Laid Bare Read online

  Laid Bare

  A Werebear Shifter Romance

  Espen Arcadia

  Contents

  1. Kilik

  2. Kilik

  3. Alex

  4. Kilik

  5. Alex

  6. Kilik

  7. Alex

  8. Kilik

  9. Kilik

  10. Alex

  11. Kilik

  12. Kilik

  Letter from the author

  Laid Bare

  A Werebear Shifter Romance

  Espen Arcadia

  Published by Books Unite People LLC, 2018.

  Copyright © 2018 by Espen Arcadia

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. All resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Editing by: Jo Bird & Sandra S.

  Chapter 1

  Kilik

  The watered-down, lukewarm beer tastes like shit, but I take a deep swig, eyes casually scanning the greasy basement bar. The brick walls are covered in a thick layer of grime, cigarette smoke clinging to the ancient bricks, neon lights advertising liquor brands blinking weakly. I raise my finger, making eye contact with the bartender. He nods and fills another smudged glass with tap beer. The battered door swings open as a group of leather-clad men leave and a single man muscles his way through their group.

  A waitress, slim and pretty, slips the beer onto my table, a small, rickety thing shoved into the corner. She gives me a sly grin, biting her lip. I dip my chin in response and she sways away, satisfied by the attention, while I observe the man who just entered. He’s skinny, the type of skinny that sets drug addicts apart. He’s wearing a dark beanie, greasy hair brushing over his ears. At the bar, he’s nervously tapping the wooden counter. Even from behind, I can tell his eyes are darting from side to side.

  Jackie Scrubs.

  I take another long drink and wait. He asks for the volume of the sports game on the TV over the bar to be raised, watching in between his surveillance of the bar. On the TV, Chicago scores, and a chorus of cheers fills the small space. A smile splits my lips as he raises his arms, fists pumping. His jacket lifts and the dim lights of the bar glint off the handgun tucked into the back of his pants. I’m on my feet before the cheers die down, heading directly toward him while he’s distracted. The handcuffs I hid in my waistband are cold in my hand. It’s going to be very satisfying taking this murderer down.

  Suddenly, a burly man dressed in a slick black suit blocks my path. He’s a head taller than I am, glaring down at me with beady black eyes. “Buddy,” I say, forcing a smile. “I’m trying to order a drink, do you mind?”

  He merely grins. I narrow my eyes at him and watch his eyes flick toward something behind me as I feel a presence at my back. I turn casually, one eye on the first man. There’s another behind him, he cracks his knuckles when he catches my eye. It’s difficult to suppress a snort at the melodramatic musclemen, but I get the hint. They lead me out of the bar and up the dank concrete steps onto the narrow street above. Scraps of magazines and leaves blow by as the wind that gave the Windy City its nickname gusts through the streets.

  A long, black sedan with tinted windows is parked at the curb, headlights on. We clamber into the vehicle. I’m desperately wishing for my gun. The leather is cool against my back, even through the flannel of my shirt. One of the hulking lumps sits in the front, the other slides in beside me. The driver peels away from the curb and the goon beside me casually trains a gun on me, finger resting lightly on the trigger. I ignore him, arms folded stubbornly over my chest as the sedan pulls into Chicago nightlife traffic.

  We’re headed downtown, brownstones slowly changing to concrete skyscrapers. The sedan turns into an underground parking lot of a towering, glass-lined building: Voloshynko Holdings. Out of the car and into the steel elevators, the burly musclemen prod me along with the barrel of the gun jammed against my back. I glare at them but the men ignore my withering looks. We arrive on the 38th floor. I’m still flanked by both men, though they’ve at least put their weapons away now that we’re trapped on the top floor. The doors slide open smoothly, silently. I step out onto a marble tiled floor, a sleek white desk in the center of the lobby commanding the room, plush leather sofas creating a luxurious seating space.

