Rebirth (Rogues Shifter Series) Read online

  To Jessica and Alaina

  My biggest fans and staunchest critics

  Rudy, Mom, Dad, Bee Gee and Molly

  My inspiration and motivators

  Michele, Gillian, Maria, Tracy, Ilene, Roe and Kurt

  Friends & family who believe in me

  And to all my favorite writers of Urban Fantasy

  and Paranormal Romance

  Thanks for thousands of hours of reading pleasure

  resulting in too few hours of sleep.

  Not that I’m complaining...

  Rebirth

  Rogues Shifter Series Book #1

  By Gayle Parness

  Copyright 2010 Gayle Parness

  Chapter One

  I lay unconscious on the damp ground, my body still, my mind untroubled even by dreams. Awareness returned in tiny bits and pieces, each moment a battle fought to free myself from the drug-induced fog. My heart pounded in my chest as I desperately gulped in small quantities of the cold fresh air that burned the back of my dry throat as it traveled to my lungs. Pine needles and rough stones dug uncomfortably into my arms and back. I shifted my body, trying to ease away the ache. The screeched-out warning of an owl played against the distant gurgle of a fast-moving stream. As stars sparkled between the softly groaning oak tree branches, the cool night wind made my eyes water and my body shiver. Pungent scents assaulted my nose from every direction: the musky forest floor, wood smoke, the sea, a metallic odor: blood—my blood.

  The shock jolted me to sit up and stare down at myself. My arms and hands were covered with splotches of dried blood. The knees of my black jeans were shredded and stained. My tee shirt was ripped at the neck and my bare feet were filthy with mud. I gasped and quickly slapped a hand over my mouth to stifle the sound. Someone had dumped me here, injured and unconscious. They could still be nearby. Wincing, I tried to swallow down my fear and concentrate on sorting out my situation.

  Unfortunately, the sudden upright movement had made my stomach feel like it was competing on the uneven parallel bars and my head pound even harder. I lowered myself gently back to the ground and glared up at the stars, frustrated by my weakness. I swallowed hard to keep from losing my last meal—whenever and whatever that was—and shut my eyes to keep the trees from spinning.

  If sitting up meant vomiting all over myself, I could hang out here for a little while longer. Vomiting might draw the attention of my kidnapper, since It was impossible to barf quietly.

  As my stomach settled down again, I took in some slow deep breaths and inspected my hands. Although there seemed to be no obvious cuts or scrapes, that sticky substance under my nails was definitely blood.

  My fingertips burned like I'd touched a hot light bulb and all my muscles ached as if I'd run a marathon. Shiver-spasms came in waves. I worried that could be suffering from shock and that the pain from any hidden injuries would probably kick in soon. Sometimes I felt like duct-taping that tiny mouth shut.

  I closed my eyes once more, exhausted and afraid, trembling in the cool air.

  “Where are you running, sweetheart?” The large man with the hooded sweatshirt and the rough voice held me tightly around the waist as his friend laughed, a low and husky sound, filled with the promise of pain. I struggled, but they dragged me off the park’s walkway and into the trees. The scrawny one held a knife to my throat.

  The two-year-old memory slammed into my vulnerable mind in a rush of terror. Shit. This wasn't good. After six months of therapy, I'd pretty much thought that my panic attacks were over. Whatever drug I'd been given could have lowered my defenses. I rubbed my face roughly in another effort to clear my head. Determined to take back control, I tried to focus on what had happened earlier this evening. Maybe I could figure out how I got here.

  The last thing I remembered was riding my bike from my current hometown of Cloverdale, California to Asti and back, stopping only once around 1:00 PM at Claude’s Cafe to grab a quick bite and another water bottle. I’d been relieved that the headache I’d had all day had lessened with the strenuous exercise. Still, by 7:00 PM I was glad to be back at home shoving my bike into the storage shed in the side yard. My adopted parents had bought it for me as an early birthday/graduation present so I always gave the lock an extra pull, just to be sure.

