Authors: Colleen Gleason
Dylan could have shifted back to human and joined the discussion, but he stayed animal. Smart—it gave him the best chance to take down Seamus if Seamus tried to run. The tiger remained in his beast form as well, but he was walking the boundary, not listening to the conversation.
Seamus knew that the minute he shifted to human, they’d take him. He couldn’t fight them all, even if he remained in big cat form, but they seemed to think he was at bay for now.
His advantage—they had Collars, and Seamus did not.
Seamus didn’t wait to calculate trajectory, speed, whatever. If he did, Dylan would sense it, and be all over him before he could take one step.
So he simply ran. One moment he was in a defensive posture against Dylan, claws dug into the dirt, the next, he was running.
His only thought was to lead them far away. They’d chase Seamus, leave Bree alone. Bree wasn’t stupid—she’d take her mother to safety as soon as the Shifters came after him.
Texas weeds and dirt tore loose under his feet, billowing up a concealing cloud. Seamus increased his speed, making for the open fields that led to rolling hill country ...
... and found a giant Bengal tiger pinning him down.
Damn, the tiger was strong and fecking
fast
. Tiger paws crushed Seamus’s back, and a mouth with massive teeth closed around his neck. Nothing broke the skin, but he had Seamus flat. Seamus wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.
Dylan came jogging up, in his human form now. He was strong-bodied, with dark hair going gray at the temples, and blue eyes that had observed much for many years.
“Shift,” Dylan ordered.
His dominance was so complete that Seamus started to obey before he stopped himself. The Tiger still had his paws firmly on Seamus’s back, the pressure of which would crush his human form.
“Tiger, ease off,” Dylan said. “Seamus, I need you able to talk to me.”
Seamus didn’t give a damn. He didn’t want to talk, he wanted to get the hell away from here.
What sold him was the fact that the bear had caught hold of Bree. He held her loosely, not hurting her, but his stance told Seamus that he knew how to contain people, no matter what they tried.
Behind them, the big Lupine had started for Nadine, his hands up, as though in surrender. While he pretended to come at her peacefully, Tatt Man slid silently behind Nadine and had the shotgun out of her arms before she understood what was happening. Felines could be damn stealthy.
Tatt-Man uncocked the shotgun, and the Lupine blew out a breath. “Thanks, Spike.”
Nadine turned on Spike, lunging for the gun, but the Lupine caught and held her in an easy grip. “Not so fast, Mom. Let’s go inside, and you can make us coffee.”
“Fuck you!” Nadine stated.
The Lupine looked amused. “You know, you remind me of my aunt.”
The bear pulled his attention back from them. “I’m Ronan,” he said to Bree. “The full-of-himself Lupine is Broderick, then we have Spike with the tattoos, Sean with the sword, and ... Tiger. He’s just called Tiger. Dylan’s the other lion who likes to tell people what to do.”
Bree folded her arms, not caring. “Nice to meet you, Ronan. Now, get lost.”
“We can’t do that, lass,” Sean said. “We really are here to help Seamus. If he didn’t do the murders, fine and good. If he did—we have to figure out why and what to do before the human police get here and take him.”
Bree hesitated. Seamus felt the indecision pouring off her—the need to believe Seamus had nothing to do with it warring with her fears that maybe he had.
Seamus would love to reassure her, but he still couldn’t remember what had happened. Easy enough to recall a moment of wild, hot triumph, the taste of blood, the mad snarling, then the need to run and the pain of the shots. Hitting the parking lot of the roadhouse, searching for escape, and finding Bree waiting ...
Seamus shifted, his muscles stretching and aching as he moved again to human form. “All right,” he said as he straightened to his full height, his voice still holding the growl of his lion. “Let’s go inside, and talk. But no matter what I did, leave Bree and Nadine out of it. They had nothing to do with anything.”
Dylan watched him a moment, then gave him a nod. “Understood. Ronan, Spike, Broderick, cover the outside. Nadine ...” He pinned Nadine with an alpha stare, which apparently did not impress her. “May we enter your house?”
***
Bree watched her mother weigh the pros and cons of letting the Shifters talk versus trying to grab the shotgun back from Spike and opening fire. Nadine hated obeying orders, especially from men. Back in her younger days, Nadine hadn’t had to fight for her rights as a woman—she’d simply taken them, to hell with anyone who got in her way.
