Shapeshifter Ch. 05

Noom didn't free my arms, but at least he helped me back into the trousers before muttering something about a call and wandering off. I waited for him for a time, but finally the strain of healing this many wounds caught up to me and I fell asleep. The heroin was probably still working its way through my bloodstream because I only woke up when a blanket fell onto my half naked body, and I suddenly looked up into the face of a total stranger.

I squealed. It wasn't my proudest moment, I admit.

"Whoa, easy," the blond giant said, taking two steps back and holding up his hands. "It's just a blanket."

I tried jumping up, but my hands were still tied together and a wave of dizziness rolled over me, making me stumble into the wall behind me and fall down onto my butt. "Get away from me," I coughed, because I couldn't seem to find enough air for screaming through the renewed pain in my shoulder. At this rate it would probably keep hurting forever.

"I'm not— ah, fuck it," the man huffed, then he turned around and yelled: "Noom! He's awake!"

Him calling Noom calmed me down, although not much. It might be a ruse to lull me into false security, but since the stranger didn't try to come closer, I didn't try to scream again.

He watched me watching him for a moment, then he turned his head to the stairs, making a point of looking somewhere else. I could hear distant foot steps, and they sounded heavy enough to come from Nooms scratched boots, but I didn't relax until he came trampling down the wire stairs and I could actually see him. I sagged against the wall with a sigh of relief, then scrunched my face to bite back a pained groan. The shapeshifting had popped my shoulder joint back into the socket, but even magic could only do so much, and rapid healing didn't mean instant healing. I hurt, although it was dull and more annoying than torturing.

"What's goin' on here?" Noom drawled with a sprinkle of annoyance in his voice, but his face never took on that angry look he usually wore when we were alone. "The scrap givin' you trouble?"

The giant made an ambiguous gesture in my general direction, shrugging. "I tried to put a blanket on him because it's freezing cold in here. He freaked and started to scream, or tried to scream, so I thought it might be best you calm him down and introduce us."

Noom frowned and turned to me. He almost looked normal— as far as normal could be used to describe a tattered, blood-smeared punk with ridiculous muscle tone—, standing there next to the blond giant. And they were interacting like normal people, too! It was fascinating to watch.

"Scrap, this is Mike. Mike, this is my scrap. Can I go finish my phone calls now, or am I going to have to baby-sit you two?" he growled, but his eyes were all for me. There was a distinctive warning in them, and it said 'do not fuck this up'. The stare made me nod quickly, more than the words. He was being polite, well, less aggressive than usual, but it was for Mike's sake, and keeping him happy would be my next big challenge.

"Kel," I corrected softly, watching Noom clank up the stairs again, then my eyes snapped to Mike. "That's my name, Kelaste, or Kel." He was big, both in height and in girth, though most of that girth looked like muscle mass. He had nice eyes though, and right now they looked overwhelmed and confused. That look on his face calmed me down more than anything else because it showed he wasn't used to situations like these.

"I know," he said, finally, "Noom's had me check your background. I know everything about you." This time he sounded proud.

I tried to sit more upright and realized I actually was quite cold. "Why would Noom have you check my background?" I wondered aloud, trying to pull the blanket around my naked upper body with bound hands, and failing.

This time, Mike pointed at the blanket with a questioning face, and only stepped forward when I smiled embarrassedly and nodded. It was a nice gesture, come to think of it. I just wasn't used to people being nice without expecting something in return. So maybe Mike didn't expect something from me, but that only meant he would get paid by Noom, in whatever currency they had arranged.

Stepping forward, he crouched down, picked up the cloth and shook it out before wrapping it around me. His eyes wandered over the belt holding my wrists together, but he neither commented nor tried to remove it, he just tucked me in and stepped back again. "You know someone put a hit out on your head, right?"

I nodded, probably looking bored. Having been shot multiple times seemed to have mellowed down my fear and nerves, which was quite remarkable on its own, if not a cure I'd choose again anytime soon. "So you're looking for people who hate me? That's a short list. The only name on it would be my father."

