Dead Shifter Walking Read online

  Dead Shifter Walking

  Kim Schubert

  Dedication

  To my husband, who is my rock and greatest supporter.

  Facebook: thekimschubert

  Website: www.kimschubert.com

  Copyright © Kim Schubert 2014

  Smashwords Edition

  Ebook Cover Design by http://www.ebooklaunch.com

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Chapter 1

  Adjusting my uncomfortable seat on the makeshift desk Grams was seated behind for this impromptu meeting, I peeked over my tense shoulder to see her rigid gaze at the self-important Governor Hash. The hatred simmering below the surface was evident from her steel gaze, but she wasn’t allowing it to contort her facial features, good for her.

  I wasn’t doing nearly as well; my jaw muscles twitched from unspoken words, not to mention my arms refused to uncross from my chest.

  Pulling my attention back to the panel in front of us, I heaved an annoyed sigh. I wasn’t much for the legal system or legal anything actually. I had my own set of rules, and I abided by those with fanaticism. I was tempted to kill each and every one of those stupid, idiotic vampires for coming out of the closet. Let’s not forget about the lovely shifters who also decided it was a good idea to dump the honesty on the general human public. Truth of our existence had long been known since the Salem Witch Trials, but I certainly didn’t walk around with a t-shirt announcing “Succubus.” The general public appreciated it that way, knowing there was something in the dark but not putting a face to it. Well, that all ended, now that their ridiculous government thought they had some say in how we lived. The idiotic notion that the humans could control or dictate how we lived was the reason I was sitting here guarding Grams, the head of our Supernatural Council, a council I had crafted and tended to for the last six years, making damn sure it was swift, just, and beyond reproach.

  My system worked, wonderfully until the largest vampire house in the area, The Centennial House, decided they wanted a bigger piece of the ever-loving human pie. Fucking vampire movies! I was tempted to kill every novelist and screenwriter who glorified the undead. Contrary to popular belief, living forever is grossly overrated. After a few centuries, all the humanity leaked out; only the powerful elite survived with their sanity. If said out-of-control vamps didn’t fall on a silver stake—yeah, that part is true—then someone like me came along and relieved them of their heads or hearts depending on the mood I was in. Contrary to vampire lore, sunlight didn’t kill them, but their power, like most supernaturals, was awakened at night.

  As I rolled my shoulders, cracking my neck, I glanced at the Vamp Council on my left, decked out in soft black leather, chokers, and matching pale skin—the assholes. Across from them to my right were the shifters in all their big, bad, football-player glory, and directly in front of me were legalized human assholes, trying desperately to understand supernatural beings who had always walked beside them. The Governor and his flunkies were attempting to pass judgment on who we were and what we did, all the while, not really understanding a fucking thing.

  “We simply cannot allow your kind to continue living the way you have, unchecked and unmanaged,” Governor Hash stated, raising his beady eyes to the group assembled as he closed his paperwork and was about to come to a verdict. “Therefore, we are going to relocate―”

  I stopped him there with a touch of my power. “Absolutely not,” I said quietly, pushing off the table to stand in front of him with my arms crossed over my leather-clad chest.

  His eyes grew round. “You,” he started uncertainly, “cannot tell me what to do―”

  I laughed a small chuckle. “Actually, I can and I will,” I said softly, feeling my power pool in my core.

  I took a step forward, bracing my legs apart and resting my hands on my hips. “This is what I will allow.”

  He attempted to regain control from my brush off of his authority, but one look quieted his annoying sputtering.

  “I will allow you to have one of your staff, approved by me, to monitor the clan meetings. Secondly, I will allow”―I stressed that word; setting up the proper power levels was important and stressing he had none was also key. Plus, I wasn’t above killing them all; it was my job―“an enforcer to patrol your police files and deliver the heads of anyone responsible for breaking the major laws of your society that also correspond to our own laws.

  “I will allow you to provide me with multiple candidates for an enforcer, with the final selection resting with me.” I finished, slightly relaxing my stance, keeping my eye contact level with his own. I knew the other clans would agree; the Supernatural Council was the head of all the clans, and what I said was law. Besides, there wasn’t anyone or anything else willing and capable of eliminating an entire city council to get this shit taken care of, but I was an executioner, that was my job, and I loved it.

  “And you speak for all these freaks?” he asked, his voice shifting up an octave as his fear coating the room.

  I smiled a slow relaxed smile that didn’t show my pearly white teeth. My genetic makeup did not include fear-inspiring canines and I was certain that has been a mistake. “Anyone disagree?” I asked sweetly, not losing eye contact. Not a sound prevailed.

  “Who gave you the right to defy the authority the citizens have entrusted me with?” he said, standing and raising his voice. His tanned skin turning red from the exertion, he wasn’t much to look at: tall, skinny, with gray hair and thin pale lips.

  I checked my control, it was good; fuck, it was perfect. None of my emotions leaked.

  I stalked slowly toward him, rolling my hips in my soft leather pants and matching jacket. I had left my dual swords at home, armed only with a few dozen knives hidden carefully under my silk cami and jacket.

