Page 8 of Reaper (Quincy Harker Demon Hunter #10)

I stood up, holding both hands out to my sides, trying to project an air of peace and calm.

The problem is, I don’t even know what an air of peace and calm looks like, so I probably just looked like a ruthless asshole about to fill his hands with weapons and go all John Wick on my surroundings.

Which was a whole lot closer to the truth, but between Luke and Becks, I was getting kinda tired of people bitching about the cost of my fights.

“Look, pal, believe it or not, I didn’t come here for a fight.

I came here to see if any of your people were missing, so I can try to find out what’s happening in my city. ”

The shifter scoffed. “Your city? Your bleedin’ city? What the bloody hell lets you call it your city when someone us been livin’ here since you were pissing your nappies?”

“Son, I haven’t worn nappies since the turn of the fucking century.

The twentieth century. You furballs aren’t the only ones who age slow, and while I didn’t come here to start a fight, I’ll fucking well end one if I need to.

So why don’t you put on your dandy little frock coat, sit your lanky arse down, and let’s talk this out like the civilized folk do?

” I let a little of the London gutter slip into my own accent, a tone I hadn’t used in nearly a century, but it came back as natural as breathing.

I knew guys like this growing up. I never had too much trouble with them, because I was a scrapper from an early age, but some of the neighborhood boys had it in for my little brothers because our parents were famous and we were pretty well-off.

So I ran with more than one pack of little ragamuffin shitheads all over London and wasn’t shy about throwing hands even before I developed the ability to throw fireballs at people who annoyed me.

And this idiot was definitely annoying me.

I saw the store security heading in our direction and held up my badge. “Grab a doughnut, Barney Fife. Nothing to fucking see here.” The rent-a-cop turned on his heel and headed for a door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY without even a little bit of ado.

“Don’t talk to him, Reaper, pay attention to me,” my erstwhile opponent-to-be said, the whine of the perpetually ignored creeping into his voice.

“Why?” I asked, stepping forward until I was less than two feet away from him. “Does nobody pay enough attention to you on the regular?” I slapped him across the face, hard enough to sting and embarrass, but not hard enough to dislocate his jaw. Which took restraint on my part.

“You mother?—”

I slapped him again. “The next word out of your mouth better be fucking respectful. You say anything bad about my mum and I might get annoyed. You don’t want me to be annoyed.”

He took half a step forward, all the room he had because I wasn’t moving, and bumped chests with me.

I’ve never understood this behavior. It doesn’t hurt the other person, and it puts you in way closer than you usually want to be.

Like this time. Here was a guy accustomed to being the biggest, strongest, and baddest ass in the room, only he was stepping to someone who was completely unfazed by his intimidation attempts.

I was not only older and more powerful, but I was also taller, although he probably had ten pounds of muscle on me.

I’m more lean, ropy muscle that doesn’t look impressive, but I get the job done.

Often by using my head more than my biceps.

So that’s what I did. I used my head very directly.

I used my head to slam into his nose, breaking it and sending a torrent of blood down his face, making his eyes water, and causing him to stagger back into a pair of shifters who had been enjoying pastries and coffee until they got nearly two hundred pounds of asshole sprawled through their table.

I was really wreaking havoc on bar furniture this week.

“You son of a—” he sputtered, scrambling to his feet in the wreckage of the table.

I cut him off with another slap, this one higher up and farther back, rupturing his eardrum and dropping him back to one knee.

I watched as his fingers shortened and black fur sprouted along the back of his hand and up his forearm.

He was pissed, hurting, and losing control of his change.

This had the potential to get real ugly, real fast if I didn’t put an end to it.

So I wrapped my fist in a shield and slammed it into his temple, counting on his were durability to keep him from dying.

I hit him with a right hand that would have killed a human, and probably put most beings in traction, but he just continued shifting until his whole body was covered in sleek black fur and his features took on a distinctly feline cast. When his lips peeled back in a snarl and I saw the elongated fangs, I barely managed to stifle a laugh.

“Seriously?” I asked. “You’re a panther? A real life Black Panther?”

His mouth couldn’t really form words anymore, but the roar he let out told me exactly how unamused he was at my comment.

He stood up to his full height, any wounds I’d inflicted on his human form completely gone, and roared.

The sound drove any remaining customers streaking for the doors, and I took a couple steps back to give myself some room to maneuver.

