Carus, p.1
Carus, page 1
Carus
CARUS
BOOK FIVE
J. C. MCKENZIE
Contents
Books by J. C. McKenzie
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
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Epilogue
More from J. C. McKenzie
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Books by J. C. McKenzie
The Lark Morgan Series
Death Stealer (prequel)
Death Maker
Death Raiser
Death Taker
Isle and Eyrie Series
Cormorant Run
Heir of the Eyrie
House of Moon and Stars
The Night House
House of Chaos
Crawford Investigations
Conspiracy of Ravens
Nevermore
Queen of Corvids
The Call of Corvids
From the Shadows
Into the Fire
Dark Legacy
Embrace the Flame
The Carus Series
Shifter (Shift Happens)
Beast (Beast Coast)
Demonic (Carpe Demon)
Cursed (Shift Work)
Carus (Beast of All)
Obsidian Flame
Dangerous Dreams
Dangerous Liaisons
Dangerous Decisions
That Old Black Magic
The Good Griffin
Standalones
Immortal Throne (with Harper A. Brooks)
Call of the Deep (The Shucker’s Booktique)
Stormbound (Be My Love)
COPYRIGHT INFORMATION
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Carus
COPYRIGHT © 2024 by J. C. McKenzie
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: jcmckenzie@jcmckenzie.ca
Cover Art: Olga Sauchenia
Publishing History:
First JCM Publications Edition, 2024
First Black Rose Edition, 2016 (Beast of All, Wild Rose Press)
ISBN: 978-1-990143-61-8 (print)
ISBN: 978-1-990143-62-5 (ebook)
To Kiidk’yaas
You will always stand tall in my memories.
Canadian Disclaimer
You're entering the creative domain of a Canadian author. There will be a combination of British and American spellings, a combination of measurement systems, and maybe even a little French thrown in to spice things up.
Happy reading!
Content Warning
This book contains content that may be triggering to some readers. For a list of potential triggers, please review them here
1
Molten hot magma rushed through my veins as red stained my vision. The smell of burnt cinnamon exploded in the air around me and flowed in my wake like a villain’s cape. Fury boiled from inside and erupted from every pore like lava spewing forth from a thunderous volcano.
“Andy…” Tristan’s voice, normally smooth, choked on blood. “Andrea…”
The beast consuming every fibre of my being roared. Fire ripped from my throat, burning a path through my mouth, past barred fangs, heating the air, and setting the nearby forest ablaze. The trees burst into flame, hot embers dancing along the branches.
A memory ripped through my consciousness and made me stagger.
“Hey, Tristan?”
“Yeah?” He stopped and turned to me.
“I love you.” The words flowed out of my mouth, as natural as the rain on a stormy day. Why’d I choose now to say it?
Because it was right. And true.
“I know.” Sapphire blue eyes twinkled back at me. “I love you, too.”
With the beast riding me hard, I stomped through the forest north of Port Coquitlam, crashing through bushes and shoving past trees. My taloned feet sank into the hard packed soil, stirring the loam and snapping fallen twigs and leaves. With the smidgeon of control I had left, I aimed for the mountains, away from humanity, before the beast took over completely. Another flashback rocked my mind.
The door to my apartment slammed open. A misplaced scent.
The rata-tat-tat of machine gunfire.
The sickening jerks of Tristan’s body as bullet after bullet struck his body while he shielded me.
A soulful, anguish-ridden howl exploded from my soul as it spasmed and ached. My other animal forms had merged with the beast when I transformed, letting her take control to seek revenge for us all.
A branch snapped to my right. I froze, breath fast and shaky as adrenaline continued to course through my eight foot scaled body. My shoulders and stomach tightened, as my senses searched the woods. The cool early winter wind rustled the branches and the remaining leaves too stubborn to fall.
No birds chirped. No deer stirred. Nothing moved. The forest stood still, frozen with fear, or abandoned after I crashed through.
A gust of wind swirled around me, and my nostrils flared, little nodes plucking signatures to mark and relay the information to memory. Rosemary and sugar. Werewolf. Wick?
No. He wouldn’t be here. I’d burned that bridge, and now… I squeezed my eyelids shut but couldn’t stop the memory.
Tristan paused, and his gaze sought mine. Infinitesimal shards of sapphire gems, streaked with leopard yellow to reveal the animal simmering beneath the surface, met my gaze with a need so intense it vibrated my body, my heart, my very being down to the cellular level.
Another twig snapped. Grass crunched. I tensed before spinning to my right.
The air whooshed as tiny darts flew through the night and stabbed at my flesh—impacting my body with little jabs and pinpricks.
The sickening jerk of Tristan’s body…
I roared again, howling my rage at invisible foes as my internal wounds continued to fester, then hemorrhage, in a maddening cycle of seething anger. Chaos consumed my body, and I didn’t care. I released my diminished hold on the beast. My wings spread wide, and I cried at the moon overhead.
