Crimson Shift

Published by: eXtasy Books

Author : Gabriella Bradley

ISBN :978-1-4874-4369-6

Page :270

Word Count :73000

Publication Date :2025-10-31

Series : #

Heat Level :

Available Formats :

Category : , Fantasy Romance , Paranormal Romance , What's New

BrandsExtasy Books
Product Code: 978-1-4874-4369-6

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She came chasing legends. She found a man who would change everything.

When journalist Cricket Williams stumbles across a wounded wolf in the Australian outback, she doesn’t expect him to shift into a man, or to fall for him.

Noah Hicks is ex-special forces, now leading a covert team testing a serum to control the beast within. But the serum is failing, rogue shifters are on the rise, and Cricket may be the key to stopping the chaos…or unleashing it.

As danger closes in and passion ignites, Noah and Cricket must decide if love is worth the risk…or if it’s the one thing that could destroy them both.

“So,” she said after taking a sip, “I couldn’t help but notice the missing person posters in town. Seems like a lot for a community this size.”

The effect was immediate and unmistakable. One of the men at the corner table coughed into his beer. The two women exchanged glances loaded with meaning. The solitary drinker by the window straightened almost imperceptibly.

Mack’s eyes flicked toward the door, as if checking escape routes. “Yeah, well,” he said, voice dropping to just above a whisper, “been a bad year.”

Cricket leaned forward slightly, maintaining eye contact. “I spoke with a woman at the general store. She mentioned eleven people missing. That’s not just bad luck, is it?”

Mack’s hands found another glass to polish, though this one already gleamed. “Look,” he said, leaning closer across the bar, “most folks here won’t talk about it. Not to outsiders. Not even to each other, really.”

“Talk about what exactly?” Cricket pressed, clicking her pen but not yet writing, a technique to signal interest without the intimidation of immediate documentation.

Mack glanced over his shoulder, then toward the corner table. One of the men there gave an almost imperceptible nod. Cricket didn’t miss the exchange.

“The creatures,” Mack said, his voice so low that Cricket had to lean even closer. “Out past the western ridge. Only come at night.”

Cricket maintained her neutral expression, though internally she felt a familiar disappointment. She’d expected something more substantial, illegal mining operations, perhaps, or human trafficking, not another small-town monster story.

“What kind of creatures?” she asked, now jotting notes to keep him talking.

“Don’t rightly know what to call ‘em,” Mack continued, polishing the same spot on the glass with increasing vigor. “Chrome color. Move fast. Too fast to see proper. Make a sound like…like metal being dragged over stone.” He shuddered visibly. “First disappearance was young Darren Mitchell. Good kid. Went fishin’ out by Cooper’s Creek after sunset. Never came home.”

“And you believe these…creatures were responsible?” Cricket kept her tone neutral and professional.

“Believe?” Mack’s laugh was short and hollow. “Lottie Harris saw one take her husband. Said it moved like water but shined like chrome in the moonlight. By the time she got her husband’s rifle, it was gone. And so was he.”

One of the men from the corner table approached the bar. He was broad-shouldered with a face weathered by decades under the Australian sun. “Tell her about the bullets, Mack.”

Mack nodded. “Jordan here’s our local copper. He responded when Bill Harris disappeared.”

The policeman leaned against the bar. “Found shell casings where Lottie fired at the thing. She’s a good shot. Used to win local competitions. Said she hit it dead-on at least twice.” He took a long pull from his beer. “Thing didn’t even slow down.”

“That’s when Kev Gardner remembered his granddad’s stories,” Mack continued. “About the bunyip that wasn’t a bunyip. The old-timers used to talk about creatures in the outback that could only be hurt by silver.”

“Silver shot,” Jordan clarified, his expression deadly serious. “Normal bullets don’t work on ‘em. Only silver does the job.”

Cricket wrote this down, maintaining her professional demeanor and keeping a straight face, despite the supernatural turn. “And has anyone successfully used this…silver shot?”

The pub went completely silent. Mack and Jordan exchanged looks.

“Pete Simmons tried,” Jordan said finally. “Melted down his mum’s old silverware. Made some crude shotgun shells. Went out to the ridge three weeks ago.” He drained his beer. “He’s on the board outside the general store.”

Cricket noted the consistency in their stories, not just the general idea of a creature, but specific details repeated across accounts. Either this was a remarkably coordinated hoax, or these people genuinely believed what they were saying.

“And all the disappearances happened near this western ridge?” she asked, turning to a fresh page in her notebook.

Mack nodded. “That’s where they come from. No one goes out there after dark anymore. Town council even passed an ordinance against it, not that we needed tellin’.”

“Except the military blokes,” another man muttered after he’d approached from the corner table. “They’re out there all hours. Black helicopters, unmarked vehicles.”

“Government knows something,” Jordan agreed. “But they’re not sharing with the likes of us.”

Cricket’s skepticism remained firmly in place, but her interest was piqued. Government involvement suggested something beyond local superstition.

“Last person went missing just five days ago,” Mack said, finally setting down the over-polished glass. “Janie Fletcher. Nurse at the medical center. Her ute broke down on her way back from visiting her sister. Not two kilometers from the ridge.” His voice cracked slightly. “Found the ute the next morning. Driver’s door open. Keys still in the ignition.”

Cricket looked around the room, studying the faces of the patrons. The fear was genuine. It couldn’t be manufactured in the tight lines around their eyes, the nervous glances toward the windows as the afternoon light began to soften toward evening.

“And nobody’s investigated this?” Cricket asked, though she already knew the answer. “Police from the next town over? State authorities?”

Jordan’s laugh was bitter. “Outback disappearances don’t rate metro attention, love. And the state boys came once, looked around, filed a report, and scarpered before sundown.” He tapped his finger against Cricket’s notebook. “Write that down. They know. They all bloody know, and they’ve left us out here to fend for ourselves.”

Cricket made her notes, mentally sorting fact from speculation, all while calculating how much daylight remained for her to perhaps take a drive past this notorious western ridge.

“One more thing,” Mack said as Cricket closed her notebook. “If you’re planning what I think you’re planning…don’t go alone. And don’t go at night.”