Authors: Elle Thorne
A
riadne’s head was throbbing
. An oceanic wave seemed to be ebbing and flowing in her head. She heard a pounding—loud, like heartbeats, but couldn’t understand where it was coming from.
She’d been next to the coffee table, laying there, as Cross had instructed, then she’d just been getting up—against Cross’s warning to stay down, when another explosion had rocked the cabin and sent her down. She remembered getting hit in the head, but didn’t know what hit her.
Ariadne looked around the dimly lit room. No windows, walls that looked more like a cave’s walls, the room had sparse furniture in it. A table, three chairs.
She wondered, why three?
Then she realized, he wasn’t answering her. She’d never seen that look on Cross’s face.
His eyes were drilling into her, as if he were looking for something.
“Well…?” She prompted him.
“I promised I wouldn’t lie.” He placed the damp washcloth on the table, but his eyes were glued on hers.
“So that means you won’t answer?”
“I can’t.”
That wasn’t good enough. Not by a long shot “I feel so weird. Where are we?”
“In a bunker.”
That’s all he had to say? This was like pulling teeth. Did he not wonder what kind of weird she felt? Or why?
“Where’s this bunker? Where are the guys that threw the grenade? It was Ben and his guys, right?”
“Under my cabin. It seems so.”
Now she’d brought danger to him. That’s when she saw.
“You’ve got blood—you were shot?” What did she miss while she was unconscious?
“It’s nothing. Flesh wounds.”
Didn’t look like nothing from the amount of red on his shirt.
“I didn’t mean to bring you into this. God. We need to call the cops. We—” She couldn’t breathe. It felt like she was—she grabbed the cot’s sides, squeezing. Fine time for a panic attack.
Yeah, as if I can control them. As if panic attacks strike when it’s convenient.
“Ariadne. Breathe.” He grabbed her shoulders. “Relax. You have to. We can’t call law enforcement.”
“Why—” She gasped for air. “Why not?”
“You ask too many questions.” His brows drew downward.
“You give too few answers.”
“You’re one to speak.” He paced the floor. “If you trust me…”
“Of course, I trust you.” How could he even ask her that? After seeing his bloody clothing, after all the risks, how could she not trust him? Though if she were to admit it, she trusted him before this. There was something about this man, a connection that she couldn’t explain though she felt it deeply.
“Then you’ll stay right here. Do nothing. Go nowhere, no matter what you think you hear. They can’t find you in here. It’s not easily accessed unless you’ve been shown. There’s plenty of food here.” He pointed to freestanding pantry shelves in the corner. “And water. Facilities are to the right, just outside this room.”
“I’m not…”
“You will.” His tone brooked no argument.
“But…”
Cross stopped his pacing and approached her. His face was streaked with dust, his expression grim.
He ensnared her with both hands on her hips, pulled her closer. “Do you feel it.”
She couldn’t lie. She nodded.
He leaned forward, dipped his head, his lips alit on hers softly, then he took a long pull of her lips, his tongue claiming hers.
Ariadne had never felt this before. The surge of energy between them swept her into a wind tunnel where only the two of them existed.
The two of them.
And this kiss.
He claimed her mouth with a need that was primal and matched her own passion. Something deep within her connected with him, drew closer to him, melded with his soul.
When he pulled away she was breathless—the good kind of breathless—nothing like a panic attack.
“This right here is why you need to stay put. We have something. I can’t have your mortality putting me in a position where I have to spend an eternity without you.”
She had no clue what he meant. It sounded like poetry, almost, except Cross didn’t seem to be like a poet, not in the least. Not this rough-and-tumble mountain man.
She touched her swollen lips, her skin chafed deliciously from the scruff of his days’ old beard.
She believed in what he was saying, even if she didn’t understand it. There was something between them, finer and less tangible than a spider’s web, and yet stronger than the strongest substance she could fathom.
“I’ll be here.”
“And when I get back, I have things to tell you.” He held her chin, his eyes locked to hers. In the dark depths of his eyes, an amber glow flared. “Things you won’t believe. But you have to know the truth if you’ll be mine. All of the truth.”
The only words that mattered to Ariadne were ‘if you’ll be mine.’
