In Deep Shift: The Protectors Unlimited, #3

By Keira Blackwood

She stole my wallet—and my heart.

Dragonkind is all but extinct. My mission is simple—protect the survivors of the Therion Tribunal's assault.

After centuries of searching, I've finally located the weapon that could shift the balance of power. This is the battle I've waited for my entire life. I'm ready to do what I must, whatever it takes.

But then she walks into my life. I know that Mia is my enemy. I know I shouldn't let her in. Still, I find myself drawn to her. She is impossible to ignore, impossible to deny. She challenges me and stirs desires long suppressed. Being close to her allows me to hope, to feel. I can't afford to give in.

And yet even if I wanted to, even when my mission depends on it—I can't let her go.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paramour Press
• Release date: May 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223270560

Book preview

INTRODUCTION

It’s Mia Blake’s turn to meet her mate.

In Deep Shift is the story of a trouble-making fox shifter, a dragon who puts duty above all else, a sassy sprite, danger around every turn, and a love that defies all odds.

Snag your free book exclusively available to Keira’s email list!

PROLOGUE

ZANE

Eight hundred seventy-two years had passed since I’d made my vow. For eight hundred seventy-two years, I’d sacrificed everything for my vigil. But this night, my world would change. My search was finally over.

The dark forest was alive—never quiet, never resting. Broad leaves rustled in the distance, chimps hooted and howled, and insects chirped. Elephants trumpeted while birds sang. And the gentle rush of water was never far, nor the sudden onset of violent downpours. There was a peacefulness to the Congo’s song, one that contrasted with remaining alert. Still, alone in the black of night, I waited for what would come next.

Officially, there was no Warehouse 67. On the record, the Therion Tribunal operated out of thirty-three sanctioned facilities and sixty-six warehouses across the globe. Clearly they had a thing for threes.

A steel building in the heart of the Congo rainforest wasn’t supposed to exist. But from my perch in a towering kapok tree, Warehouse 67 sure as hell looked real.

The guards patrolling the building and its grounds were likely all shifters, trained soldiers. Surveillance suggested they were disciplined, steadfast in their vigilance. They held the tactical advantage in defense, in weapons, and in numbers. There were at least thirty of them. Only one of me.

Still, I wasn’t worried.

The warehouse wasn’t my target; no, I was more worried about the wolf shifter mercenaries approaching the warehouse from the south.

I’d never have found this place on my own, which was why I’d tailed the mercenary wolves for over two weeks across three continents. Rumor had it that the Obsidian Claws had been hired to retrieve a device—a device I, too, searched for. One that could tip the balance of power in the supernatural world. The one I’d been waiting for. And rumor had it the assault was an inside job.

A shadow in the darkened treetops, I moved silently closer. The sounds of fauna faded behind booming thunder. Rain fell from the black sky, first in spurts, then in buckets. Still, my footing on the branches was sure.

Over sounds of the storm came the roar of motors.

Humvees and all-terrain motorbikes tore through the trees, wheels slipping across muddy earth. Headlights bounced over uneven ground, illuminating the forest floor. The head of the caravan halted fifty or so meters from the steel building, just at the edge of the clearing. The others fanned out around their leader. Car doors opened and slammed shut once again, the Obsidian Claws emerging from their vehicles.

They were so close to reaching their goal, so close to uncovering the weapon’s whereabouts, that I could taste the adrenaline in the air.

Muffled beneath the storm, shouting voices echoed through the warehouse as guards ran outside. The Claws hadn’t tried to hide their arrival—they were prepared for a fight.

Bullets fired in both directions, drowning the rainforest’s song in deafening booms. The Therion Tribunal guards were equipped with pistols, while the assailants carried automatic machine guns. Bones cracked, mercenary wolves shifting for the assault. On cue, the guards tore their clothes off, shifting in turn. Bears, wolves, and tigers clashed. The metallic scent of blood filled the air.

I watched. I waited.

It was almost time. It was almost mine.

Claws tore, fangs cut, weapons fired, and then there was silence. Silence except for the patter of receding rain.

The Obsidian Claws returned to human form, leaving the guards unmoving in the yard. They entered the building, disregarding the corpses they passed. No one who lived remained in the yard.

Cautiously, I shimmied down the thick trunk of the kapok tree.

Thunder boomed and lightning cracked in the distance. The sound of voices echoed out of the steel building. Staying low in the brush, I crept closer to the clearing. I circled the building, remaining far from view. Then I moved in.

Hugging the metal wall, I approached the door.

Victory was so close my heart threatened to beat through my chest as adrenaline pumped through my veins.

It had taken centuries, but my task was near completion. Retrieve the device, and the threat would be eliminated. Possess the weapon, and my eternal vigil would finally reach its end. I’d give up everything for this, even a chance at living a normal life. But if I could save them, it would be worth it.

The sound of heavy breathing alerted me to the first of the guards. They were just around the other side of the wall.

How long you think this is going to take? a gravelly voice asked.

Shit, a second answered. Too long. Been too long already.

We just got here.

Here, sure, but we’ve been stuck in this forsaken hellhole of a country for a fucking week.

Pay’s supposed to be good on this.

Better be. You know that stripper I been seein’?

Yolanda?