Let the beast reign. Destroy. Destroy them all.
I was the Carus and the world would see my rage.
I stepped forward. And faltered. Ice flowed through my veins, smothering the raging fire licking at the inferno of my soul. I staggered forward another step.
Pay. Make them pay. Destroy them…
My body crumpled forward. Dark figures emerged from the forest wearing black fatigues, long sleeved shirts, balaclavas, and night-vision goggles. They wielded an arsenal of badass weaponry, but no one took a shot. A wave of vanilla and honey rolled through the wind, announcing the cloaking spell employed for stealth mode.
Get up!
The ice continued to neutralize the burning in my veins. My skin itched as it receded and transformed back into my vulnerable, weak human form. I scrambled to stand, but my long, naked limbs weighed more than cinder blocks. I tumbled forward.
Move, dammit, my mind screamed.
One of my attackers stepped up to my trembling body and clicked on his headset. “We have her.”
No!
My vision went black, and for the first time since I lost control, my mind went blank and rested.
2
My vision cleared slowly as a trickle of sweat ran down my spine. With one cheek smushed against cold concrete, blurry images flashed through my brain as broken memories played like a maniacal film reel.
The back of my eyes ached as I focused on the room confining me. My prison. I sprawled on the floor by the base of a small cot, tangled in a sweaty, bed sheet. My holding cell resembled something from a maximum security prison after a white-obsessed designer got her hands on it. White walls, white bedding, and white ceiling. The starkness of the room made it appear almost dream-like, surreal. But this was no dream. This was a nightmare.
A vision surged up like acid reflux.
Pain burst through my body as I threw myself repeatedly against the thick, unforgiving bars. A low drone of chiming metal resonated in the air like some sick, dark calling. I turned and pummelled the concrete walls, howling my rage. Blood dripped down my skin as my fists bled. Bones crunched.
The memory faded.
I glanced down at my knuckles to find them covered with yellow bruises and encrusted with old blood and scabs. The cotton of the white prison garb chafed at my raw human skin. At least they’d clothed me. More memories of the night they brought me in surfaced. Naked, dirty, and broken. I’d fought with every ounce of hatred infused in my bones, but it hadn’t been enough. Whatever they used to subdue my beast prevented me from exerting extreme damage. Only my martial arts training remained, but I still broke bones. When they finally chucked me in this prison cell, I was covered with blood—not all of it mine.
Mountain lion? Falcon? I called out to the feras normally cohabitating my mind.
No answer.
Baloo? Kaa? Red? With command in my thoughts, I summoned the animal familiars I’d dispelled to another realm. Normally, they popped into existence when called and made inappropriate comments about my love life.
Again, nothing.
Cold slithered along my spine. No feras. No beast. Whatever they shot me with blocked my communication with the animals. Did it prevent shifting as well? I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to call a form and change. Only a headache answered. Dread flittered across my skin. Was this permanent?
As the Carus, the genetic throwback to the first demigod progeny of the beast goddess, I caged a beast with rage and power rivalled by few, and possessed more than one animal familiar to shift into.
At least, I did until the someone shot me full of chemicals. Would I ever regain my abilities? Hear the indignant screech of the peregrine falcon? Or the lusty purr of the mountain lion? Or soulful howl of the wolf?
My heart hammered, punching bone. A buzzing sensation filled my head. The “wrongness” of my condition grated against my nerves, slicing them into slivers like a planer shucking off wood shavings.
Something in my abdomen swelled, as if the beast pushed against whatever barrier caged and hid her from me.
I’ll get you out, I told her, not knowing if she could hear. We’ll make them pay.
I looked down and sniffed. They’d cleaned me, too. Who got the sponge bath job? I’d find out and break their hands later.
After a deep breath, I clambered to my feet and pulled the white sheet from my sweaty body. Three white walls, closed off by a fourth side of thick bars, Were-proof from the look and smell. The single bed, bolted to the cement floor, appeared disheveled and rumpled. I must’ve fallen out with the sheet. My scent, old and fresh, clung to the bedding. How long had I been here?
I closed my eyes and opened my senses. No mountain lion. No falcon. No beast. They’d somehow blocked me from my feras, but at least my Shifter senses remained.
The scent signatures of the cell and the room outside filtered in. Boring as paper norm scents cluttered the space from trace to strong. One stood out among the rest, one smell triggered the fury simmering beneath my skin, coiling in my bones; one stench, accompanied by overpowering, expensive cologne, made that weird pressure in my core rise and brush against the invisible barrier again.
ATF.
Agent Tucker Fucker.
The agent from the Supernatural Regulatory Division, or SRD, whom I loathed more than raisins in my butter tarts, despised more than zombie apocalypse movies, hated more than sand caked in places sand should never go.