Suddenly, she could picture a life. Not a
Little
House on the Prairie
sort of life, but one filled with adventure, love, trust.
How can this be? I just met him.
She couldn’t answer that.
It simply was.
R
eassured
that Ariadne wouldn’t be leaving the bunker, and ready to end the threat to her life, Cross made his way through the tunnels. He’d go to the opening that was fifty yards to the east and come out. He’d sneak up on them and take them out one at a time.
Yeah, not a very fancy plan, but what options did he have?
Light shone through the tiny opening indicating that he was almost at the end. He’d reached the end of the tunnel systems at the northwest entrance. All told, there were twenty entrances scattered around the mountain. Some were disguised as caves, some were hidden behind waterfalls, others were tucked into tree trunks. Grant’s grandfather hadn’t left anything to chance.
He listened at the exit before parting the vines in the old tree’s trunk. The tunnel’s entrance had been dug and carved out of the ancient’s tree’s body. Just above it, before he exited, he saw the symbol. It was over every tunnel entrance, a prayer of protection. This was what Cross had been told, long ago when he was a teen. Long before he took the steps to secure this property as his own, he’d felt the power of that prayer.
The older shifter who’d given him the tour of the mountain had told Cross that he had a connection to the land.
A teenaged Cross had tried to blow the man off, pretending that his words didn’t matter, though deep down, the idea of having a connection appealed to the orphan.
Cross had never told Mae about the shifter. He’d wondered if she knew, but after the older man asked Cross to keep his presence a secret, Cross couldn’t say no. Not when the man had taught him about the mountain.
The man had told him to call him Griz. No name. Just Griz. A scar crossed his face, starting above his eyebrow, then extending down, over his cheekbone, and almost to his jawline. It was as if a blade—or a bear’s claw—had slashed downward.
Cross had never asked, though God knew, he’d always wanted to.
The thing about Griz, he always seemed to be around during Cross’s most difficult times.
Cross shook his head to push the memories of Griz aside. He needed to concentrate on the task at hand, not get lost in memories of the past. He hadn’t seen Griz since he’d left for the Compliance Unit.
Making his way across, toward the barrage of men he knew awaited him, he kept low, stayed hidden by the trees.
Finally, he found them. Waiting, gathered in loose circles.
He counted ten men.
Fuck.
All armed.
I may live a hell of a long time, but I don’t know that I can take that kind of fire power.
What the hell were they doing?
What were they waiting for?
His answer came quickly.
“How much longer, Ben?” This came from one of the men.
“How many times do I have to tell you? Until Cliff gets here. Mr. Montez said to wait for Cliff.”
Cross studied the man who’d answered.
He’d heard that voice before. The voice on the video with Ariadne’s father.
Ben.
Ariadne’s ex-fiancé.
Murderer.
Dirt bag.
He squinted, studying the man who’d killed her father. He was big. He looked like a thug-wanna-be.
“Yeah, he wants Cliff here because you screwed up, letting her live.” A different guy said.
Ben cocked his arm and slapped the man with a pistol. “Shut your fucking mouth.”
The man fell backward, holding his mouth, blood seeping between fingertips.
“Did you tell him how to get here?” a fourth guy asked.
A murmur of impatience rippled among the men.
“He can track her just like we did.” Ben’s voice was dangerously arrogant.
Track her?
Fuck. Ariadne was still in danger. If they figured out about the tunnels…
Fear ate Cross’s stomach raw. She wasn’t safe. Not as long as whatever they were using to track her was around.
How could they be…?
He tried to think of what…
Her clothing? Her purse? Shoes?
His mind went to that locket she occasionally touched.
Clearly precious to her.
That bastard probably put something in that locket.
He should get back to her. Get her changed, get rid of all her belongings, take her down to Mae’s then come back up here and kick some ass.
He’d have to get to his truck. Somehow.
His bear roared in his head, wanting to shift and kill the man immediately in the bloodiest most painful way possible.
His bear wanted to kill all of them for coming after her.
Not yet. We should make sure she’s safe. As long as she’s being tracked she’s in danger.
His bear bellowed in protest.
No. This isn’t the time. We need to take care of her.
The bear insisted that the best way to take care of her was to take him out.
