“It went like shit. Jacobs threw up on my boots.” She couldn’t help a grimace.
“Yikes.” Tammy winced. “The man has a weak stomach. We won’t discuss what he did to Christmas dinner one year. Was he at least wearing clothes?”
“Yes.” A good thing, given he appeared rather gaunt. Those one hundred and ninety pounds were probably down to around one sixty, maybe less.
“I take it he said ‘no.’” Tammy stepped aside to let Yvette enter.
“Was quite adamant about it, as a matter of fact. And, really, having seen him in person, I have to agree. He’s not fit for duty.”
“He’s messed up,” Tammy agreed. “Has been since he showed up in town. But you never know. He might manage to flip his life around.”
Yvette’s pronouncement was grim. “We don’t have time to wait.”
Chapter 3
Eli waited for a bit after the SUV left before he got up and managed a shaky walk to his front door. It was unlocked because he’d long ago lost the key.
The woman, whose name he’d never even gotten, had left him to wallow in his misery, which he appreciated. He’d embarrassed himself royally by puking on her—being a veritable mess. It was especially humiliating given how nicely put-together she was. Younger than him, her bearing tall and proud, gaze sharp, her dark hair pulled back, her lips—even when pursed in disapproval—full. As for her scent…
Amazing how it had hit him hard and made him crave something more than just oblivion.
When she said that she needed him, he’d almost said, “Yes.” Wanted to rise to the challenge.
Then reality hit him as he began to sober. She didn’t want a failure. A has-been. Sad violin.
At least, he’d convinced her to go away. Imagine thinking he could help. Although, he did wonder what calamity called for such desperate measures.
Entering his trailer, shabby and worn yet spotless and about to get cleaner if it could wash away his sins, he eyed the fridge. A bottle of potato vodka—home-brewed—chilled.
A drink sounded good right about now. He pulled off his muddy boots and padded with socks in need of darning to the fridge. He opened it to find the bottle. More of a jug, really—fermented following instructions on the internet. This was the last hole-burning-in-the-stomach bottle.
Hopefully, the tastiest.
He sat down with it in front of his television. It got one fuzzy channel, currently playing a sitcom with too much laugh track.
What kind of danger would make someone seek him out? He took a sip. It burned like rocket fuel going down.
He remembered some of the snippets of conversation overheard in McPherson’s shed.
“…some kind of Devil is going to invade.”
“No, it’s the genies coming after us, dummy. They’re gonna turn everyone’s houses into glass bottles and make people serve them.”
“You’re both wrong. It’s aliens.”
Drunk conversations that had little to do with the truth. Still, there was usually a kernel of truth in rumors. He took a sip. Then another. Enough that he passed out on his ratty couch.
It wasn’t a dreamless night.
He stood in a desert, barren sand in all directions. The sky was hazy, and there was a smell in the air. A stench he recognized as death.
As if to mock him, a single scorched feather drifted to the ground. He knelt by it, and soon, a shower of feathery remains covered him, crushing him. He bowed under the weight, which was when the whispers started.
“You killed me, Cap’n.”
“Why didn’t you save me?” wailed another.
“You should have died. Not us.” A harsh hiss.
But then, a new voice.
“It wasn’t his fault. He did everything he could.”
“Not enough!”
“He was following orders.”
“We died.”
“He would have died in your place if he could have.”
The honest truth.
“He should suffer.”
“How about if he atones?” the only friendly voice asked.
“He will fail.”
“People will die.”
The voice of reason countered with, “More will die if he doesn’t. The world needs a hero…”
Eli woke with a startled gasp, wet from the jug he’d spilled on himself. Also, massively uncomfortable given the couch was a loveseat and flattened from use.
He fell off it, trying to straighten himself. Groaned as his head caught up and spun. His stomach clenched but had nothing inside to spew. But the other half of him did.
He killed his bathroom. Literally. He shut that door and debated never using it again. As he headed into his bedroom, the mirror over the sagging dresser missing two drawers lacked kindness. It showed a vagrant. A man haggard and underweight. Eyes bloodshot. Skin greasy. And his hair… Gross. And to think that was how the woman he’d met last night had seen him. At least they’d been outside where she couldn’t smell him.
Bet she regretted seeking him out. How desperate were they that they’d asked him?
Me, make a difference? Ridiculous. But, apparently, not everyone thought so. Mid-morning, as he gagged cleaning his murdered bathroom, Boris and a few of the boys knocked on his door.
Ah, fuck no. His hangover lingered, and while he’d showered, the sour stench of failure hung like a miasma.
However, a shifter couldn’t hide from another shifter. They always smelled them out.
“Open the door, Eli,” Reid ordered, rapping sharply.
“Go away. I think I’m sick.” He faked a cough.
“The colonel is gone if that’s what you’re worried about.”
A colonel? They’d sent someone of rank after him. It was almost intriguing.
“Can’t this wait until later?” he whined and hated himself even more.
“Fuck this shit.” Boris kicked the door open and decided to come right in.
“It wasn’t locked,” Eli shouted.
“My way was more fun,” Boris snapped.
Eli snarled. “Go away.”
“Nope.” Boris crossed his arms as he stepped aside for Reid, followed by Brody. Too many big men and personalities in his space.
Crowding him.
Funny thing was, once upon a time, Eli had outranked them all.
“Not looking so good, Eli.” Reid started the conversation.
“Rough night,” he admitted. They all were.
“Heard you had a visitor yesterday.”
As if anyone could expect privacy in a shifter town. “I did. But you said she’s gone now?” Hopefully spoken. He didn’t want to see her disapproval in daylight.
“Yeah. She’s gone. And you should have been with her.”
His lips pursed. “I’m not fit for duty.”
“You could be if you dried out,” Boris grumbled.
“She’ll find someone else.”
“Where the fuck you think she’s gonna find another eagle with your kind of experience?” Brody shook his head. “You really think she came here because she had a choice?”
“She should have called.”
“She did,” Reid stated baldly. “Although you might be too drunk to remember me telling you.”