No, the other one—Maggie. Well, she’s got some expensive taste. Wants me to buy her a new car and some boobs.

You said yes to the boobs, right?

Of course I said yes to the boobs, dumb shit. Already got them for her. It’s the car I need this money for. She wants one of them sleek sporty things.

Chick car? Like a Miata?

Yeah.

Might not be so bad if you didn’t have so many women you were jugglin’.

Sure, but what fun would that be?

The Claws were getting sloppy. They must have expected no resistance after clearing the warehouse. I could hear their heartbeats, smell their sweat. And they didn’t even blink when I rounded the corner, when I crept toward them from behind.

I pulled a syringe from the belt on my thigh.

Not as much fun, I guess. Me, it’s just me and my old lady.

Get yourself some balls and tell her— The tall one’s words cut short when I jabbed the needle in his neck.

The second turned as his companion collapsed to the floor. His squinted eyes went wide as he caught sight of me. He turned to face me fully, but he was too slow to defend himself. What the fu—

The skin on his arm puckered as I stuck a second needle into him. And just like the first guy, he fell to the floor.

I stopped and listened, checking for signs that others had been alerted. Voices carried, but there was no indication any of them noticed what had transpired.

I dragged the unconscious shifters to the darkened corner by the door and stowed them behind a metal desk. There was enough tranquilizer in their systems to knock out an elephant for two days.

Two down. Eight remained.

Only half of the overhead lights were lit along the ceiling. Cardboard boxes were stacked on metal shelves two stories high. Each box was identical to the next, only differentiated by a white sticker with a number on it. There was no way for me to know which box held the device. The Claws had to show me, and I had to be patient—just a little longer.

The black of my t-shirt, boots, pants, and face paint concealed my existence in shadow as I followed the sound of footsteps.

The Obsidian Claws patrolled in twos, meandering down aisleways. They were slow, distracted.

It didn’t take long to find the one in charge.

Bushy orange beard, tribal wolf tattoo curling across his shaved head, and built like a tank, he made an impression. Roadkill was his name. I’d heard stories about him, the leader of the Claws, a man who was quick to snap and just as likely to turn on his own men as his employers. He was known as a rabid dog, but a dog who could complete any task.

Roadkill, surrounded by lackeys, walked with purpose, eyeing each box as if he knew exactly what he was looking for. Since he had led me this far, I was sure the rumors were true. The Claws knew where to find what they were looking for, what I’d been searching for.

One of the leather-clad wolves stopped walking and pointed. That’s it. Two three nine eight seven four one.

Roadkill responded with a curt nod.

The wolf who’d spoken scaled the shelves, leaving his boss and two other Claws to watch.

Fifteen feet from the floor, the shifter inched one of the boxes from the shelf, clinging to the metal frame with his other hand.

I watched. I waited.

Is there a handle on that thing? One of the Claws on the floor asked. How are you going to—

The box slid from the edge, and right out of the wolf’s grasp.

Jimmy! Are you fucking brainless? one of the others asked.

The box flipped as it fell.

There was an itch down my spine, an urge to move. I could catch it. I could leave this place, prize in hand, before the box hit the ground.

I watched. I waited.

Roadkill caught the cardboard cube.

The wolf on the shelf, Jimmy, climbed down.

Hey boss, he said. My fingers slipped. I’m sorry I— His voice was pleading.

Roadkill took the box in one arm. He extended the thumb and forefinger of his other hand into an L, the shape of a gun.

Jimmy’s voice went higher. Please, boss, I didn’t mean—

Roadkill’s thumb flicked down, and the two Claws beside him attacked.

The first tackled Jimmy to the ground, fists assailing the fallen shifter’s head. The other, the Claw who was still standing, kicked Jimmy.

Roadkill gave a half-smile, half-sneer, as he watched the beating for a moment, before turning and walking away.

Pained cries filled the air. But the dispute between Claws was not my concern. All that mattered was that box, the contents within.

I skirted the corner, avoiding the commotion.

Roadkill was headed for the door, so I followed him.

A sharp whistle cut through the warehouse.

Everyone out! The command was made. All the Obsidian Claws would be headed for the exit.

This was it, this was my chance.

Hey, asshole, said a voice from behind me.

I turned.

A gloved fist swung toward my face. I moved before the knuckles could land. The Claw stumbled on unsteady footing, the missed punch throwing him off balance.

With a quick movement, I elbowed the Claw’s nose. The cartilage snapped and blood streamed down his chin. He stumbled back, crashing into the metal shelf behind him.

Recovering quickly, he lunged forward. I grabbed his arm, avoiding the brunt of his charge. I twisted his wrist behind his back. As he struggled, my grip tightened.

There wasn’t time for this.

He let out a howl, not one of pain, but a call of alarm to alert his companions.

Footsteps approached quickly. Other Claws were running to his aid.

With the last syringe in hand, I took down the wolf. His limbs grew heavy and I eased his limp body to the floor.

There!

Two Claws approached. The closest dove at me, his bones cracking as he shifted mid-air. The second lifted a weapon, resting the stock against his hip—an assault rifle.

Sharp fangs protruded through the dog’s face as his human nose transformed into a rabid muzzle.

I lifted my boot, catching the wolf in the side of his head.

With his companion out of the way, the second opened fire.

I dove into the aisle.

The deafening sound of