"Well, yes, he actually is one of our suspects, but it's not as clean-cut as that. I was trying to tell Noom about some of the things I discovered on the phone, but he told me you two are in big shit right now, so I came to pick you up and get you somewhere less exposed." Mike turned around and went to the other side of the small, dirty room, where he picked up a stuffed knapsack.

I watched him open it and start pulling out items that looked vaguely familiar. "So you don't know who is after me, either? You just found more suspects?" I asked, trying not to sound as disappointed as I felt. Again, all I had for comparison were action- and mystery movies, nothing even close to real-life experience, and it bothered me that even two professionals hadn't gotten anywhere in the last two days.

Mike laughed and looked over to me. "Hey, my job's not that easy! Do you know how many stuffy files and reports I had to work through to even reach the conclusion that your father might have an interest in being childless?" He turned back to unpacking, muttering, "he's a smart one, your father, hiding his tracks under false information, blind alleys and a few dozen different shell companies. The rich ones are always like that."

"Like what?" I asked, feeling stupid the moment I said the words.

Mike paused, throwing me a jaded, hollow smile. "Evil geniuses, all of them. I think it's the buttload of money and all the free time that comes with it. They are hard-pressed to do some harsh stuff at one point in their life to keep their money, and after that one first step it's easy to stay on that dark road," he explained, talking to me like one would talk to a small child. It was embarrassing.

The bundles he had extracted from the knapsack looked like tightly folded items of clothing to me, but there was the glint of a weapon in between, and some packages of wound dressing, tape and bandages. Since Noom was almost fully clothed— except for the blood-drenched shirt— I assumed the other stuff was for me. On the other hand, Mike had seen the belt binding my arms together, and not touched it, so I was unsure what exactly I was supposed to do.

"If we're going to leave this place soon, shouldn't I, I don't know, dress?" I finally offered, licking my lips nervously. Just when I had gotten used to one stranger, namely Noom, he had brought another one into my life. I simply sucked at social stuff, always had, always would.

That brought Mike's eyes down to the things he had just unpacked, and he shrugged. "Noom's trying to find out which of his safe houses have been compromised. As soon as he knows where we're going, he'll probably unbind you so you can change." His words left no doubt about the fact that he wouldn't dabble in Noom's affairs, not even to appear courteous to some rich and probably harmless college kid.

Against my better knowledge, I had to smile at that. "Good to know Noom has someone at his back besides me," I replied, nodding carefully because my neck hurt just as much as my shoulder, although for wholly other reasons.

Mike nodded back with a flashing grin, then busied himself with his stuff once more, leaving me sitting there in silence.

The blanket was a nice touch, and I appreciated it. As I warmed up, I kept glancing at the stairs, waiting for Noom to come back, feeling like a nervous puppy dog that had been put in a sit-stay. I tried to imagine how I might look, huddled against the wall of this underground bunker, half-naked and shackled with a belt. The only word that came to mind was 'pathetic'. Was I really supposed to play the hushed kidnappee after having rescued Noom and being shot in the process? Okay, Noom was right to fear me, I guessed, I probably would have freaked myself had I been in his position, but I had risked my life to save him, I hadn't hurt him once, hadn't even touched him, and this was what I got for my troubles? This was all I could expect?

Sudden anger boiled up out of nowhere. It bubbled through me before I knew what was happening, having never before experienced anger like this, and I snapped the belt. I didn't know how I did it, and I definitely hadn't known it would be so easy, but I just flexed my arms, and it ripped apart with a dull crack, falling onto my lap. Mike looked over, and although he couldn't see my hands because of the blanket, he blanched and pulled a gun, stumbling back at the same time.

"Jesus Christ Almighty," he cursed breathlessly, staring right at my face as he instinctively tried to get more distance between us. "Noom!"

When his back hit the wall behind him, he twitched involuntarily and the gun went off, sending a bullet howling into the wall next to my head. It ricocheted and struck a water pipe on the other side of the room, spraying a thankfully unclaimed part of the room with lukewarm, high-pressured rain.

I liked his fear, and I liked how he backed away. How much I liked it, I only realized when my hand touched the pile of clothes in the middle of the room. I had somehow moved forward and towards Mike without realizing. It made me hesitate, much more so than the gun Mike now pointed more steadily at my head. I assumed I'd be able to dodge a bullet, at least be quick enough not to get hit in the head. Anything else wouldn't kill me. He wouldn't be able to kill me.