“If any of you don’t want to be banned from the store forever, not to mention see your buddy here splattered all across the ceiling, this would be a good time to talk him down,” I said to the assembled weres.

Several of them looked at one another, then bolted for the doors themselves. Rachelle, however, obviously considered herself at least something of a leader in the group, so she stepped between me and Temu T-Challa. “Cut it out, Randy,” she said. “He’s a fed, even if he is a murderer.”

I didn’t say anything. Because it was true. I was working for the government, and I have killed more people than cholera, as they say in the movies.

Randy growled but stood his ground. Rachelle looked back and forth between us. “Harker, can I count on you not to attack if Randy shifts back?”

“I didn’t start this shit,” I reminded her.

“Randy, take off the fur and act like a fucking adult, please,” Rachelle said.

“Yeah, Randy, be a good kitty and you’ll get scritches,” I said. I promised not to attack him. I never promised not to talk my fair share of shit.

Of course, Randy wasn’t in any mood for my good-natured banter, or my snarky assholery, so he leapt right over Rachelle’s head and straight at me.

Oh well, so much for a peaceful cup of coffee.

I ducked under his leap and rolled across a table, letting it topple over and lower me to the ground a little bit slower than just a straightforward dive, but I still got covered in powdered sugar, sprinkles, and coffee.

If I didn’t kill Randy, I was definitely going to take my dry cleaning bill out of his ass.

Ah, who was I kidding? I don’t wear shit that needs to be dry cleaned.

I rolled to my feet just in time to get a chest full of angry Randy. Werepanthers are almost as fast as the real thing. His jaws snapped closed on the air an inch in front of my throat, and I got a hand up between us, palm flat to his chest.

“Forzare!” I shouted, blasting him straight back across the coffee shop with a bolt of pure kinetic energy. “Stay down, Puss in Boots,” I said as he flipped perfectly to land on both feet with one hand down to steady himself.

Randy just growled and sprang forward, shifting completely into feline form as he charged. I braced myself for impact, but he pounced a couple feet before he would have barreled into me, springing over my head and raking lines of fire down my back as he vaulted me.

“Mother fucker!” I yelled, whirling around and calling more power. I spun a shield around my body, giving me a little protection from his claws, but also limiting my mobility, which I could ill afford when I was facing an opponent who was already faster and more agile than me.

Language, Becks said through our link. There are children around.

If there are still kids in here, their parents should be arrested.

And I’ve got a little more to worry about than an errant f-bomb.

But her mention of kids did get me to let some of my summoned magic flow back into the floor.

I couldn’t go bringing the whole building down on Randy if there might still be civilians in the store.

Randy charged me again, this time rearing back on his hind legs to hug me with his forelegs and try to bite my face off.

My shield protected me, but it stopped neither his rancid breath nor the face full of cat slobber I got, both of which just pissed me off more.

But since he wanted to dance, I was now close enough to tango.

I channeled fire into my palms and slapped them against his sides, filling the store with the stench of burnt fur and the howls of a werecat who had suddenly gone from predator to prey.

Randy thrashed in my grip and pulled away, sprinting to a far corner of the coffee shop by the front windows.

He crouched there, glaring and spitting at me, then sprang at me once more, determined to have Harker entrails for dinner.

I didn’t try to duck this time, just used my magic to anchor myself and reinforce my shield, then let him slam into me again.

It was like running face first into a brick wall, only glowy and purple.

Randy let out a yelp and fell back onto his ass.

I laid a punch across his head, ringing his bell once again, and he shifted back to his half-human form, the better to stand and beat the shit out of me with.

I noticed that the burns on his sides hadn’t healed, so maybe he had to perform a full shift to heal.

I filed that away, then kicked him right in his dangly cat balls.

His mouth flew open and he made a gagging sound, like he was trying to cough up a hairball. Or maybe two hairy balls.

Either way, I took advantage and punched him right in the throat.

Not hard enough to crush his larynx and kill him, but definitely hard enough to make it really hard to breathe for a few minutes.

His hands flew to his neck, and my right hand jabbed for whatever passes for a solar plexus on a half-cat, half-human hybrid.

He dropped to his knees, and I introduced the side of his skull to my knee, which was finally enough to send his eyes rolling back into his head and his body crashing to the tile floor.

As he passed out, he shifted back to human form, leaving me standing over the unconscious body of a naked Black man in the middle of a Barnes & Noble.

This was not how I’d envisioned my night going.