  Glass walls separate the different work spaces, empty now this late at night. One of the men shoves me forward. I snarl at him, lips pulled back over my teeth. He doesn’t react, but this time, when he gestures me forward, he doesn’t touch me. I grin at him, willing my canines to elongate, enjoying the way his skin pales. They march me past the lobby and down one of the halls, flanked by glass walls and elegant blinds.

  We finally arrive at the back of the floor, approaching a large office with all of the blinds pulled. The men open the door, waving me through. The executive office is cold, frigid even, and sparsely decorated. A long, chrome desk sits in front of the wall-to-wall window, a magnificent view of the city lights is the only decoration the room needs. Thin bookcases line one of the walls, a fur rug decorating the floor. A bearskin rug. I bristle but remain impassive as a tall, lithe man in front of the window turns slowly to face me.

  Ivan Voloshynko is pale, with sharp cheekbones and a strong jaw, white blonde hair slicked back stylishly. He clasps his hands behind his back, looking sharp in a well-tailored Armani suit. He’s handsome but no warmth shines behind his ice blue eyes.

  Wordlessly, the men who escorted me here leave, the door whispering shut. The man behind the desk grins, pale lips pulled back too far in a smile that’s too wide. “Please, have a seat,” he says, his voice smooth and inviting.

  I shrug and drop into one of the white leather arm chairs facing his desk. He sits gently, and leans forward over his desk, watching me like a predator. “So, Ivan,” I say, breaking the silence. “What is it that you want?”

  “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure.” Ivan’s smile broadens.

  “And yet, here I am,” I say, raising a brow and trying to suppress my irritation.

  Ivan chuckles, but there’s no mirth in his voice. “My apologies, it was imperative that I speak to you tonight,” he says, pausing. I lift my hands, palms up, carelessly inviting him to elaborate. Pursing his lips, he continues. “Homicide Detective Kilik Patterson, Seventh Precinct. Multiple commendations and honors, well-respected by your colleagues. An impressive record of arrests, if I must say.” Ivan peers down at a file on his desk.

  I shift in my seat, slinging my ankle over my knee. “I’m impressed by your abilities to search the internet,” I interrupt, and Ivan’s eyes narrow. “But what the hell am I doing here, Ivan?”

  “Well.” Ivan sits back, bemused. “If we must get right to it, I have a proposition for you.”

  “Lay it on me,” I say, curious and wary.

  Ivan stands and leans casually against his desk. “It’s come to my attention that you’ve been assigned a certain murder case. It just so happens that the solving of this murder would threaten some of my interests. I’m sure you can understand that this is simply unacceptable.” My face has settled into a hard grimace, but Ivan carries on, undeterred. “In essence, I need a favor from you, and I’m willing to pay handsomely.”

  “No,” I say simply, rising from the chair with a sigh. “In fact, and I’m sure you’re aware of this, bribing police officers is illegal. I’m not doing your dirty work, I’m not betraying the justice system, and I’m certainly not going to disappoint the victim’s family with senseless lies.” I pin him with a hard loo
k and his smile melts away into a furious grimace.

  “I expected this to be difficult, but I hoped you wouldn’t disappoint me,” Ivan says, glaring coldly.

  “For one of the most successful men in Chicago, I would have thought you’d be smarter than this. I’m going to do you a favor and let this go, but I don’t want to hear from you again,” I say gruffly, slinging my coat over my shoulder as I turn to go.

  Suddenly, an icy shiver slips down my spine, I stop halfway across the room and inhale deeply through my nostrils. I smell magic, sharp and tangy.

  “Not so fast,” Ivan says, I turn to face him. “I’m afraid it won’t be so easy for you to refuse.”

  “I already did,” I snap, but his eyes hold me in place.

  “It’s widely accepted that I rose to this level of wealth and power through sheer grit and a mind for business.” Ivan steps around the desk. “And, of course, this is partly true. But I’ve found through the years that a little help from the Dark Arts helps.”