A wave of endorphins and adrenaline rolled through my bloodstream, blowing my pupils to the size of saucers.

The iron steps groaned and I spun around to meet the new threat head-on. Mike didn't like it, or maybe he simply had a nervous trigger finger. Another shot filled the small room with a mind-numbing bang, and this time it grazed my back. There was no way I was going to stay put, and my instincts told me not to go into the direction where the bullets came from, so I jumped forward and onto the lower steps of the wire stairwell.

Noom was standing at the top of the stairs, white as a linen sheet, gun cocked at my head. This time it didn't stop me, though. As soon as I saw him, I thundered up the stairs, feeling hot, sticky blood drip from the wound at my back. Whatever he saw in my face— whatever Mike had seen— made him hesitate, freeze up and hold his breath.

I didn't care.

"YOU!" I roared, recognizing the rolling, harsh purr in my voice, much like a cat trying to talk like a human, but I reached him before I could finish my sentence. It made me feel off-kilter for a moment, and we stood there, two steps from each other, me staring at him with what must have looked like the face of a devil, and him returning the stare with a shell-shocked expression. The muzzle of his Beretta hovered right in front of my forehead, and the rage sizzled through my body like a flame. I pressed my head against it.

"If this is what you want to do, then do it, fucking finish the job!" I roared, again noting how my voice took on a more human note as my rage receded slightly. "I won't fucking live like a captive for the rest of my life, and I won't let you treat me like a freak anymore! Either you trust me, or you don't, but if you don't then fucking shoot and get this over with! I fucking risked my life—"

Those were the last words I got out, then Noom gun-slapped me with what amounted to an almost casual gesture. The move still had considerable force in it, my head was ringing and I had to grab the hand rail to hold myself upright, but there had been no malice in it.

"Get a grip on yourself," he growled, but his voice was shaking. I had rattled him monumentally, and damn, it felt good!

Mike was another story, though. "How the hell did he do that!" he screamed, sounding much more panicky than Noom, waving his gun around. "What the fuck did you get me into! How did he get from here to there that fast, and what's wrong with his bloody face!"

Noom holstered his gun, or rather he put it back into the waist band of his pants at the small of his back, and tried to grab me like he had many times before. I was too angry to let him do that, so I dodged his hand just as casually as he had slapped me just a moment before.

"I mean it, Noom," I snarled, calmer than before, but no less final. I knew it was a stupid idea to draw a line in the sand with two people more than capable of pumping me full of lead, but I'd had enough. At that moment, I would rather die than keep on existing like this.

He seemed to know. I couldn't fathom how, but there was understanding in the way his lips twitched and his cheeks hardened. He didn't pull the gun again, though. Instead he extended one arm and held it right under my nose.

He smelled of blood and gunpowder, gutter dust and grime, patchouly, nicotine, coffee and... himself. The scent was mesmerizing, intoxicating, and I pressed my face to his wrist to rub my cheeks and jaw against it. One whiff of that mixture of smells washed all the rage away like a thunderstorm blowing through my brain. The arm moved away and I followed easily, ignoring the angry echoes of Mike's jabbering in my quest to stay next to that wonderful smell. When it went lower, I went lower, coming to rest on my knees and finding something warm and pliant in front of me, so I laid down and wrapped both arms around the source of the scent.

"Please tell me that isn't him... it, purring," was the next thing I consciously heard. At least Mike sounded calmer. Not calm, far from it, but not gun-waving-angry anymore.

"D'you believe me now?" Noom replied, sounding awfully close. His voice had a note of fatalistic humor in it, and I imagined him grinning his lopsided grin. If I put my mind to it, I could remember every pore, every scar on his face, the spacing between his eyelashes, even the way strands of hair moved in his mohawk when he talked.

I blinked. When had I closed my eyes? And when exactly had I lain down on Noom's lap, spread out like a drunk? My arms were wrapped tightly around Nooms arm, my face pressed against the cloth of his sweater. As soon as I realized that, I let go and he extracted his arm and my source of calmness with it. I started to wiggle, confused and flustered as I was, and he put a hand on my neck and started to caress and scritch it. Every brush of his nails felt like a wave of delicious bliss wafting though my body, and I relaxed like he had hit an off-switch. God, that felt good!