Finally, Nadine shrugged and headed into the house. She wanted to know what was going on as much as Bree did.
Bree went straight to Seamus. He’d shifted from lion to human before her eyes and now stood tall in the dust and weeds beyond their small yard without a stitch on. He’d been hot enough in only his jeans, but now ...
The bandages had ripped away when he’d shifted—pieces lay scattered across the patch of lawn behind the house. The bruises on his ribs had faded, the holes where the bullets had been, now small, red marks.
Seamus betrayed no embarrassment being unclothed in front of Bree or the others. From what Bree had learned, Shifters were more animal in their emotions than human—shifting was natural, nothing to be ashamed of.
Bree saw nothing at
all
to shame him. Seamus’s thighs were tight under flat, hard abs, and what hung between those thighs made her break into a sweat. Shifters were bigger than human men, in all ways. Seriously.
Bree realized she was staring and raised her gaze from his nether regions, but Seamus had seen. From the look on his face, he didn’t mind.
Behind his mild satisfaction that she liked looking at him, Bree read need in his eyes, and despair, and deep fear. Seamus was afraid he truly had killed the hunters, Bree saw, and the idea haunted him.
“I don’t remember,” he said fiercely. He looked directly at Bree, no one else. “I don’t remember anything. Only fighting something, running hard and fast, the shots, the roadhouse, and then you.”
Bree stepped closer to him, the ground cold and sharp under her bare feet, and closed her hands around his forearms. “I won’t let them take you away.” She looked straight up into his face, willing him to believe her. “I won’t let them lock you up for something you didn’t do.”
Seamus’s golden eyes glittered in the morning light. “I don’t
know
if I didn’t do it.”
“Come inside,” Bree said softly. “We’ll find out.”
Seamus kept his gaze on her, in spite of the other Shifters drifting to circle them—Dylan wasn’t about to let him get away again. Only he and Bree might be standing there in the Texas dawn, a cold breeze plucking at them, while the rest of the Shifters, the house, the sign in the field promising a new development coming soon—the sign had been there for five years, their neighbors had told them—the entire world, floated away.
Bree gave Seamus’s arms a squeeze. His skin was hot, smooth over muscle, satin over steel. Seamus stood impossibly still while his eyes betrayed that, inside, he was one mass of pain.
Bree remembered when he’d first jumped into her truck, the wildness in his eyes, the anger, the fear.
Are you feral?
she’d asked him.
Maybe,
he’d answered distractedly.
Not yet
...
But he feared he was becoming so. A feral Shifter might not remember that he’d killed two men and fled, coming to himself long enough to force a woman in a truck to help him get away.
“I won’t let you,” Bree told him, her voice firm. “I won’t let you be feral. Understand me?”
Seamus only watched her, whatever thoughts warring in his mind making his eyes fill with fear, his skin bead with sweat.
He abruptly closed his hands over her arms in return, his large fingers folding around her. “I need ...”
Whatever he needed, he couldn’t express with speech. His hands bit down, the grip tight, and mercilessly strong.
But not to hurt her—Seamus was trying to hold on to something that wasn’t whirling, rushing, and tumbling over him. Bree met his gaze, wanting to tell him she believed in him, was there for him, but not finding the right words.
He didn’t need words, she realized. Her touch was enough.
Behind Bree, Ronan was rumbling in his deep voice. “I think it’s too late for an investigation, Dylan. They’re coming.”
Ronan didn’t specify who
they
were, but there wasn’t much mistaking the sirens that wailed across the fields and from the end of the drive to the house.
Dylan had pulled on jeans and a button-down shirt. “Inside,” he commanded.
“Now.”
Seamus grabbed Bree’s hand and hustled her across the damp lawn toward the house, sweeping up the pile of his clothes on the way. Bree stumbled up the steps and into the kitchen as the harsh sound of sirens coated the air.
“Seriously—who called the cops?” Nadine demanded as Seamus and Bree, Dylan, Sean, and Tiger entered the kitchen. Dylan closed the door behind them and locked it. The other Shifters had faded from sight outside, blending into the early gray light.
Bree’s heart was pounding. Seamus still had hold of her hand. They were bound together through the clasp, as though Seamus wouldn’t go feral as long as they didn’t part.