  I try to plaster a look of confusion and disbelief on my face, but I know Ivan catches the recognition in my eyes. “You’re talking about magic,” I say, raising a brow incredulously.

  “Indeed.”

  “It’s not real,” I lie, letting a hint of anger and disbelief stain my voice.

  “Oh, but it is, and you know it.” Ivan smiles, a snake calculating its kill. “You see, with over ten years dealing with Chicago’s dark, seedy, supernatural underworld, I’ve come to amass quite a network of followers, a great deal of power, and much knowledge. I know, for example, that you are intimately linked to the supernatural as well.”

  “I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about. You’re insane,” I snap, backing away slowly, my thoughts running through my options and the different possibilities.

  Suddenly, I’m frozen in place, as if my body were made of dry concrete. I grit my teeth, staring angrily at Ivan. He’s smiling serenely, catching my gaze, he points down to my feet. My gaze drops to the ground, a glyph, glowing blue, has been etched into the marble of his office. And I stumbled right into it.

  “What the hell is this?” I snarl, flinching internally as my nails elongate and narrow into claws, but Ivan merely chuckles.

  “A simple spell I prepared for you arrival. Bears are so predictable, you know. All of you shifters are the same.” He waves a hand lazily toward me. “I knew you would say no, play the noble hero. So I had to take precautions.”

  Furious, I growl again, low and deep. A warning. “Go to hell, warlock.”

  “You are going to do what I’m asking of you. And you’re going to do it well and fast. Because if you don’t, well, there will be consequences,” Ivan says, eyes flashing. He raises a palm toward me and whispers an incantation under his breath, so soft that I can’t make out the words. His body convulses once, then his eyes fly open as I fall to my hands and knees. I roar, pain lancing through me as he forces me to shift, forces the bear to surface. My limbs are trembling as they transform, my skeletal structure morphing from human to animal. My muscles expand and my face transforms as my snout elongates, my jaw changing. Shifted, I pant on the marble-tiled floor, pink tongue lolling out of my mouth. I catch sight of Ivan smiling pleasantly above me and I find the energy to stand, shaking out my soft brown fur.

  Ivan appraises me and the bear within ripples with rage at Ivan’s offense. Shifting is a private experience, shared between the human and the animal spirit that resides within. To force the bond to activate without consent is a gross taboo. I feel shaky, a little nauseous, as I face off against Ivan.

  “There, you see, not so insane is it?” Ivan says cruelly.

  I lunge toward him, but it becomes more of a lurch, my strength drained from the forced shift. Ivan laughs at my feeble attempt. “It’s in your best interests to work with me here, detective. First, I will not hesitate to get you removed from the force and separate you from the bear spirit that resides in your body. Second, my holdings in the supernatural realm are being threatened, and if I go down, the good people of Chicago will take a massive hit. Would you rather let innocent lives be lost or find the murderer of some drug-addicted stripper?”

  Ivan whispers his incantation once again and I suddenly find myself back in my human form, dressed, on my knees in front of him. I breathe slowly, forcing the nausea away as I gather my strength. I’m still trapped by the glyph. Ivan looms over me, his pale eyes as cold as ice.

  Shaking, I glare up at him, scowling.

  Chapter 2

  Kilik

  I burst out of the modern skyscraper, seething, glaring daggers at anyone who glances my way. The train station is nearby. I head in its direction, shoving through the nighttime crowds of Chicago. I think back to Ivan’s satisfied sneer as I reluctantly agreed to do his dirty work. Letting him expose me is too great a risk, not to mention that it could upset the delicate balance of the supernatural world creeping in on society. A growl escapes my lips as the bear within me roars, his paws pounding forcefully on my conscience. Agreeing to work with Ivan goes against all of my principles, not to mention the impulses of the spirit within me.

