The Shifters. Alexandra Sokoloff
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“By the powers of earth, fire, wind, and sea, I command thee: unmask!”
She felt a surge of power in the arm she held. And then the woman’s body shimmered—there was no other word for it—and the body resolved itself into…
A man.
And an amazingly handsome man, at that. Tall—very tall—broad-shouldered under a leather jacket, much bigger than she was, powerful through the chest and thighs. Longish hair curled around his ears, and he was wearing jeans worn so soft they looked like buckskin, all of which gave him a roguish, buccaneering look.
“Well done,” he commented, looking infuriatingly pleased with her.
“What are you playing at, shifter?” Cait demanded, while simultaneously scanning the room behind him for a weapon. Being located down a mysterious, romantic alley was a big plus for atmosphere. It was not such an ideal situation when you found yourself suddenly alone with a rogue shapeshifter.
“I’m not playing, Keeper. I’m not playing at all.”
ALEXANDRA
SOKOLOFF
THE SHIFTERS
About the Author
ALEXANDRA SOKOLOFF is a California native and the daughter of scientist and educator parents, which drove her into musical theater at an early age.
At UC Berkeley (a paranormal experience all on its own) she majored in theater, and wrote, directed and acted in productions from Shakespeare to street theater, trained in modern dance, directed and choreographed four full-scale musicals, spent a summer singing in a Montana bar, and graduated Phi Beta Kappa.
After college Alex moved to Los Angeles, where she has made an interesting living writing novel adaptations, and original suspense and horror scripts, for numerous Hollywood studios.
The Harrowing, her debut ghost story, was nominated for both a Bram Stoker Award (horror) and an Anthony Award (mystery) as Best First Novel. The book is based on a real poltergeist experience from her high school years.
Alex is also the author of Screenwriting Tricks for Authors, a workbook based on her internationally acclaimed blog and writing workshops.
Dear Reader,
I’m very excited to introduce my—well, my sixth book, actually, but my first-ever Nocturne. I was thrilled when the lovely and stupendously talented Heather Graham asked me to co-write a trilogy set in New Orleans, that fabulous like-no-other city that I’ve shared such fantastic times in with Heather and our third co-writer, Deborah LeBlanc. Our mutual love of New Orleans and shared fascination with all things paranormal—and criminal—made brainstorming the series a dream: we got to use all our favorite places and “what-ifs,” and even some spooky experiences (the New Orleans cemeteries at night, the vampire and ghost walks, a séance at a magic shop, the sense of the city at three a.m…)
I’ve written ghosts, witches, poltergeists, and even a character who may just be the devil, but this book was my first time out with vampires, werewolves and shapeshifters. There is so much history in New Orleans, it was a lark to create a species of beings who had been around for some of the…stranger stuff, and who live on the fringes of the fringe of this very fringe-y city. And it was no huge stretch to write about three powerful sisters when I was working with such powerful sister-writers.
And I have to admit, I had a lot of fun with the sex. Scenes, I mean.
I hope you enjoy reading The Shifters as much as I did writing it.
Alexandra Sokoloff
For Heather Graham and all the Pozzessore clan,
who have made New Orleans (and so many other places!)
a true and beloved home away from home.
Chapter 1
The wind breathes over the Mississippi River, rippling the water, caressing the crescent of the New Orleans shore. It slips through the black iron gates of Jackson Square, stirring the colorful paintings by local artists carefully hung on the bars, and sweeps through the cobblestone Quarter, an old lover, knowing, familiar.
But this morning something rides the wind, something not gentle at all, knowing, but insidious, invisible and malevolent. The white cats sleeping on the shop steps shrink away from it, fur bristling in their slumber, and the magnolia trees shiver at its touch.
Evil.
Caitlin MacDonald shuddered awake in the predawn, her heart racing.
Far above her a ceiling fan thrummed, and the stir of air on her flesh made her shiver again as the remnants of her dream rustled in her head insubstantially, like leaves in the wind.
Bad wind, she thought. Something bad.
She sat up in bed, pushing away a silky comforter, and reaching for a silver and black kimono that went with her riot of blond hair and silvery eyes.
The feeling of unease was worse as she stood, and her first jolted thoughts were of her sisters.
Fiona. Shauna. Are they all right?
She crossed her bedroom quickly, bare feet slipping across the gleaming old oak floors, and pulled open the French doors to step out onto the balcony.
In the soft humidity of the morning, she looked out over the compound, the enclosed stone-paved garden sheltered by the house, built in three wings around the square. Caitlin’s every sense was on alert. The wind was strong, insistent, rustling the magnolia leaves and rippling through the hibiscus vines, splashing water from the center fountain onto the mossy paving stones. She froze as she glimpsed movement beside the brick wall, with its concealed gate out to the city street.
A sleek figure in black…sweatshirt hood shadowing its face…
The figure put its foot up on the rim of the fountain and bent over a leg, stretching. The hood dropped back, revealing a reddish-blond ponytail.
Caitlin slowly relaxed, recognizing her younger sister Shauna, warming up for her morning run. Caitlin leaned over the balcony railing, and Shauna, with her ever-present animal awareness, looked sharply up. Caitlin waved, and Shauna tossed her ponytail back. “Be careful!” Caitlin called down.
Shauna grinned and flipped a hand, dismissing the warning. Then she yanked open the gate, breaking into a run as soon as she’d shut and locked the iron door.
Caitlin breathed out, irked at Shauna’s nonchalance, but somewhat reassured at such a normal reaction. Then a pale shape leapt into her peripheral vision, and she started back in shock….
Fur brushed against her hand, and Caitlin shook her head at her own jumpiness. “Chloe! You scared me,” she scolded, reaching out to stroke the cat parading in front of her on the railing of the balcony—one of the cream and gold cats that roamed the compound, sisters upon sisters, as possessive of their space as if they’d been the ones who’d lived there for five generations. Which indeed they had, just as had the human MacDonald sisters.
Caitlin picked up the cat and cuddled it to her chest as she felt the wind stir again below them, saw the invisible force gather the branches of the trees into a swirling mass. She frowned again.
Fiona.
Caitlin looked across the garden to the wing of the house directly across from her own,