Turning Payne: Therian Agents, #2

Chapter 1

Riley's heart had officially stopped beating, she was sure of it.

No, no, no. This wasn't right.

In front of her stood the most magnificent and terrifying creature she had ever seen. Twice the size of the lion that had been in her sister's bed, its head crowned in a glorious dark mane, it watched her with intense silver eyes.

C'mon Riley, wake up. How hard had she hit her head?

She bit her lip and swallowed past the lump in her throat. If she hadn't seen the transformation with her own eyes, she never would've believed it was possible. Even now, she had her doubts.

In what couldn't have been more than a few heartbeats, he'd transformed from a smoking hot, extremely naked man, into a lion.

No, not a lion—a werelion—that was what Turner had called it. Called himself.

She shivered and rubbed the goosebumps that prickled her arms.

I've been sucked into one of Kiera's twisted sci-fi novels.

She considered herself a grounded person, a realist. Kiera was the flighty one, always brimming with imagination and dreaming up crazy ideas. How would her sister react if she were here, staring into the eyes of very large, very scary lion? A lion that had been a man only a few moments before.

Strong, thick jaw, heavy paws, rippling muscles under golden fur—he was incredible. Scary, yes, but also beautiful. She'd never been this close to a wild animal before, but then he wasn't really an animal. Was he?

Riley rubbed her temples, not taking her eyes off him. She winced when she touched the bump on her head. The room spun and her stomach lurched. She exhaled slowly and pushed through the nausea.

What had happened to her sister? If Riley believed what Turner had said, then her sister had magically—no, genetically—transformed into a lion. A hysterical laugh escaped her lips as reality seemed to punch her straight in the gut.

How was any of this possible?

Turner's simplified explanation of chromosomal abnormalities didn't correlate with her knowledge of genetics. Two degrees and six years of post-secondary education had done nothing to prepare her for what she faced now.

The lion moved towards her. Riley grabbed the edge of the bed and sat down.

Placing its large muzzle in Riley's lap, a soft hum vibrated from the animal's chest.

Was it purring? She could feel the heat of his breath on her bare legs. Oh God, this was seriously happening.

I won't hurt you. The words vibrated through her mind, as if Turner had spoken them aloud.

She wanted to leap backwards on the bed, but the lion's heavy head held her immobilized.

A warmth, like the one she'd felt in the living room, washed over her, and she expelled a shuddering breath.

With slight hesitation, she reached out and stroked the thick fur of his mane. The hair was course, and yet soft at the same time. His eyes closed and the hum in his chest became a more distinguished rumble.

Sorry, she said, pulling her hand back.

This was no illusion. She could see him, feel him, smell him. She inhaled the rich, musky scent. Not even a brain aneurysm could cause such a vivid hallucination.

All right. As insane as this is, I believe you. What other choice did she have?

The lion's nostril's flared.

Someone is here. Turner's voice resonated in her head.

Kiera? Riley? A male voice echoed down the hall. Are you here?

Shit. It's Marcus. No other man could sound so irritatingly pompous and annoyingly boyish at the same time. The lion crouched low and bared his teeth. I'll deal with it. She pushed herself off the bed, and as a second thought pointed her finger at him and ordered, "Stay."

He responded with a low guttural growl.

She shook her head and slipped out the door, closing it behind her.

Marcus was bent over, studying something invisible on the ceramic tile of the foyer.

The stench of his cologne made Riley sneeze.

He quickly shoved whatever he had been looking at in his pocket and stood. His eyes widened when he glanced at her. Christ, Riley. What happened?

She touched her head, feeling the dried blood that had caked in her hair. I tripped over the coffee table. I'm fine.

He took a step towards her. You don't look fine.

Ice seeped down her spine as Marcus' dark gaze roamed over her body. She shivered and wrapped her arms around her chest. What are you doing here?"

His gaze darted over her shoulder in the direction of her sister's bedroom. I'm here to see Kiera.

She stepped in front of him when he started towards the bedroom. She's not here.

Red creeped up his neck and his gaze narrowed. Where is she?

God, he was acting weirder than normal. Why?

I was supposed to meet Kiera for coffee. She didn't show. I tried calling her cell, but she's not picking up.

Coffee? Really Kiera?

The guy was a creep. Stalker material. What was her sister thinking leading him on like that? Since their father's death, Marcus hovered over them like a long-lost relative seeking out the family's hidden gems. Too bad they didn't have any.

Like I said, she's not here.

Where—is—she? With each overly pronounced word, he took a menacing step towards her.

What the hell?

She knew he had a few screws loose, but this macho business was a bit much, even for him.

Before she had a chance to tell Marcus where to go, a large, muscular, arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her against an extremely naked chest.

She's with my brother. Turner said, barely concealing a low growl that vibrated against her back. They hooked up last night. If I know Chase, I doubt they'll be out of bed before dinner. Now, if you don't mind we were kind of in the middle of something before you showed up.

Too stunned to respond, Riley looked over her shoulder, mouth agape at the smoking hot man who had just insinuated that they had spent the night together. Not that the thought repulsed her. Every nerve ending in her body decided to go on high alert the moment Turner touched her.

Marcus' lips twitched in a snarl as he looked to Riley for confirmation.

Better to have him believe she had hooked up with Mr. Hottie, than to know the truth. She needed answers, and she wasn't going to get any with Marcus poking around.

She nodded towards the door. I'll let Kiera know you stopped by.

He ignored her and pierced Turner with a cynical look. Do I know you?

Turner scratched the dark stubble on his jaw. Don't think so.

Marcus' face turned a deep shade of red, and the vein above his temple looked like it was ready to explode. If Turner was trying to piss the man off he'd succeeded.