  Reaching his ornate, highly polished table, I braced my hands wide, lowering my face to his own. I smiled, showing my still fangless teeth. “I gave the right to myself,” I whispered. “And no political dick bag like you is going to undo any of the structures I have created. End. Of. Story.”

  I turned my back on him, walking towards Grams, who raised a dark blond eyebrow. I tilted my head with a shrug; it was fun scaring him. I liked it. Did that make me more of a monster? Yes, I certainly hope so.

  “None of you will leave this building alive,” said the Governor desperately as the other clans stood, halting the rustling of papers.

  I turned around again tapping a delicate finger against my blood red bottom lip. “You mean those big bad snipers on the roof?” I asked innocently.

  I think the Governor might have actually growled.

  “Don’t worry,” I said, settling my hand against my side. “They'll be fine.” I checked my nearly indestructible watch that was waterproof, freeze proof, and shockproof. I loved it. “Well, actually, in about six minutes, they will be running out of oxygen. So, I really do think we should get a move on.”

  At those words, all the clans began picking up their belongings. Ruling by fear was not nice; it was, however, immensely effective. Fuck nice; my job came with a life expectancy that didn’t clear thirty, and at twenty-three, I was already feeling that pressure.

  It also helped that they knew I was protecting all of them as my own, and that I would make sure not a soul was harmed leaving the building.
I may be a tad overbearing in that regard.

  I waited as the rest of the clans exited the wooden double doors with matching frosted glass panes. All the while, Hash stared daggers at me. Feeling his malevolent eyes on my back, I turned, raising a questioning eyebrow.

  “I should have you arrested,” he growled, scrunching his forehead.

  I scoffed, “Good luck with that one,” I taunted him, stepping onto the marble floor. I followed the echoing footsteps around the corner and into the harsh florescent lighting of the open lobby with matching marble paneling until I deviated from the path of the others, cutting to the side door where I had the snipers waiting for me.

  I took my first clean breath of the night air, chilly with the promise of rain. I sincerely hoped so; I loved the rain.

  “So, that was quite the performance,” Mark said, coming from my left. I stopped surveying the rooftops and turned my attention to him, not giving him the satisfaction of surprising me.

  “Performance?” I questioned. “I was really quite okay with killing all of them.”

  He shifted his stance, the wind lapping at his thick dark curls, leather jacket, and jeans. He was as tan as a surfer god, with broad shoulders and deep brown eyes.

  “You weren’t really going to kill all those people?” he asked, assured of the answer.

  I smiled cryptically and shrugged, “Depends on my mood.”

  Mark scoffed at that. I could tell his shifter blood was restless in the moonlight; his brown eyes gleaming with a light that was not a reflection of the moon. He was second in command of the Southeast Branch of Shifters. Darren was the head dog down here, and I truly do mean dog in the most decadent sense of the word. Actually, that was an insult to pooches everywhere. Darren had the unique notoriety of having slept with the majority of the female population in our fair city. He had a daughter from his first marriage, but after his wife passed away, the manwhore was released.

  “How’s Hannah?” I asked about Darren’s daughter and real number-one priority.

  He hesitated in his answer, avoiding eye contact and shrugging. “She’s okay,” he finally answered. I wanted to ask why just okay when my watch beeped at me.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I need to make good on my promise not to kill the snipers.” With that, I took my leave. I might have rolled my hips exaggeratedly, but how long had it been since I took a lover? I groaned inwardly; too damn long. And shifters, their stamina was the stuff of legends. I did know, however, that trying to seduce Mark would be totally ineffective; he might not realize he was gay, but I certainly did. I liked putting on a show though.

  “Olivia, wait,” Grams said, speed walking to come even with me. “Need a lift?” she asked with sincerity.

  I smiled and nodded, not slowing my gait.

  She nodded. “Around the corner at 6th street.”

  I nodded my thanks, continuing to keep my promise to free the mere mortal assholes. I rolled my shoulders again; I needed a back rub, with a tall, dark, and handsome stamina-driven nonexistent male. I sighed with disappointment, as I rolled open the sewer cage I had them in.

  “Let’s go darlings,” I said as the moonlight poured over their limp forms. Slowly they rose and ambled towards their freedom.

  …

  “You think that was wise?” Grams asked in the back of her black limo.

  I shrugged. “You will have to be more specific,” I stated blandly, rubbing my throbbing temples.

  Grams held my emerald green eyes with her own slate blue ones. “Do you think it wise to intimidate the human’s ruling body of government, or perhaps we should discuss if you think it wise to have assumed that you spoke for all of the supernaturals in that room? Or more importantly the kidnapping—“

  “Enough,” I interrupted, speaking quietly.

  She flushed, angry with my behavior. “What would you have me do,” I asked, meeting her gaze, “let the human’s pathetic government dictate our actions? I did what I had to,” I said, turning back to the window. “I do my job to keep us safe. If you want to blame someone, pick on the damn vampires.”

  The conversation was closed. She knew it, even if she didn’t like it. I didn’t put her in this position for her inability to read people, and she should know me well enough by now to realize exactly how I operated.