Spike had handed Dylan the shotgun. Dylan popped the cartridges out and gave the unloaded gun back to Nadine. She took it, tight-lipped, but locked the gun into the cabinet inside the basement door. She wasn’t foolish enough to go waving it around in front of police—well, not again, anyway. A night in jail in Louisiana had cured her of that.
“Who, is a good question,” Dylan said. He moved to the front room, his words trailing behind him.
Seamus released Bree to resume his clothes, but he didn’t move far from her. He was settling the T-shirt as Sean unstrapped the sword from his back.
The sword was gigantic, with a broad hilt, and looked very old. Letters Bree couldn’t decipher were etched on the hilt and the crosspiece, running down into the sheath.
The Sword of the Guardian, Bree knew, though she’d never seen one. The blade was driven through the heart of a Shifter who’d died or was dying, to turn his or her body to dust and release the soul to the Summerland, the afterlife.
This sword, which looked ancient, must have gone through many Shifters in its time. Bree took a step back as Sean held it across both hands, and she noticed that Seamus did as well.
“Will ye lock this in yon cabinet with your weapons, lass?” Sean asked Nadine. “Can’t be letting the cops get hold of it.”
Nadine heaved a sigh and beckoned him to follow. Sean went with her to the basement door.
Dylan returned to the kitchen. Bree couldn’t see the other Shifters outside, but then, Shifters were good at hiding themselves.
The easiest thing Dylan could do was hand off Seamus to the cops. He could claim that Nadine and Bree had been Seamus’s hostages, and Dylan and his Shifters had come here to rescue them and take Seamus in themselves.
Everyone would be happy, except Seamus, who’d be tranqued and taken away, likely to be put into a cage and then terminated. Bree was well aware what humans did to Shifters who were considered dangerous.
Bree sent Dylan a narrow look. “Don’t you dare. You don’t even know if he’s guilty.”
Dylan ignored her. He’d taken what looked like a chain from his pocket, and now he dangled it in front of Seamus.
The chain was of silver and black metal, woven into thick links. At its end hung a pendant, the Celtic knot, which would rest against Seamus’s throat. Dylan wore an identical chain, as did all the Shifters here. A Collar.
Seamus’s face went gray. “No, I can’t.”
“Suck it up and put it on,” Dylan said sternly. “The police can’t see you without one.”
“It’s fake.” The slow growl of Tiger’s voice filled the room. The big man with eyes as golden as Seamus’s touched the Celtic knot on his own Collar. “Like mine.”
Sean returned to them as Nadine moved behind him and, of all things, started making coffee. “That’s supposed to be a secret, big guy,” Sean said to Tiger.
“They need to know,” Tiger answered.
Fake?
Seamus was studying the Collar in grave suspicion. It sure looked real to Bree, no different than the ones around Sean’s or Dylan’s necks ... and even Tiger’s.
Bree went cold as she realized the implications of what Tiger had said—his Collar wasn’t real. That meant there was nothing to stop him from becoming that huge Bengal again and tearing into everyone, including Dylan.
Come to think of it, when Tiger had jumped on Seamus to bring him down, his Collar hadn’t sparked. The Collars were supposed to, whenever a Shifter started to seriously fight. It would jerk pain through the Shifter’s entire nervous system, shutting him down.
Bree and her groupie friends knew good and well that the Shifters had adapted to that pain—had to or it would have killed them long ago. They could fight each other at the illegal and secret fight clubs, ignoring the Collars the best they could to battle it out within the rings.
The fight clubs had
some
rules—no killing was the biggest one. Second biggest, fights were for exhibition only. Their outcomes did not change a Shifter’s place in the dominance hierarchy. Bree had attended a few fight clubs in New Orleans but had not yet been to the one in South Texas. She wasn’t even sure where it was held, but she knew it existed. Word got around.
Seamus slowly reached for the chain. He flinched when he closed his fingers around it, though the Collar did nothing. He stared at it for a long time, a swallow moving the throat the Collar would bind.
“I can’t,” he said in a near whisper. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
“It won’t do anything but rest on your neck,” Dylan assured him. “You’re going to have to trust me, son. If they see you without a Collar, they’ll arrest you on the spot. Or maybe they’ll just shoot you.”
Seamus couldn’t take his eyes off the Collar. He wasn’t stupid—Bree could see he fully understood that the human police would go ballistic the minute they saw Seamus with a bare neck. But the idea of wearing it was making him a little crazy. He’d never worn one, had somehow escaped the captivity that all Shifters now had to endure.