned, black eyed Noah, to glance at the blond to his right; apparently this was Terry; he was flanked by two humans. He studied his teammate before a manila file-folder was tossed into his lap.

Read it, memorize it. It will be destroyed before you exit this car, Noah said.

I . . .

Read it, memorize it, Noah reiterated.

Forrest frowned as Noah all but dismissed him. The leader’s face turned to look out the car window. Terrified that he’d screw everything up if he didn’t, Forrest studied the file as though his life depended on it. It probably did.

Alias: Foster Douglas

Age: 21

Hometown: Denver, Colorado

Occupation: Bartender

Target: Dennis Falcone

His alias surname was his true middle name. Apparently, the D.E.A. thought of everything.

He memorized the picture of his target before lifting it to read the information. Falcone was a piece of work, dabbling in prostitution, illegal gambling, gunrunning, and of course, drugs.

All too soon, the car pulled to a stop and the complete folder was taken from Forrest.

Be careful, be paranoid, and trust no one.

With those final words, Terry pushed the door open and Forrest climbed out of the car after him.

CHAPTER THREE

Forrest settled into his new apartment—if you could call it that. Ten steps from one side to the other, and twenty steps from the tiny window to the door.

He hated to think it, but now he missed Finn’s large home in Colorado, a two-story log cabin with floor to ceiling windows along the front. It was the freaking White House compared to this dump!

Terry—or Trey, for this mission—had a place down the hall. Under their aliases, they were supposed to be best friends. A few days ago, when Trey had suggested they hang out at an arcade, Forrest had been excited.

When they got there, they went to the back door, entered an elevator, and wound up stories below ground in a secret training facility.

Training turned out to be every day, but they were only allowed to stay for a maximum of three hours at a time.

Forrest found that he truly enjoyed the training, and his muscles were getting more defined. The best part of all was training to hone his scent when he shifted into his mountain lion. He could now distinguish between shifter types, even when he was in human form.

At night, he worked as a bartender at Capitol Cuties, a strip club. He’d never seen so many fake breasts in all his life! Needless to say, the thrill of seeing naked chicks—err, ladies—was gone after Night Three.

He’d seen his target a few times, but he always seemed to be working the wrong end of the bar when Dennis Falcone sat down for drinks. Living a life of crime was good for a wallet; Falcone had several lap dances a night, and all the waitresses clambered to be the one to serve him due to the large tips he left.

Terry, as Trey, worked the door as a bouncer. To Forrest’s surprise, Terry got a lot of phone numbers and frequently had women (including some of the strippers) visiting his apartment.

Forrest guessed he must be giving off the wrong vibe, or just plain ugly, since he was never approached or flirted with. I should be insulted, but I’m not. I don’t want to use a woman as a floatation device for her plastic parts, or have some skinny lady who claims to be full after eating a grape. No thanks!

UPON RETURNING TO HIS apartment after a shift at the club, he found a lady with two paper bags full of groceries trying to juggle the bags and unlock her door at the same time. This was classical music lady, whereas the person in the apartment on the other side of him he’d nicknamed smelly pot smoker.

Let me help with that. Forrest caught a bag before it could hit the floor. His catlike reflexes made him quick.

Nice save!

He grinned as he stared at the brunette. Her hair was up in a messy bun, she wore no makeup, and a pair of gray sweats. He found her utterly refreshing from the fake women he was getting too used to seeing.

Now with one bag in her arms, she opened the door and went inside. Come in.

He followed her inside, noting her southern accent. Forrest set the bag down on the small counter. I’m Foster. Yes, much better! The alias was now rolling off his tongue without any trouble.

Piper. Nice to meet you. Thanks for your help.

Forrest nodded and walked out of the apartment, closing the door behind him. Before he could unlock his own door, Piper’s door creaked back open. He raised his brows expectantly as she peered out into the hallway.

I have a hotplate. Want some scrambled eggs?

Yes! He pocketed his keys and went back inside her place. He took a seat on the red futon that he assumed doubled as her bed, unless she had a hidden Murphy bed he couldn’t see.

You’re not a serial killer, right? She eyed him as she pulled her groceries out of the bags.

No.

Wear a tinfoil hat because aliens might steal your thoughts?

Uh . . . no, Forrest said with a laugh.

Mommy issues? She smirked.

Forrest tilted his head from side to side in mock contemplation.

That’s a yes. Piper giggled.

Forrest shrugged and grinned. I guess so. Never saw her much. Don’t even know where she lives now.

That sucks. She pulled out a bowl and begin to break eggs into it. Where are you from?

Denver, he answered. He stared at the place and noted pictures of Piper with people who seemed to have similar features as her. Your family? He picked up a small picture frame which showcased Piper leaning over a younger guy, her arms wrapped around him, and both had big cheesy grins on their faces.

She nodded, stirring the eggs. My brother, Rory. Do you have any siblings?

A younger sister. He paused, then turned to another subject; Too many details might blur his alias-identity. So, what sort of work do you do? If he had to guess, he thought she’d be a student. She couldn’t be much older than him, and she was definitely human; he knew that due to his scent training.

I’m an intern for a congressman. As you can tell, it pays a lot. Piper giggled, waving her arm to showcase her small apartment. You?

Forrest laughed. Bartender.

You must be new to it, or you’d be living the high life, she replied, plating up the eggs on some mismatched plastic plates.

Why do you say that? He took the bright orange plate and a plastic fork.

With those dimples? Women would hand over entire paychecks for a tip.

Forrest almost choked on his bite of eggs and felt his face flush in embarrassment.