Take out the head of the snake, then the body follows?
Times like this, he wished he still had some of his men. His small squad of six shifters was deadly, but they were absent.
Tough call. Kill the bastard, protect the girl.
Their argument didn’t last long.
A tiny cracking sound came from the trees to the left of the thugs.
Cross’s head snapped in the direction of the sound.
He made out a tiny form, wobbling and weaving between the trees.
It didn’t take long to recognize the tiny creature.
Baby Buck!
Jesus, the little one had found its way back home.
Cross didn’t even dwell on the fact he’d just thought of his home as the little deer’s home.
The next thing he heard sealed Cross’s plan of action.
“There’s that little deer. You missed him last time.”
“He startled when I shot the momma.” Ben’s voice.
Ben? That bastard shot Buck’s mother?
“Get the little critter now,” the other guy said.
Cross jumped forward, his speed supernatural thanks to his shifter skills, and stood between the little deer and the thugs.
He didn’t have long to think on that one.
A round ripped through the flesh of his shoulder, then another ripped into his bicep. He took the third round in the thigh.
Cross dropped to the ground, covering the little deer with his body. They were half-hidden by a group of bushes and undergrowth.
“Who the hell?” One of the men yelled.
“That’s the one that’s helping Ariadne.”
“Where the hell did he come from?”
“Who knows.”
“Well, he’s out of the picture now.”
“Yeah, he is,” one said with a chuckle.
Buck was still beneath Cross, but he could feel the little deer’s heartbeat. Strong, not steady, because clearly the little one was scared. But strong.
Cross lay still, inhaling. He picked up the scent of his own blood. But he didn’t pick up Buck’s scent. He raised a prayer of thanks that he’d pulled the little deer out of this unscathed.
So far.
He still needed to get the deer to freedom.
And Ariadne to safety.
Cross felt his body weakening. He was losing blood. His pulse was getting weaker. He’d have to shift to heal fast enough to staunch the outflow of blood.
His bear pushed on Cross, insisting on a shift. It was a matter of self-preservation for the bear now. His bear knew that if Cross couldn’t live, the bear couldn’t, not if they reached that point of no return.
His grizzly roared for release.
Cross was ready to give control to the bear.
Let’s wreak some havoc on these motherfuckers.
He prayed that the little deer wouldn’t have a heart attack from finding himself beneath a grizzly.
“Should we check on him?”
“Nah. No one could live through that.”
He heard them speaking, even through the sounds of his bones crunching and grinding, tendons expanding.
He rose slowly, letting the little deer up. The deer sniffed at Cross’s bear, then nuzzled his leg.
He knows me. Even in my bear, he knows me.
Cross grumbled softly at Buck.
Get the hell out of here, little fella. I’m gonna rain some hell on the bastards that killed your momma.
Man, that hit close to home for Cross. Thinking of losing his parents, seeing little Buck an orphan.
Anger coursed through him, driving the adrenaline through his bear with a ferocity that had never been matched in passion to the jobs he’d done as an Enforcer.
Those were jobs. This was personal.
As if he got it, as if he knew what Cross wanted him to do, the little deer sprinted back, behind the trees, standing in the shadows of tall brush, he watched Cross’s bear with alert eyes.
Cross bellowed. He released his wrath and his frustration with a roar. Rearing up on his hind legs, letting the men see the full extent of his height, the measure of lethal danger he could yield, Cross charged them.
He took round after round from each man, plowing through them, mowing them down like unwanted weeds.
Cross was bleeding from more bullet hole wounds than he could count, but he kept charging, mauling, lunging, fighting.
Until one pulled out the AK.
Fuck.
Things weren’t going to be as easy as he thought.
The first few rounds pierced his hide and yet Cross kept going.
It was the last few shots that did him in.
He catapulted into a headfirst fall, rolled and collapsed, his eyes looking to the sky that old Griz had told him was the place that he’d see him again one day.
Then he heard the growls.
The sound of roaring.
Followed by screaming.
A shadowy form flew over him. large, black and white stripes merging in thick fur.
He turned his head, his vision blurry.
Brown fur.
Black fur.
White and dark.
Stripes.
A flurry of movement as his eyes closed.