The SUV out front, is it yours? Marcus bit out through clenched teeth.

Turner stiffened. It is.

Silence stretched between them. An uncomfortable, tension-filled silence.

Turner's arm was still wrapped intimately around her waist, and despite the heat that radiated off his chest, Riley shivered.

Marcus glowered at her for a moment before turning to leave. He hesitated at the door, his hand hovering over the knob. He looked over his shoulder and pinned Turner with a knowing stare. Good thing you didn't get a ticket for parking on the street overnight. Cops are constantly patrolling this area.

Gripping her tight against his body, Turner pushed her hair off her neck and nipped at her ear. Must have been my lucky night.

Riley felt her face flush at the double innuendo and tried to ignore the other areas of her body that burned from the heat of his touch.

Marcus breathed out roughly before opening the door and slamming it behind him.

She let out a slow breath in relief.

He'll be back, Riley said breathlessly.

Then I'll deal with him, Turner murmured, his mouth still near her ear.

He held her close. So close she could feel every rigid, well-defined muscle, including the one that was currently pressed against her backside.

A small sigh escaped her lips before she could stop it. What was wrong with her? Her sister had turned into a freaking lion and all she could think about was lion-man's long fingers, stroking over—Enough, Riley.

She shook her head. He's gone. You can let go of me now.

His hands lingered a moment before he finally released her and took a step back.

She walked to the door and twisted the deadbolt. When she spun around Turner was watching her. Wavy black hair fell across his forehead and framed the perfectly sculpted features of his face. High cheekbones, thick inky lashes surrounding mysterious silver blue eyes, well-molded lips, and a body that Narcissus would be jealous of.

He was gorgeous. And, he was also werelion. Not to mention that as far as she knew, he was the only person able to help her sister. She should've been terrified of him, but she wasn't.

She took a deep breath and rubbed her bare arms. So…What do we do now?

Go have a shower. Get cleaned up. We'll talk about it when you put some clothes on.

Clothes, yes clothes were a good idea. Especially on him. But, Kiera's all right? If you can change back and forth, then she can too?

The look that he gave her made the hairs on her arm stand on end.

It isn't that simple.

But you can help her, right?

We're working on it. He let out a frustrated sigh. The Council has everyone working day and night to solve this fucking mess.

Riley paused, not understanding. What Council, and what mess? If she's a shapeshifter, then why can't she shift back?

She's not a shifter. Not technically anyways.

But you said—

Look, it's complicated. We don't know why or how these people are shifting, but we're trying to figure it out.

Riley felt the blood drain from her face. Kiera's not the only one?

We have scientists trying to figure out how to reverse the process. Until then…

Riley's head spun and she had to place a hand on the wall to keep her balance. She's a lion.

Chapter 2

B reaking news—the Siberian tiger seen roaming Central Park earlier this morning has been detained on Lexington Avenue. Central Park Zoo has denied accusations that the animal is theirs. Police are asking anyone with information—

Turner blew out a frustrated breath and switched the car radio off.

The Therian Agency had been able to keep most of the recent cases out of the news, but when a six-hundred-pound predator strolls through the streets of New York City, it was going to get media coverage.

He loosened his tie and glanced at the unopened manila envelope marked CASE #238 on the passenger seat. It contained the file of the most recent incident of spontaneous shifting.

Thank God, the media hadn't gotten a hold of that story. He could see the headline now—

SUBURBAN HOUSEWIFE WAKES TO FIND CHEETAH IN BED. SAVES FAMILY WITH GLOCK 19 PISTOL. HUSBAND STILL MISSING.

Unfortunately for the unlucky bastard, his wife kept a loaded pistol in the side drawer of her nightstand.

Not that Turner blamed the woman. The world remained blissfully unaware of the subspecies of Metamorphs living alongside them, and it was Turner's job to keep it that way. But between the random spontaneous shiftings and the rogue Metamorphs intent on exposing their kind to the world, it was becoming increasingly difficult to do his job.

He caught his reflection in the rear-view mirror and cursed. Dark circles rimmed grey eyes, and his normally coiffed black hair was disheveled. He'd been awake for thirty-six hours straight and every muscle in his body ached. He rolled his neck, shifted into third gear, and sped through the deserted streets of Bellefonte, anxious to get home and sleep for a few hours.

Someone was messing with the natural order of things.

Big time.

Over a hundred new cases in the last three months alone, and those were only the ones the agency knew about. Of the two hundred and thirty seven other cases Turner had examined, not one of the victims had shifted back into human form.

Some members of the Therian Council were calling it the Great Shift.

A day of reckoning for the abuse humans had inflicted on the world.

Turner didn't buy it.

He'd seen the lab reports. He was no molecular biologist, but he could read a basic DNA sequence. The chromosomal mutations that caused the victims to shift were fundamentally different from the mutations that classified H. sap. Metamorphs as a subspecies.

This wasn't nature's attempt at retribution. If it was, Mother Nature had one warped sense of humor.

No, someone or something was genetically modifying the victim's DNA, causing them to shift permanently into an altered animal state, and Turner had a bad feeling he knew exactly who was responsible.

Professor Richard Fucking Boyd. The bastard was supposed to be dead, his research destroyed, but this shit had his stench all over it.

He turned the corner and had to slam on his brakes to avoid missing the long-legged redhead who stood stone still in the middle of the road.

Turner's heart beat wildly, and a trickle of sweat rolled down the side of his face as he stared at the woman's profile. She didn't move or react to the fact that he'd almost tracked black tire prints over her sexy baby blue pajama shorts.

He slammed the car door. "What the hell are