And I bet you have a six-pack under that shirt, she continued, as though she’d ignored his reaction. She took a seat beside him on the futon and shook some hot sauce onto her eggs.

Holy cow! This chick . . . err, lady is flirting—big time! Wanna see? He’d meant it as a joke, but she smiled and nodded at him. He wasn’t a virgin, but back home it had taken a little more begging than he’d like to admit to get someone interested. Only if you do the same.  What the heck?  He’d try, though he was prepared for the expected slap.

Piper finished her last bite, set her plate on the small counter, and yanked her sweatshirt off over her head.

Forrest blatantly stared at the plain white cotton bra, which did nothing to hide her perky nipples. She was curvy in all the right places. He yanked his own t-shirt off over his head, turning more toward her on the futon. His jeans now got very uncomfortable as her brown eyes perused his chest and she made a little noise of appreciation.

She reached behind herself and shrugged off her bra. His mountain lion began to purr inside his head, and he fought the urge to vocalize it. She scooted closer and ran her index finger down his chest. He sucked in a breath as she unbuttoned his jeans and the zipper lowered.

Why the hell didn’t I come to D.C. a lot sooner? All other thoughts ceased as Piper stood and removed her sweatpants and panties, and he quickly pulled off the rest of his own clothes.

She yanked the futon out and pushed him onto it. As he watched, she opened a drawer, pulled out a condom, and proceeded to sheath him before straddling his waist.

He was not used to a woman taking control, but it turned him on. He managed to take his eyes off her bouncing breasts to look up at her eyes when she grabbed his cock and enveloped him, causing him to groan. His hands gripped her waist as she rolled her hips, her head thrown back. He sat up and sucked a taut nipple into his mouth, teasing at it with his tongue and teeth as she mewled and moved faster. Her hands slid into his hair and forced his mouth to her other breast.

His mouth left her nipple with a pop as she tugged on his hair and finally kissed him. She moaned into his mouth as their tongues dueled, his hands sliding up and down her back as he pressed those glorious breasts against his chest.

Forrest spun her underneath him in a fluid motion, and she gasped in surprise before grinning. He smiled at her, flashing his dimples, and grabbed behind her knees to splay her open even further. He thrust quicker and quicker inside her, pulling almost out before refilling her.

The scream of his fake mission-name caused him to pause, but he quickly recovered to finish in jerky movements before he spent his seed into the end of the condom.

He dropped down on top of her, catching his breath. Her fingertips slid along his back in soothing circles. He kissed her cheek before rolling off her and onto his side. He traced a lazy pattern with his finger along her right breast as she squirmed and giggled.

So . . . what’s your last name? She broke out in hysterical laughter.

Forrest smirked. Douglas. What’s yours?

Murphy. She pecked him on the lips, stood up and reached out to take off the used condom to throw it in the nearby trash can. You want to stay for a while? Maybe go for round two?

"Two and three, at least," he said with a smirk, yanking her back onto the futon.

CHAPTER FOUR

Trey (because forrest had to think of him as that or risk screwing up the mission) walked into his tiny apartment and smirked.

Damn, that is one loud chick you are banging. ‘Foster! Yes! Right there! Give it to me!’ he mocked.

Forrest felt his cheeks flush.Fuck off! At least I get to see the same lady more than once.

Maybe I don’t want to bang the same chick twice. Trey shrugged. Variety is the spice of life!

So are diseases, Forrest said with a smirk. You’re human, so you can catch shit,

That’s what condoms are for. Please tell me you are using rubbers with her! Trey demanded.

Yes. I’m not an idiot. I might not catch anything, anyway, but I’m not ready for a kid. He pulled open the small refrigerator, grabbed a beer for himself and handed one to Trey. He opened his own and took a long swig.

You do realize you won’t be here forever, right? Do you like her? Trey leaned against the wall and drank the entire bottle in one long swallow.

I like her enough. I’m not thinking about marriage, if that’s what you are asking. Forrest sat down on his bed. He did like Piper, a lot, but there was still a girl back home named Addie who he thought of when he envisioned forever, not to mention that since Piper was human, she wasn’t his fated mate, and did not have the taste that he’d crave for the rest of his life once he found her.

Good to hear it. So, had a chat with Dennis yet?

I made him a whiskey sour last night, but he was too busy drooling over Starr to carry on a conversation.

Trey nodded, rubbing at his stubbled chin in thought. I got invited to a poker game. Back alley sort of thing. Word is he frequents it. Could be worth a shot.

Forrest nodded. Did I see Starr at your place last night?

Yup, Trey grinned. She really knows how to work those fake titties over a cock.

You like fake breasts? I just don’t get the appeal of it.

Breasts are breasts. I like ‘em big, I like ‘em small . . . I just like ‘em.

The smirk on Trey’s face made Forrest roll his eyes. We going to the arcade today?

Yeah. Better get to it. Trey placed his empty beer bottle on the counter.

FORREST’S HEARTBEAT was going a mile a minute as he stepped into the simulator. He’d been dying to try it, but it had been so long, he’d given up the thought of ever getting to use it. So when Noah showed up to watch his first attempt, he worked himself into a nervous frenzy.

After putting on the body suit and holstering his fake weaponry, he put on the glasses. The warehouse scenery was instantaneous, and he could not help but put his hand out to study it in the 3D environment. He turned in a circle, looking from the floor to the ceiling. Awesome!  This is better than any arcade game!

He heard a pop and felt the wind rustle his hair. He ducked and ran to the wall, crouching down to search for the shooter. Another pop, and this time he felt a sharp zing on his left knee. Fuck!