  There was a man I didn’t recognize sitting on my neighbor’s porch steps. I thought it was strange, because the Reynolds had left for vacation the day before. He stood when I passed and smiled at me, so I’d smiled back automatically, to be polite. He was tall, with wavy dark hair that hung below his collar. He was dressed in coveralls and I remembered thinking that maybe he was hired by the Reynolds to do some yard work while they were gone. Still, I’d felt uneasy seeing him on their porch. If he was hired to work why wasn’t he working? And how much yard or construction work is done at night? Shrugging off my uneasiness, I’d turned away and headed toward my door.

  The squeaky gate sounded its usual protest as I passed thru and walked up the gravel path to the side entrance of the house. As I was putting the key into the lock, the air behind me stirred and a pungent wintergreen scent filled my nostrils. A muscular arm wrapped around my waist and a calloused hand covered my mouth. I struggled briefly but couldn’t call out other than to mumble a frightened grunt. There was a sharp pain in my neck and then nothing else.

  Still sprawled out flat on the forest floor, I shuddered with the realization of what had happened. The man had drugged me and taken me—somewhere, but where? I listened intently but couldn’t hear any human movement nearby, only a variety of squeaks and squawks, scratching and scurrying by the local smaller woodland inhabitants. Those creatures didn't bother me. It was the human variety that concerned me at the moment.

  I was so angry at myself I could scream. A stranger on my neighbor’s porch should have set off alarms in my head. I dug my nails into my palms. Think, dumbass. Focus! Getting to the nearest road was an option, but I didn’t know where I was or even if there was a road nearby. I listened as carefully as I could for the hum of passing cars, but there was nothing. I thought about attempting to get to that stream I'd heard and follow it. Maybe it would lead me to a campground or a town.

  Of course, to accomplish any of that I had to stand up. I shivered again, remembering my recent attempt. Although the nausea had disappeared, I was desperately cold and thirsty. Whoever had attacked me must have left me for dead out here in the woods. What had he wanted? Thinking about him made me nauseous, but I knew better than most that panic was my enemy as much as the stranger was.

  “Where are you running, sweetheart?” His breath smelled of cigarettes and beer.

  “Stop it!” I whispered through gritted teeth. Reliving past horrors wouldn’t help me. Later, when I was safe, I could fall apart. Now, I needed to kick myself in the ass and get moving because lying here was dangerous. If I was in the deep woods, the smell of my blood could attract predators and I so didn’t want a run-in with a bear. People died from exposure and shock, so I needed to find some kind of shelter. I took in another deep lungful of cold air and noticed once again the scent of wood smoke. I decided to take action and see if there was maybe a hunter or a camper in the area who could help me.

  I tried to sit up but I was still too dizzy, so instead I called out, as loudly as I could, “Is anyone here? Please, I need help!” My throat sounded raspy and felt sore, probably from being so dry. I'd had half a water bottle in my backpack , if I only knew where it was.

  The forest quieted, making the hairs on my arms raise up. Although I couldn't detect any sounds, something was moving toward me.

  Gulping back bile, I realized too late that I should have kept my mouth shut. I dragged my exhausted body under some n
earby brush and then curled up and wished myself invisible, knowing how pitifully lame my effort was. As a frightened moan slipped from my mouth. I quickly covered it with my bloody hands and chanted mentally. Don’t panic, don’t panic.

  A pair of large hiking boots stopped inches from my feet, quickly followed by a masculine hand parting the brush. A man crouched next to me and said in a soft voice, “You’re safe. Try to get up now. I won’t hurt you.” Left without options, I forced myself to crawl out from under the bushes. After he helped me sit up, an old wool blanket was draped over my shoulders. I clutched it tightly to my body to try and stop the shaking. Maybe I was wrong and this wasn’t my attacker, but just some camper who happened to hear me call out. Why would my kidnapper care if I was cold?

  “I’m too dizzy to stand up.” I whispered. “I’ll fall.” I twisted around to look at his face and inhaled a too familiar whiff of wintergreen.

