Eli missed his granddad. He’d take being berated all day long over the guilt trips from Boris and the gang. Pep talks about how he was worth more than this. How he should snap out of it. The whole, “Yes, life can be shit. Do something about the future.”
Blah. Blah. Blah.
He didn’t deserve a future after what he’d done. A little violin played, a cartoon mockery of his self-pity that dangled just out of reach.
He blinked, and the instrument disappeared.
The moonshine was especially potent tonight. He glanced upward. Twilight was falling fast. Only a sliver of silver showed overhead.
One small blessing. He’d had issues of late during the full moon. Nothing like waking up naked in a pile of regurgitated mouse and bugs to make one hate life even more.
He’d thought he’d hit rock bottom when the military tossed him out. Apparently, he could sink even further. Wasn’t bad enough he had a reputation for streaking naked every Halloween, screaming that he was the ghost of his granddad—old, curmudgeonly bastard liked to possess him on that hallowed night. The video of him peeing on the nativity scene and then throwing up on baby Jesus was something even he couldn’t apologize for.
He’d tried to stop drinking after that, but the ghosts of those he’d failed haunted him. The only way to get some peace was to drink until he passed out. Which led to some nasty hangovers.
While shifters could metabolize alcohol at a greater rate than others, the special moonshine brewed in McPherson’s shed could knock even a moose on its ass. Boris still threatened to rack anyone who brought up the Christmas party where someone spiked the eggnog, and he’d challenged Kyle, the caribou, to a fight, claiming that Santa would never use puny reindeer to pull his sleigh when it made more sense to use a powerful moose.
Good man, that Boris. As was Reid, the alpha, and everyone else in Kodiak Point—many of them ex-military like Eli. Men in hiding, but not for much longer. The world was changing so fast. Shifters had been outed. Dragons existed. Although Eli was pretty sure he must have been drunk when he heard people talking about the horsemen of the apocalypse appearing in the desert.
But dragons, though? He’d seen the videos. What a squadron they would make. Imagine leading dragons to victory.
For a second, the Iron Eagle, captain of the skies, felt that exhilaration of leading a strike force, the wind beneath his wings, fluttering his—
Nope. Never again. Where’s the whiskey?
His days of leading missions had ended three years ago. One thousand two hundred and three days to be exact.
How much longer would he need to atone?
Mud squelched with each step, the melt of spring finally arriving. With the warmer temps, the roads to other places would open for general traffic, and the exodus would start. Kodiak Point was no longer considered a safe haven for shifters. Too many incidents, too many secrets spilled.
Those with families were looking to relocate where they could blend in and hide in hopes of weathering the coming storm. Eli wasn’t one of them.
Fuck it. If someone wanted to come and shoot his ass for being a shifter, let them. He’d hit the big four-oh last year. Or was it the year before? Didn’t matter. He was a has-been. A fuckup. The world would be a better place without him.
The cartoon violin played a sad song.
“Shut da fuck up!” he slurred.
A bleary blink showed his mobile home up ahead. Parked out front was a big SUV with chains on its tires. Mud drenched the black paint, but he could still see that it was the kind with darkly tinted windows, a government plate, and trouble written all over it.
Fuck me. What did the feds want? He’d already been dishonorably discharged. Not because of what’d happened. They’d tried to tell him that he wasn’t at fault, even as he knew better. They’d tossed him out because of what he did after the incident. For peeing in public, he might have gotten a slap on the hand. Peeing on the general and his wife as they slept in their bed? Apparently, that crossed some kind of line.
But he got what he wanted. Punishment.
Maybe they had some more to dish out. He’d already eschewed any benefits he was still allowed. Had they decided to confiscate his stuff? They wouldn’t get much.
His stomach gurgled.
Now was not the time to talk to anyone. He veered for the woods. At this time of year, it was still chilly, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’d slept it off and woke a little numb from the cold.
“Captain Jacobs,” a woman shouted, using the rank he’d shed with his military career.
He lurched into a shuffle-jog.
“Captain Jacobs, are you really going to run away?” She sounded quite incredulous.
Hell, yeah, he was. But as in all things since the incident, he failed. His feet tangled, and he fell face-first int0 the mud, narrowly missing a turd.
Great.
A boot squelched in the muck beside his face. “Are you Captain Jacobs?”
“Depends.”
“I don’t have time for this.”
He groaned. “Can’t you just leave me alone?”
Instead, she ordered, “On your feet.”
“Nah. I’m good where I am.”
“Now!” she snapped.
“Well, since you asked nicely,” he grumbled, rolling to his back—standing would have to wait given the spinning of his head.
“I said stand.”
“Or you could lie down. Look at the stars,” he suggested, even as she blocked out Eli’s sight of them.
The woman towered over Eli, her tone tight with annoyance as she said, “With all that dirt on your face, I can’t tell. Are you Captain Eli Cole Jacobs?”
“It’s just Eli these days.”
“Not anymore. As of this conversation, you are once more Captain Jacobs. Consider yourself recalled to active duty.”
The ludicrous idea had Eli shoving to a sitting position a little too fast. His insides roiled as he sputtered, “You can’t be serious.”
“Do I look like I’m joking, Captain?”
“No. You can’t do that. I was dishonorably discharged.”
“This is an emergency, meaning the usual rules don’t apply.”
“I’m not fit for duty.” Understatement. He rolled to his knees. His head hung as he fought dizziness. Not just because of the booze churning in his stomach. The very thought of returning to active service made him nauseous.
I can’t.
“You don’t have a choice.”
His reply?
The half-digested meat pie McPherson’s wife had made him eat spewed forth in moonshine-soaked chunks all over her feet.
Chapter 2
I travelled how far for this? Yvette stared at the toes of her rubber boots. At least she didn’t feel the wetness of the vomit, but it did nothing to hide the sight of the chunks, and she did her best not to gag at the smell.
Disgusting. As was the man lying on the ground.
Captain Eli Jacobs, known as the Iron Eagle. Not a name the general ranks knew, despite his many achievements. Captain Jacobs had worked for a classified arm of the military. He’d been the leader of the top-secret Eagle Squadron, an elite force that could handle the most complex and dangerous missions. Until the incident that’d disbanded the squadron and saw those who’d survived mostly retired. Or, in the captain’s case, being tossed out for conduct unbecoming.