  Six years ago, when I was seventeen, clawing my way out of my own private hell, I found her managing a low-class, dirty, rat- and drug-infested whorehouse. She had the traits I needed, the ability to care for others without anger, an abundance of kindness and compassion.

  I converted a mansion I had not so honestly inherited into a sanctuary for those like us and the children I had managed to save.

  Then I started killing humans and supernaturals alike until Grams ended up as head of the council for the Eastern United States. The Western counterpart gave his blessing to us and threw a few lucrative jobs our way, which was the only reason he was still alive. Our rules stated an Executioner could name and protect their choice for the council and that was exactly what I did. Anyone who wanted a change went through me and no one ever managed to get that far; they couldn’t compete with me. I was a genetically engineered killer, raised in Selena’s own sick and twisted version of a boot camp. I used all of my formidable skills to burn it and every living thing inside it, except Anna, to the ground.

  Pushing those demons away for another day, I cracked my neck, peering out the heavily tinted and bulletproof glass window to the night outside.

  I wasn’t the only executioner for this region, but I pulled a heavy caseload and was away more than I was home.

  “How was Orlando?” Grams questioned, trying to reign in her frustration with me.

  I turned from the window. “It went well,” I responded absently. “The usual vamp went over the edge.”

  She nodded. “The children will be happy to see you,” Grams stated.

  I smiled at that, turning back to the window.

  I loved the children. They were young, innocent, full of potential, potential that they would be better than me, more than I could ever dream of being. I turned my thoughts away from that dark ally and back to the night outside. I missed being on my own, driving in the dark reaches of small towns. The city was constantly moving, flashing, devoid of silence or stars.

  “What’s on the agenda for tomorrow?” I asked, adjusting my seat in the limo.

  “The usual; we have a fairly full docket, and…” she hesitated in continuing, “Rose has been sick recently. I was hoping you might be able to pull a few shifts.”

  I sighed, slouching down in my seat.

  “You’re the best,” she pushed on. “We make the most when you’re in town.” She adjusted her pastel purple suit, looking uncomfortable. “Besides, there have been requests for your particular skill set,” she added, her chin held high.

  I closed my eyes; my particular skill set. Yep.

  “Alright,” I said. “Have the schedule ready for me tomorrow.”

  The car slowed in front of the massive mansion. I loved this home. The Southern plantation style pillars were so wide, it took two people to wrap around, and they extended all the way to the third floor. A Georgia mansion is what I thought of it as. When I had been trapped in hell, I promised myself that as a safe haven.

  I didn’t want to push further into those memories, so I slammed the door to my mind as I slammed the car door and waited for Grams to come around the car as it drove away.

  “They should all be in bed by now,” she said with warmth in her voice, “but you know how they are.” She smiled, making her way up the three short steps.

  Soft noise and light greeted us as the door pushed inward. I listened to the squeaking of furniture as bodies moved and the noise dimmed to nothing.

  A skinny eight-year-old African American kid moved from the corner into my view.

  “Hey,” he said, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed against his chest.

  I smiled and inclined my head. “You staying out
of trouble, Tommy?” I asked.

  He shrugged, sparing a glance at Grams, who only shook her head and headed upstairs to bed with her cream heels clicking on the hardwood floors.

  “Game?” he questioned with a knowing smirk.

  My smile grew. “Game on.”

  He exuded the innocence of an eight-year-old boy, even though I knew damn well he was far older than that. Perhaps that’s why Executioners don’t live past thirty; we are really twice that age and our hearts just cannot handle anymore.

  I shook my head at that thought. Who the hell was I kidding? I don’t suffer that problem; I lack a heart.

  …

  Dawn light slipped past the plantation shutters as Tommy kicked my ass again in the racing game.

  “Ugh! I am done,” I said, putting my controller down, rubbing my burning eyes.

  Tommy stretched, grinning like a fool ear to ear on the flowery sofa. “Don’t worry, Olie, I won’t tell a soul.” He mimed zipping his lips but was unable to complete the gesture as I smacked him in the face with a pillow.

  He started giggling uncontrollably, holding his stomach, and I couldn’t help but smile.

  “Go to bed,” I commanded, standing to stretch. My watch read 5:45 a.m. I groaned inwardly.

  Crossing his arms, he attempted to deny my authority. With only a raised eyebrow, he relented, but not before pulling me into a surprise hug and dashing up the stairs.

  I smiled at his retreating form. He was doing better; thank all that is good in this world.

  Pulling the throw off the back of the sofa, I snuggled in for a few hours of rest, sighing contentedly.

  …

  “Yo, Sleeping Beauty,” A familiar voice called out, pulling me from my peaceful slumber.

  “Kass,” I responded unmoving as her light weight rested on my back.

  “What’s up, my long-lost lover bug?” she asked, covering my body with hers.

  Groaning, I demanded, “Time!”

  “Time to get up and go get ‘em,” she stated, slapping my ass, and I knew if I looked up at her Caribbean face, it would be split into a grin.