To Protect and Serve Ch. 01

Shamira had always been a sweats or jeans kind of girl. It wasn't as if she had nothing slinky, but mostly those were her competition outfits, and those were supposed to show off everything. Now, everything she had seemed to show things off. She had comfortable but tight hip-hugger blue jeans expensive enough to feed an entire African village for a week. All the shirts she had seemed designed to expose as much hard-bodied flesh as they could.

Straps over the shoulders, exposed midriffs, sleeveless, and cleavage-revealing were all primary factors in the other's womens' decisions. The girls had dragged Shamira kicking and screaming (almost literally) into Victoria's Secrets because, in Monique's words, she was going to get fitted for a bra and not play underwire roulette. And good grief, what Clara considered to be "underwear" differed greatly from Shamira's definition. Silk and lace had never been Shamira's thing. Cotton . . . cotton had been good.

But the boots were Shamira's idea. If she was going to be forced to endure this weirdness, why not get one good pair of footwear out of it? She was a western girl at (her non-beating) heart, so she'd always wanted a nice pair of cowboy boots. She had ordered a pair of hand-made, hand-tooled Leggenda Collection Lucchese black-leather boots for the low, low price of $1500. Shane's pockets ran deep, and the boots would be shipped directly to his address. And then she got her very own leather duster that fit her like a glove. She liked leather, though she refused to say it out loud. Not with this crowd around anyway.

"So," Shamira said, "why aren't you guys being all 'yes master, no master'? I thought that's what you did."

"There's a time and a place for everything," Lillian said. Her hand slid into Monique's. "There are rules."

"Rules?"

"Yeah," Clara said, taking a sip of her orange smoothie. "For instance, all the subs get a day off every week where they can't be controlled, even if they want it. It's hard doing it full-time, and Shane realized that people needed a break. Also, there's a common room in the house where the game is suspended. Subs can call things off anytime they want, thought they're required by rule to abstain from the life for a full day and explain why. If there's something a sub can't handle, it's made known to the other doms or dommes." She pursed her lips as she tried to think of more. "You can ask for days off, and subs can't be interfered with if they're doing Shane's work."

"My sewing room is off limits," Monique said.

"I play both roles," Lillian said. "Shane is the only male I let dominate me when I'm being bottom. One of my rules. And in the magic room, I'm off limits."

"There's a magic room?"

"Of course," Clara said. "Lillian and I both need a place to work. We split the room in half." Her eyes drifted to Shamira's enormous breasts. 'I need to get my hands on those,' she thought. Luckily for her, Shamira didn't notice that she was being ogled. She was staring at a high-priced clothing store on the lower level. Shamira rolled her eyes, then looked around. "Glad I could expand your education," Clara muttered.

Shamira finally saw that a mall security guard, standing up and going over to talk to him. She was pointing down towards the store and explaining something fairly calmly. The rent-a-cop nodded and then headed down the escalator while Shamira sat back down.

"Explanation?" Clara said, eyebrow arched.

"Oh, lady down there is shoplifting," Shamira said, sipping her soda.

The other women looked down. "How can you tell?" Clara asked.

"She looks kinda too middle-class for that, doesn't she?" Monique asked.

"Shoes don't match. They're close, but not quite right," Shamira explained. "Her whole get-up was probably gotten from a Salvation Army store, put together to make her look respectable," she added, looking at Monique, "to avoid suspicion. That purse she's carrying is huge, and it was concave on the outside when she walked in earlier. Now it's convex, but she's still wandering around the store. She keeps feeling the clothes, but she isn't looking at them."

The security guard approached the suspect and started to talk to her. The woman was growing increasingly agitated, especially when the guard pointed towards the bag. Another guard arrived, and the woman finally surrendered the bag.

"Damn!" Monique said. "At least she stole some nice stuff," she added, watching a few expensive sweaters materialize from the depths of the bag.

Clara was grinning. "You can't stop being a cop, can you?"

Shamira blushed. "Guess not."

"Okay, the mall closes in a bit, and you need to get ready for Shane's testing. You should try on one of the outfits --"

"Why? I mean, I'm just gonna be going somewhere to sweat anyway," Shamira said. "Besides, I don't have the boots yet."