I paused.
No, none of these comparisons expressed the sheer disgust I held for Tucker.
His scent triggered another memory.
His smug smile flashed from the other side of the bars. Pale face and hazel gaze bright with victory. The beast howled deep and low inside my core, yearning to rip his face apart. He leaned in, and his boring as paper scent coiled around me like a lasso. “You’re mine, now.”
Tucker’s scent here, combined with my flashbacks, told me my worst fear had finally come true—I was in the SRD lab.
The place they stuck weirder-than-normal supernaturals, or supes, and essentially poked them with sticks. And beast-suppressant narcotics, apparently.
Something else tickled my nose. Fresh and old, substantial and trace. Here and now. Vanilla and honey meant one thing, and one thing only. Witch. And from the estrogen swirling around in the scent, I’d bet my secret stash of yogurt covered raisins, a female Witch lurked close by. As a guard? Or fellow inmate?
My pulse picked up and my skin prickled.
“He-hello?” My voice cracked like someone took coarse sandpaper to it and wore it down so thin it broke.
A woman snorted nearby. “’Bout time you woke up, princess.”
I staggered a few steps before reaching the bars. With not enough room to stick my head through, I smushed my face as far as I could to look around. A wave of dizziness shrouded my vision.
If only I could call Kaa, my snake familiar, I’d be out of here and kicking ass in minutes.
Despite my best efforts to cram my skull through a space half the width, the view didn’t offer much information. Outside my cell, it looked like a hallway, with maybe a cell or two on each side of mine.
“Who else is here?” I croaked.
“Just us, darlin’,” the woman spoke again, her voice a lazy drawl. “Not sure what or who you are, but they deemed us too dangerous to keep with the other specimens.”
Fellow inmate then. “The SRD lab?”
“Mmhmm.”
Animated visions trickled through and teased my neurons. Men in lab coats. ATF’s smug face. Multiple injections.
Another memory rose up like vomit and clouded my mind.
Tucker’s smile broadened, his teeth gleamed as he held up a large syringe on the other side of the bars.
I shook the image away. “How long have I been out?”
“This time? About a day. It’s the first time you’ve spoken, though. Or at least the first time you’ve made any sense.”
Her words confirmed what my healing wounds and the nausea in my gut suggested. I’d been here longer than a day. My capture hadn’t been recent. With a deep breath, I asked the question rebounding in my head since waking up. “How long have I been here?”
She sighed. “Hard to track time in the lab, but my guess is almost two months. Maybe more.”
“That’s not possible,” I whispered, confusion fogging my brain. Surely, I would’ve come to my senses sooner than this? Two months? I’d rolled around in a drug-induced haze for that long? Impossible. I had a monthly visit from a Seducer Demon. Surely, he would’ve found me by now and rescued me from this testing hell hole. Having his anchor behind SRD bars wouldn’t provide Sid with any advantage. Unless… Unless the supe suppressant crap blocked his link as well.
My stomach twisted.
The woman cleared her throat.
“I’m Andy. Who are you?” I asked. Why’d I bother? No amount of chit-chat would distract the vibrating fear niggling up my spine.
“Veronika.”
Veronika? Veronika…Veronika… Her name clicked into place, like the final piece to a puzzle. Laughter bubbled up my throat at the same time nausea swirled in my stomach. The fear gripping my backbone dissipated. “Veronika Klug?”
Silence.
“Your brother wanted me to find you.” Heck, I would’ve agreed to almost anything for Lucus to work the locator spell I’d asked him for. At the time, a menacing supe had lurked at large and already having a destructive past, I wanted him found and dead, sooner than later. Lucus had located the supe in record time, demonstrating his power and finesse as a Witch. That he couldn’t use a similar spell to find his own sister spoke volumes about the magical defences of the lab.
More snorting. “Hell of a way to come looking.”
“Not exactly my plan.” Fucking fairy tits, I’d barely had time to relax and enjoy life after the Demon fiasco before…before everything was taken from me. Finding Veronika had been on my “To Do” list, but saving my Witch neighbours from the Elders had been my top priority at the time. If only I’d known.
Tristan.
A sob lodged in my throat, and I swallowed it down. I couldn’t save Tristan. Not now. Not ever. But I could save myself and still help my friends.
Ben, Matt, Patty, and heck, even Christopher, though he was still a douche.
An image of kind, soft brown eyes framed with shaggy dark blond hair flashed through my mind. Ben. Neighbour, Witch, and one of my best friends. His brethren had messed up a Demon summoning, which ended in catastrophe. The Witch Elders had ordered the entire coven to appear and answer for their mistake. I promised Ben I’d rescue him if the Elders didn’t release them, or the punishment went on too long. I promised.