  My breath caught in my throat as I stared at the man I’d seen earlier on the Reynolds’ porch. He seemed taller, maybe 6’2”, and no longer dressed in coveralls. Instead he wore jeans and a brown long-sleeved tee which fit tightly over his slim but well muscled frame. His dark eyes took in my ragged condition as he shook his head, not smiling. There was dried blood on his hands and shirt and that worried me—a lot.

  When he reached into his back pocket and brought out a set of handcuffs, I found the energy to scoot backwards on the ground. “I don’t want to have to use these but if you try to run away, I will. It’s for your own safety.”

  I believed that he’d use them on me but not the crap about it being for my safety. “I won’t run,” I answered, knowing that I didn’t have a chance of outrunning him barefoot in my wobbly condition. He held out his hand and after a moment, I reluctantly reached for it. It was large and warm and might have been comforting if the circumstances were different. Pulling me up without effort, he helped me wrap the blanket around my shoulders more securely.

  “How do you feel?” he asked.

  I looked at him like he was crazy. “How do you think? And what the fuck do you care anyway?” My anger popped to the surface in a burst of venom. His mouth turned down, probably annoyed at my attitude or maybe just my language. Well, tough. I'd rather he thought I was angry rather than... Well, I guess I was pretty much scared to death right about now, but he didn't need to know that.

  Instead I asked, “Who are you?” I tried to look confident by taking a step on my own, but my knees buckled. He held my arm to steady me.

  "Take it slow."

  “You drugged me, right? Where am I?” Several tears ran down my cheeks. Stop crying, you wimp. If I didn’t keep my head, I may not survive the next few hours. I bit my lip and wiped my face roughly with a corner of the blanket.

  He spoke again. “I’ll answer all of your questions in a little while. We’re heading to that cabin in the clearing. You can get cleaned up and have something to eat and drink." He held my arm so I couldn't pull away and then placed his hand against my forehead. "You’re dehydrated and your body temp’s low. Just don’t try to run and everything will be fine.” I breathed in another mouthful of minty flavored air and felt myself relax. The cabin he'd mentioned was only twenty-five yards away, hidden behind some low hanging branches.

  I inspected the man's face, wondering again why he'd taken me. His dark brown eyes looked tired and there were shallow lines of stress around his mouth. It occurred to me that maybe I’d given him a hard time. When he noticed me watching him, he attempted to reassure me with a slight smile, but I frowned back. He gestured toward the cabin and I found myself staring at it with longing. I was weak and so thirsty. More than thirsty, my nausea was gone and my stomach was cramping up from hunger. I had no idea when I'd eaten last.

  I stumbled forward with the stranger supporting my arm to help me keep my balance. As I walked up the wooden steps, across the narrow porch and entered the cabin, I shivered with fear and anticipation. One thing was clear. I had to keep my head and figure out a way to escape. He didn’t know me and so didn’t know that I was more than I seemed, not just a frightened teen-aged girl. I was strong and fast and I was going to use that to get out of this forest and back home. As soon as I figured out how to walk again.

  Chapter Two

  We entered a cozy room with multi-colored rugs and an old, comfy looking couch decorated with pillows and throws. A well worn armchair sat near a lit fireplace, the moving flames decorating the walls with dancing shadows. There was a lingering musty odor which was mixed with the comforting smell of home cooked meals.

  He handed me a sports-sized water bottle and then pointed toward a narrow hallway to the left. “Your room is the second door on the right. Do you think you can make it?"

  "Yes."

  "There’s a bag of clothes on the bed. The bathroom has clean towels on the shelf.” I didn’t move. “Go on, kid. No one will bother you. Just don’t try to run away. There’s really nowhere to go and we need to talk.”

  I took a few swigs from the water bottle, but stayed where I was. He smiled and tried to sound reassuring. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to make you something to eat and then explain everything. Go ahead.” He turned away and headed for the small kitchen to the right, opening the fridge and getting out a few bags.