"You have two pairs of back-up boots," Clara said primly. "But you're right. No need to get dressed up tonight if you're going to be run through your paces. Tomorrow night, we're going out. No arguments," she said, cutting off Shamira's objection.

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Two hours later . . .

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"How's she doing?" Shane whispered as he and Reaper watched Shamira go through her strength tests. Vampires were stronger than humans, so having a standard gym was impractical. Instead, they had a set of hydraulic equipment that was derived from the stuff used to test the power of heavy-duty industrial machines.

The big black man didn't bother to glance at his clipboard. Reaper probably never forgot anything he heard or saw. His brain would probably explode with information in about a century or so. "Well, she's bench-pressing about half a ton, she did the twenty-yard shuttle run agility test in 1.5 seconds, did the hundred-yard dash in 4.23 seconds, scored higher on her shooting proficiency than anyone here besides me --" He paused. "Shane, have you ever met a fledgling so advanced?"

"No," Shane said. "Shadow Healer, Shadow Jumper . . . "shadow" seems to be the key word. As if she's skipped directly to the second stage of her evolution." He smiled. "I knew she could be special, but this?"

"Has she made a decision yet?"

"From what she's shown so far, I don't think she can stop being a cop, so I think she'll come around to being an enforcer. As for the rest, all we can do is hope. I won't force her."

"I know you won't." Reaper hadn't found many people worth working for in his relatively short life, but Shane Stapleton was one of the good ones. "I wouldn't be here if I thought you would."

Shamira released the bar and turned off the I-Pod she had borrowed from Monique. She had several in different colors. The girl knew how to accessorize. "So, how'd I do?" She was feeling energized, and she wasn't even sweating.

"Exceptional," Shane said. "Your abilities are well developed."

"So, what's next? IQ test?" She looked over at Reaper and managed a grin. "Big Team Battle?"

Reaper looked at Shane. "It would be a good test of her hand-eye coordination."

"You just want to spend another four hours playing your infernal game."

"Yes."

Shane turned back to Shamira. "I'd like for you to go on a recon run with Henry this evening. Meet some of the people you would be interacting with as my enforcer. See the creatures of your new world."

"Clara wanted to go dancing and --" she stopped. She did not want to go out and play. She wanted to work. Working helped her clear her head, and it might distract her from the thoughts that had been surfacing in her mind. "Actually, I think I'd like that."

"Take her to the armory," Shane instructed Reaper. "See what strikes her fancy," he added with a grin.

"I've seen all the stuff at the range," she replied.

"That's the practice gear. You didn't really think that's all we had, did you?" Reaper escorted her down the maze of hallways to what appeared to be the door of a bank fault. It took a fingerprint ID, eye scan, and a twelve digit code to breach, but she quickly found out why.

"Holy shit!" she murmured as she walked in. The damn vault was easily 50 feet long, 15 feet wide and lined with weapons ranging from throwing stars to rocket launchers. "This is SO illegal!" she said, running her hands over a high-powered sniper rifle with a scope she'd never even seen before. "What the hell are these?" she asked, picking up a pair of what looked like Desert Eagle 50s but with some kind of banana clip.

"Just what they look like," Reaper said lovingly, staring at the guns. "I know someone who works with the manufacturer, and he made us a special set. Single shot for most bad guys, triple-shot setting for the big guys. And we've got silver hollow-point rounds."

Shamira pressed one against her cheek. It's okay," she said in a lullabye voice. "Momma's here." She smiled when Reaper handed her a shoulder strap that could accommodate one of the odd but delightfully destructive instruments.

Reaper didn't smile, but he almost wanted to. A woman after his own heart. "If you come on, you'll get a license to carry concealed just about anywhere, license to utilize automatic weapons, license to carry just about anything, and that includes knives. You good with knives? We like everyone in the field to carry something a little more up close and personal."

She looked around and saw something a bit unusual. She picked it up. "Short whip?"

"It's a snakewhip," Reaper explained. "You ever use a whip?" He tried to ignore the smirk on Shane's face as he stood behind Shamira.

"Yeah. My dad's folks had a ranch up in Montana. Spent a bunch of summers up there learning how to drive cattle, and I played with lassos and whips."