"Did you see how he dodged your second shot? I've never seen 'ya miss anything," Noom rumbled, and I could feel the fingers of his other hand trace the wound at my back. The pain was faintly unpleasant, but Noom was careful enough not to rip me out of my intoxicated reverie.

"And he was shot two, three times a few hours ago, but you'd never know if you look at him," he then added, fascinated like a boy with a new toy.

Mike didn't share his enthusiasm. "This is fucked up," he cursed, and I could hear him flip the security switch back on, and holster the gun. "I don't even know where to begin to describe in how many ways this freaks me out right now!" A short pause followed, then Mike huffed. "I really don't get how you can stand touching that thing."

I felt more than I heard Noom laugh, it shook his body ever so slightly. "I guess that means you're retractin' the offer to take us in for tonight?" he guessed more than asking, and I imagined him grinning again.

"Damn right I am. You, yeah, but not him. It. Whatever the hell he is."

"I could chain him up if that would make you feel better," Noom offered.

"You didn't see him pop your belt like it was nothing. Nu-uh, he's not coming into my home!"

Noom sighed deeply enough to move me slightly, but he never stopped softly scratching the base of my head. Spittle dripped from my lip to the floor, and I didn't care. They could have put a gun to my head and killed me, it would have been a happy death and I would have gone with a smile. But nothing came even close to the feeling of shocked euphoria I felt when Noom said his next words.

"I'm not killing him, and I'm definitely not going to leave him behind."

That split moment I knew that I was in head over heels in love. And that I was utterly lost.

~*~

After my short burst of temper, Mike wouldn't come close to me, so Noom had to patch me up by himself. Although he had to stop caressing my neck, I held still and let him do his thing, hoping to prolong the moment of peace and contentedness. I would have stayed there for the rest of my time for all I cared, but as soon as Noom was finished, he patted my ass and told me to sit up. Mike handed him the clothes he had brought for me, but I had to put them on by myself. The both of them put their heads together and had a hushed conversation, brooding over a map of Babylon city and pointing to and fro.

I only heard bits and pieces of their conversation, but as numb and calm as I felt, I couldn't have cared less where we would be going next. Noom wouldn't leave me behind, and wherever he went, I'd go too. I was happy with that arrangement.

Mike had brought a pair of long, black cotton track pants, a black, knit shirt with long sleeves and a wide neckline and a pair of sneakers that were a size too big. I was warm and decent again in it, if still off-kilter and exhausted. I was also feeling increasingly ravenous, but it was different from my usual appetite. My body was quivering with the need for energy, but at the same time I was unwilling to expend any more resources in moving to actually get food. My tummy gave a single, drawn-out rumble, but that was all it did, as if conserving its energy for when there'd actually be something to digest.

"So, that's all my safe houses then," Noom grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck with frustration. He straightened up and stretched his rump, totally oblivious to my watching eyes. I stared hypnotized at the small stripe of skin and rippling abs that appeared as his sweater rode up.

I wanted to see him in my black satin sheets, naked and only adorned with cigarette smoke. "We could go back to my place," I offered leisurely, following my one-track-mind.

Mike grumbled, Noom laughed once. "With all the security cameras and without knowledge who wants you dead? Not gonna happen," Noom said curtly, then went back to stare at the map. He was right, of course. I couldn't go home, not even if I wanted to. Funny enough, I had hated my condo before, but as soon as the possibility to go there vanished, I wanted it back. But if I couldn't go back, where would I normally go?

"Maybe we could just rent a room somewhere," I mumbled, feeling disheartened by the prospects of being homeless. "There are some nice hotels next to Central Park." Like all cats, I liked to venture outside of my territory from time to time, but being uprooted and relocated didn't appeal to me at all. A room with a similar view to my own was the next best thing I could think of.

This time, Noom just grumbled and Mike perked up. "You know what," he mused, working his finger over the map, following some road probably, "That might just work. I know a bed and breakfast three blocks away from me, right at the edge of the bay, that would fit your needs perfectly."