  I jog down the stairs into the train station and wait impatiently on the platform, the murky yellow lights above casting a green shadow around the station. The train screams into the platform and I settle into an empty car, glowering at the walls. It isn’t long until the train halts at the station nearest my precinct. Once I’m out of the train, I bound up the stairs and jog to the office, fueled by my rage toward Ivan.

  “I knew you’d understand,” he had said, readjusting his already perfect lapel. “I’m looking forward to working with you.” It’s all I can do to resist snapping my jaws at the memory, but I control myself, taking deep breaths. I pause outside the door to the precinct to gather myself, standing under the pale light of a street lamp. Calm, I roll my shoulders and head inside.

  The precinct is empty besides the few night officers at their desks and the occasional perp slumped in the ratty blue chairs. I move past the front desk and into the back, a large room filled with bland metal desks. The brick walls are decorated with frayed posters of wanted criminals, drug warnings, and other safety announcements. I head directly for my own desk and throw myself into my chair, heaving a sigh. The computer on my desk is calling my name. I log in and pull up the case file of Estel Hern, Jackie Scrubs’ murder victim. She was young, twenty-three in May, and an artist. She also happened to be an exotic dancer at one of the most dangerous clubs in the city. A club that I was beginning to suspect Ivan Voloshynko owned.

  From behind me I hear someone approaching, then my partner is leaning against the side of my desk. I look up at him and he stares at me questioningly, munching on a chocolate donut. A smile tugs at my lips at the sight of him. He’s dressed in a gray sweater, his blonde hair is swept to the side, and his blue eyes sparkle in the light.

  “So,” he says between bites. “I’m guessing it didn’t go well.”

  “That doesn’t even begin to cover it, Alex,” I reply, running a hand over my face.

  Alex’s blue eyes soften and he forces a grin, clapping me on the back. “Come on then, let’s get a drink. We’ll get that bastard soon.”

  I follow him away from my desk, shrugging on my jacket. As I trail him, I catch sight of the captain at the door of his office, watching me carefully. I nod at him and he turns away, wordlessly shutting the door to his office. A month after Alex transferred and became my partner, Captain Strong pulled me into his office and lectured me on relationships with partners. I hadn’t made a move toward Alex, despite my discreet interest. But he seemed to know. And since then, he had kept a close eye on me.

  Grimacing, I catch up with Alex outside. He’s waiting beside my car, a vintage black Mustang, leaning casually against the side, staring out into the night. I swallow with some difficulty, tearing my eyes away from his tall frame, and clear my throat, alerting him to my presence. We slide into the car and I settle into the comfortable leathe
r, breathing the scent of my baby in deeply. Alex rolls his eyes as I lovingly stroke the steering wheel.

  At the first opening in traffic, I peel away from the curb and we tear down the streets. Alex is tightly gripping the door, glancing nervously at me. The roar of the engine and the speed brings a wide grin to my face. I feel better already. We leave the business district behind and head into Old Town, where our favorite bar is located. The Broken Mast is a small establishment in a classic Chicago brick building, with over-sized windows and heavy oak furniture. The bartender recognizes us as we reach the bar. He lifts a hand in greeting. Alex slips onto a stool as I lean across and order.

  In minutes, I’m downing a shot of vodka and signaling for another as Alex takes a deep gulp of his beer. “So, what happened?” he finally asks, after I’ve settled back with my usual whiskey on the rocks, empty shot glasses in front of me.

  I sigh and swing my eyes toward him. He holds my gaze. “I lost him. I fucking lost him. He was right there and I let him get away,” I say, my grip on my glass tightening. “He came into the bar, I had my eye on him, and then the next thing…” I pause. “Next thing, he was gone, as quick as he came.” I feel guilty lying to Alex but I have no choice. It would be dangerous to mention Ivan’s goons, open the way for too many questions.

  Alex is honest and trustworthy and sincere, and he doesn’t catch my lie. “We’ll get him. The guy’s a moron—trust me, there will be other opportunities.”

  I nod as if I agree with him.