Shane's grin widened. If whips and lassos were her thing --

Shamira continued, oblivious to Shane's reactions. She turned and did an overhand flick, snapping the tip about four feet away. She saw a sudden gleam of something metallic come out of the cracker. "What the hell?"

"Silver spike," Reaper explained. "The whip was designed for combat against magical creatures. A whip can be a dangerous weapon in the right hands."

Shamira looked around, seeing a number of varieties of whips. "So these aren't your . . . toys?" she asked, glancing over at Shane and looking flushed.

He looked smug. "Actually, we don't use full whips when we play. They do too much damage." He glanced over her hard body. 'But you,' he thought, 'could heal so quickly --'

Reaper handed her a seven foot bullwhip, black-braided and deadly looking. "You should practice with them both. I think they'd fit your style. You can use the snakewhip as a belt. That would give you a short-range and medium-range hand-to-hand weapon."

She held the snakewhip in one hand and the bullwhip in the other. She did an overhand snap with the long one and a side snap with the other.

"You seem adept with both hands," Reaper said appreciatively.

"I wanted to be able to shoot with either hand if I got an arm messed up, so I started practicing with both hands before I even entered the academy."

"A woman of many skills," Shane said. "I'll tell Henry to be expecting you."

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Several days later . . .

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Shamira liked having a routine again. Strangely, being a fledgling vampire wasn't so bad. She didn't need much sleep, couldn't gain weight, didn't have any more periods, and could eat anything she wanted. She slept from sunup until the middle of the afternoon, even though she could navigate in daylight if she chose.

She was still wearing sweats all of the time, but at least they were her own sweats. The modified Desert Eagle hung in a low shoulder holster underneath a light jacket, and the snakewhip was wrapped around her waist. She'd been practicing with the whips a lot the last couple of day and had made great progress. And while she would never admit it, she enjoyed the sound of it cracking.

"What's the name of it again?" she asked. She liked Henry. He had a nice smile on top of a gorgeous body, but he didn't feel the need to fill the silence with pointless chatter. They often just listened to country music on satellite radio as Henry piloted the Lincoln Blackwood truck that cost more than Shamira would have earned in a year.

"Cho's Tavern," Henry replied with a grin. "The owner's from China and was hooked on 'The Simpsons' before he ever moved to the states. He's a good guy, but most trolls are."

"How can he hide?"

"He's got a glamor charm. Besides, most of his clientele are magical in nature anyway."

She relaxed in her seat. Shane had gotten word from the troll that there was more morning star being offered up in the local drug market. Grolik, the troll in question, didn't like it and had called in the local authorities. He wouldn't mind dealing with it himself, but buildings tended to collapse when a troll got into a fight, and he didn't want to bring undue attention to himself or the community. Then Henry got a call on his cell phone.

"Yep? Now?!" Henry pushed the proverbial pedal to the metal, weaving through traffic like shot from a gun. He looked over at Shamira. "Grolik says he thinks a couple of the guys just walked in. And the house is packed, so we need to get there in a hurry."

Shamira checked her gun, then rested her hand on the thick end of the whip. She would have taken a deep breath if would have done any good.

"It's okay," the cowboy said, that goofy grin on his face again. "Just another day at the office. All we're doing is walking into a bar full of drunk magical beings to try and stop a deal involving drugs that make you god-like. What's the worst that could happen?"

She punched him in the arm. "Besides everything you just said? Not a damn thing."

The pulled into the parking lot and stepped out. To say that this was a hole in the wall would be an understatement. There wasn't even a neon sign advertising its location. Just an old wooden plaque over the door. As they approached, Shamira felt like this whole thing was a waste of time. Maybe they should --

"There's a spell on it," Henry said. He felt the same tug that his companion did, but he'd been here before.

"What spell?" she muttered. "Listen, I'm sure there's more important --"

Henry grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the door. While she objected, he placed her hand on the metal handle. The strange feeling of dislike for this place faded abruptly. "It gets easier after the first time."

"What the hell was that?"

"As I said, it was a spell. It encourages people to go away, mostly pure humans. You're young enough that it still effects you. Can't have tourists walking in and getting themselves chewed on."