  Stumbling through the door he’d indicated, I locked it behind me, then forced my shaky body to head into the small bathroom. I locked that door as well, then, after several gulps from the water bottle, I quickly stripped and showered. My need to wash away the blood and warm up under the hot water, took precedence over my fear. Plus it was important to see where I was injured and clean any wounds. The heat brought my body temperature back to normal and the soap and shampoo cleaned me up quickly, making me smell human again. I scrubbed my skin hard, getting every bit of the blood and mud out of my hair and off of my hands, then dried myself with a large towel and looked around. The window was big enough for me to fit through, but I was too weak to make a serious attempt at an escape.

  Unwrapping the towel, I stood in front of the full length mirror in the steamy bathroom and examined myself. Strangely, not one cut or scrape marred my skin, not even a bruise. Even more alarming, the scars that had decorated my body for the past two and a half years had disappeared as well.

  Car doors slamming. Two sets of feet rushing toward me. “Where are you running, sweetheart?” Off the path and hidden by trees, a rag shoved in my mouth. A hand stroking my hair.

  “So pretty.

  My stomach lurched so I kneeled and heaved into the toilet, only bile coming up. After a couple of minutes I was able to sit up again and lean my back against the bathroom wall opposite the full length mirror. I took another few swigs from the water bottle to wash away the unpleasant taste in my mouth, then forced the dark memory back into its box, the way I'd trained myself . I rubbed my arms, tightening them around my body in a feeble attempt to banish the ghosts that still seemed to haunt me.

  And there were plenty of them to banish. Raised within the state foster care system, I was passed from family to family, never really fitting in anywhere. I was labeled “Troublemaker”, “Disruptive”, “Self Destructive”, the list went on. Sometimes I was all of those things, but mostly I was lonely and angry.

  My messed up psyche was easy for me to hide at school, where I'd become pretty good at faking short-term friendships and throwing my energy into school work, getting good grades and even skipping ahead. At home, I felt out of place and unwanted, unable to trust the adults who sent me away without giving me the time I needed to adjust. I was always furious when I was forced to move to a new school and a new family.

  I’d never lived in one place long enough to have a chance at a normal life.

  As I sat on the cabin’s bathroom floor, the familiar feelings of hurt and resentment began to build up in my gut as tears of fear and rage ran down my cheeks. I was never one to wallow in a pity party, but this day really sucked, even more than usual. No matter how crappy my lif
e had been, I wasn't ready to die. I'd be seventeen in a few days, if I lived that long. I could still go to college. Maybe turn my life around. Even though the guy had said he wasn't going to hurt me, could I really believe that? I roughly wiped away the tears and blew my nose with bath tissue.

  Struggling to my feet a minute later, I walked back into the small bedroom. The man had left two large shopping bags on the bed which contained new sweatpants, jeans, shorts, tee shirts, a soft robe and underclothes in all the right sizes. I was surprised to see that this was quality stuff, made of good fabrics, not discount store merchandise. I reluctantly dressed in the clothes he provided because mine were no longer usable and I wasn’t about to stay wrapped in a stupid towel.

  In a smaller bag was toothpaste, a toothbrush, hairbrush, deodorant and a few other items. I returned to the bathroom and brushed my hair and teeth, then scowled at the mirror. I am such a jerk. In my self defense classes they go on and on and on about being aware of your surroundings and following your gut instincts. I'd even stopped carrying the whistle around with me. Not that anyone would have come running if I’d blown the damn thing.

  I left off scolding myself because it never did any good, then pulled my hair roughly back into its usual ponytail, finding some comfort in the familiar action, Worried, I peered closely at my puffy red eyes to see if my pupils looked dilated from the drug. They looked normal, and other than my hunger, I was feeling okay again.

  Feeling that I might soon have the strength to escape, I straightened my body to its full 5'9" and did a few stretches, just in case I caught a break. I knew how to prepare myself because I ran often. I never jogged in a leisurely style, I ran as if my life depended on it, flushing away the rage and the loneliness with every stride. I’d often gotten into trouble with my various foster families, because I'd go out for a run at any time of the day or night, usually getting back many hours later. My foster parents were always angry because I'd never tell them where I was going. It was just me and the road and I liked it that way. I'd feel my body moving in a perfect rhythm, strong and powerful, and I could forget everything else.