Protect and Serve Shifting Forces by Cassidy McKay Page A

attention. “Leave me alone! I haven’t done anything wrong!” The redhead struggles against one of the officers, landing a solid whack on his neck where the protective gear doesn’t protect. My smile fights to break free -- the girl’s a fighter, all right.
    “Submit willingly, Miss, and you’ll just be charged with disorderly conduct.” The cop doesn’t look old enough to have graduated high school, let alone wear a badge. He can’t seem to decide between juggling his shield, going on to a more willing arrestee, or grabbing his cuffs and taking his chances against the wildcat.
    My bet is on the girl.
    “Disorderly conduct, my ass! I’m exercising my right to free speech. You have no right to arrest me for speaking my mind. I didn’t call this gathering, and I’m not going to jail!”
    Oops. Wrong thing to say to a cop, Lady . The officer drops his shield, whips out his handcuffs, spins the girl and cranks her arms up behind her back in an impressive display of defensive tactics. He has her cuffed in no time flat.
    Freedom of speech only applies when you’re saying what they want to hear. Outright support for paranormals definitely puts you on the wrong side of popular opinion. It usually gets your ass thrown in jail on a trumped-up charge, with an obscenely long wait for a court date. Been there, done that.
    Guess the redhead has bigger balls than brains. Pity, I could have done something with that girl’s fire-- and those cuffs… oh yeah, she has definite bedroom possibilities.
    I continue down the street, willing my growing erection back down to a simmer. The area’s getting a little too crowded with all the “normals” forcing their opinions on everyone else.
    My gut clenches into a tight fist of need when I glance back. The girl is searching in my direction, clearly looking for a savior. But that’s not me, not anymore. I hung up my badge a long time ago. I’m nobody’s hero.
    * * *
    The rogue paras quickly take advantage of the police distraction, surging from the shadows to overwhelm the crowd of humans in a violent free-for-all. Screams of terror, shouts of command and a chorus of confusion are punctuated by the sharp staccato of gunshots in an all too familiar refrain of horror.
    I hear the distinctive, scratchy radios of the military echoing off the buildings in the square before their camouflage personnel trucks rumble into view. They hop out of the back of their trucks and line up like good little boys and girls, ready to follow the government’s every decree. Unfortunately, they’re not very discriminatory when they get called in by locals. If it moves, it’s a target. Whether the recipient is para or normal, the military either can’t tell or doesn’t want to.
    The rich, coppery scent of fresh blood whips by me in a zephyr of wind. Get the fuck out of here! What are you waiting for, Christmas ? But another smell blows in the wind, too, breaking through my shell of antipathy with a sledgehammer of need. Yes! That’s it. That’s what has been drawing me since I came here.
    Separate from the mob, between the rogues and the military, a small knot of police and civilians huddle near the stairs on the edge of the square. Surrounding themselves with their ineffective riot shields, they look frantically toward the reinforced government building.
    Fools! It’s too far. You’ll never make it ! Heat rushes under my skin as I stand in the middle of the street, staring at the doomed group. The auburn hair of the woman shines like a beacon between a gap in the scarred plastic shields. Inhaling as a frigid blast of wind brings in the storm, her scent envelops me like a warm blanket of need, numbing my highly developed sense of survival.
    Bullets rip past me, smacking the wall like bugs on a windshield. I ignore the danger, letting the unexpected feelings surround me, settle in and fill the empty places in my soul. It’s her. It’s the girl . My cock rises in my jeans, constricted by the tight