She opened the door and walked inside, then followed Henry to the bar. There was a large, hairy man behind the bar, but Shamira thought there was something "off" about him. When he moved, it was like there was a tiny little disconnect between that movement and reality. It was like watching people's lips move in a badly dubbed movie. She figured it had to be the glamor.

"Hey big guy," Henry said, bumping fists with the bartender. "This is Shamira. She's new to the team, but she's already helped out in one of these situations."

The enormous man looked at her and offered her a paw . . . uhm, hand. "Nice to meet you." The voice was too low, even for a man that size. Shamira wondered what a troll really looked like, then wondered if she really wanted to know. She shook his hand though, and could definitely feel that he was a powerful fellow. "I'd much appreciate it if you could handle this with as little fuss as possible."

'Fuss?' Shamira thought. 'Even in the South, people don't use that word anymore.'

"We'll do our best," Henry replied. "Whiskey while I wait?"

Shamira wondered if he should really be drinking on the job, but he had been a vampire for almost a century, so she figured he knew what he was doing. She just sat on a barstool, scoping out the room using the enormous mirror on the wall. She wondered if these guys would be more inconspicuous than the last.

"So what made you think something was going on?" Henry asked, his lips glued to the edge of his shot glass. He wasn't asking questions as far as the rest of the bar was concerned. Just having a drink.

"Heard rumors it'd already happened a couple of times," Grolik replied. "And I've had a couple of groups show up that ain't regulars, are a little too quiet, and seem to clump together. Heard that a deal went bad at one of 'em leather bars the other day, so I guess they're getting a bit gun shy."

Shamira avoided abandoning her poker face. Luckily, they had gotten the local security to hush up about her involvement, so her Shadow Jumping ability was still a secret. She wanted to keep it that way, as it could potentially get her out of a lot of trouble in this job. 'This job,' she reiterated. She had accepted that this was her new job. It made her feel surprisingly better. She saw one group that Grolik had been talking about. She watched as they failed to drain their beers in any significant fashion, and were sitting around making small talk while not every looking at each other. And it wasn't like they were scoping out potential mates either. They were just "looking".

To both her chagrin and surprise, she had to fend off a couple of drunken advances. Eventually, Henry wrapped an arm around her muscular shoulders, "claiming" her as his.

'He smells kind of sexy,' she thought. 'No cologne. Just . . . sweat?' She had been smelling things in a whole new way as of late, and it was hard to set things straight. The guys she was looking at seemed to make eye contact with someone else that Shamira couldn't get a good angle at. One of them stood up, made some kind of gesture, and then headed to the men's room.

"I think it may be happening," she whispered, keeping her mouth fairly still.

"I think you're right. I got a group of four in the corner who just sent two in."

"I got a group of three that sent one. Dealer is probably the two."

"Okay, they're all male and human I think," Henry muttered. "I'm going in to take a piss, you distract the guards."

"Distract them? How?"

He grinned at her, then stared straight at her tits. "They're guys." He got up and sauntered towards the bathroom with a drunken sway. Shamira looked at his butt as he walked.

'Looks good in denim,' she thought. Then she sighed. "Water please," she told Grolik. She really, really didn't want to do this. She'd spent so long convincing herself that she HAD no feminine charms that the idea of using them like this just made her uneasy. She got her water and made her way to the entrance to the restrooms, taking a roundabout way to avoid looking like she and Henry were together. Then the excitement set in. This was one of the things she had wanted to do with the police department, but no one had even considered letting her. Shane and his crew seemed a lot more confident in her than they had been. Hell, they were more confident in her than Shamira herself.

While in the crowd, she actually tore a slit in her sweats so that her cleavage was showing. Then, holding her drink high, she bumped into one of the guards. Her drink splashed all over her freshly exposed boobage.

"I am SO sorry," she said, looking straight down at her wet breasts. She didn't need to make eye-contact, since she was just a drunk woman at a bar and in no way interested in these gentlemen. She did finally look up and was getting admired by both sets of guards. 'Hmm. These things are mightier than the sword. Maybe the DD's weren't such a bad idea after all.' "Listen, any of you guys --" She intentionally swayed a little bit, doing her best impersonation of a drunk. She didn't actually drink herself, so she was going based on the many exemplars around. "I'm not feeling so hot."