by Celia Kyle
Did he really have to ask who’d come for him? The human couldn’t be that dumb, could he?
“Take anything! I won’t call the police!” Apparently, he could be that dumb. He obviously thought he was dealing with a simple breaking and entering.
Stella licked her snout, tongue sliding over her left whiskers and then her right. She wanted to do some breaking, all right.
A heavy thud came from one of the rooms upstairs and then the snap of wood from the other side of the house—first floor. Cole’s team was coming in and, dammit, he’d ruin her fun. He wouldn’t let her toy with her prey. Hell, he wouldn’t let her have her prey. So she left her spot in the entry and padded through the house, breathing deep with every step. Walters’s scent permeated the whole house, but she followed the strongest trail and the brightest lights.
She turned left and then right, heading down the hallway toward an open arch. She spied a refrigerator through the opening, which meant she was about to enter the kitchen. Walters probably had probably gone for a knife. Not that it’d do much against Stella. She had her own knives, sixteen to be precise. Long. Sharp. Deadly.
She paused near the edge of the kitchen and drew in another lungful of air, searching for any hint of gun oil or ammunition. She could handle hand-to-paw action, but no one wanted to tangle with a gun. Thankfully, it didn’t smell like Walters had a projectile weapon.
Stella slowly eased around the corner, body moving like water, movements slow and sensuous. The space wasn’t large—there wasn’t even an island in the middle of the kitchen—and it took no time to find the man she sought. He had enough of a brain to have snatched a knife from the block, and he now clutched the handle.
“Oh fuck,” he rasped.
Oh fuck, indeed.
“You…You’re…” He swallowed hard and didn’t say anything else, just stared at her with wide, scared eyes.
Stella hissed, mouth stretched wide to show off her fangs. He was a scared little boy when he didn’t have security and weapons at his disposal. There were no men in white coats with sedatives on standby. Just him. And her.
She moved nearer, prowling and pacing across the kitchen but never losing sight of the trembling human. Her cat wanted him for a midnight snack. He stank of fear and sweat, and the feline wasn’t looking forward to listening to him beg for his life. He’d probably piss himself, and then where would she be? She preferred to go with the “one bite and he’s dead” approach. Her human half…Well, it seemed her human half wanted to see the blood and hear his cries.
Maybe a bit of both?
Stella darted forward, claws outstretched, and she batted at James Walters. Her nails sliced through cloth and flesh, leaving four shallow furrows across his thigh before he could react.
His pain-tinged cry echoed through the house, while the coppery scent of his blood filled the air.
“Stay back!” he sobbed.
As if she’d listen.
She leapt toward him again, this time going for his arm, mouth open and saliva dripping to the tile. Fangs sank through flesh and struck bone, so she added pressure, not stopping until his forearm snapped. The knife clattered to the ground, bouncing on the bloodstained tile.
His whiny shout scraped at her ears, the piercing cries clawing at her eardrums. What a little bitch. The only break in those sounds were the rapid thuds of boots throughout the house. All headed in her direction. It seemed that Cole’s team wasn’t trying for any kind of stealth. They were in a hurry. Probably to stop her. But she refused to be stopped. James Walters had to be killed.
Stella paced in front of Walters once again, scanning his body for her next target. He’d curled in on himself, forming a tiny ball tucked against the corner of the cabinets. He clutched one arm, cradling the damaged limb, while blood flowed freely from the wound in his thigh. If she went at his head, she could…
“Stella,” Cole hissed, and she turned one of her ears to listen to him. She wouldn’t turn her back on Walters. He might still have a trick up his sleeve.
“Help me! This animal—”
Stella growled, the deep rumble beginning in her chest and vibrating through the air. Walters snapped his mouth closed.
“Stella, back off.” Cole again, issuing orders as if he had a right.
She whipped her head around for a split second to hiss at her mate.
“You’ve got guns. She’s a wild animal! Shoot her!”
Oh, James was cruising for a crushed skull.
She curled her lip and batted at him with claws retracted. He cried out again, and she almost rolled her eyes. What a whiny bitch.
“Wild animal? Seriously?” Cole snorted. “You guys hear that? Mr. James Walters, bigwig for Unified Humanity, thinks Stella is a wild animal.”
He racked the slide on one of his weapons. It sounded like a handgun to her, but what did she know? She had eyes on Walters and was the first to see his reaction to Cole’s statement. She got to see his face pale and his mouth drop open, observed the shudder that traveled through his body. She was the first to taste a new scent that wafted off the human. Unfortunately, it wasn’t fear.
“I bet Stella’s a wildcat in bed. Maybe that’s what he means?” She recognized Pike’s voice and decided she’d teach him some manners once she was done with Walters.
Then came the thwap of bone striking flesh, followed by Pike’s grumbled “You didn’t have to hit me.”
“Yes, I really did,” Cole drawled.
Maybe she wouldn’t have to teach Pike anything, but she did still have to handle Walters. She stared at the human and tipped her head to the side, wondering if she could hold him still and bite off his fingers one by one. Her mouth wasn’t exactly shaped to make the process easy, and she’d probably have to sit on him, but maybe…
“Why aren’t you doing anything?” Walters spoke through gritted teeth.
“Well…” Cole’s slow steps echoed in the kitchen, and she spied her mate gradually coming into view in her peripheral vision. He leaned against the granite counter and crossed his arms over his chest, gun still clutched in one hand. “The thing about it is, I don’t really want to.”
“Cole…” Birch’s voice held a warning tone.
Cole grunted. “I can disagree with an order and still carry it out.” He cleared his throat. “As I was saying, I want to let her have at you.”
Stella liked the sound of that and took a step forward, tail flicking and twitching with excitement. Bite, bite, bite…
“But”—her mate’s voice filled the room—“my mate isn’t a killer. Not like me.”
She wasn’t? Actually, she was pretty sure she wanted “killer” on her résumé. Really. She glared at him out of the corner of her eye and huffed. James Walters had destroyed her family. He, in turn, needed to be destroyed. One plus one equals dead, dead, dead.
His voice softened. “Stella, step away from him. Let the team handle this.”
She blew air out of her nose in a feline snort.
“This isn’t you. Step away from him.”
She curled her lip and exposed a single fang. She’d bite him if he kept trying to stop her.
“You aren’t this person.” His voice lowered further, and he dropped into a squat. “Killing another being changes something inside you. I promised you once, and I’ll repeat my promise. I’ll do this for you, Stella. I’ll make sure you get your justice. Let my tiger carry the weight of his death.”
Tail still whipping back and forth, she gave Cole more of her attention, staring at him and weighing his words. But she wanted him dead now.
The sound of creaking leather and metal sliding on metal broke the quiet, and she spared a glance for the others in the room. The whole team other than Grant filled the kitchen, and she figured the wolf was probably in some com center offsite. Now they stared at her, guns pointing at the floor and fingers nowhere near the trigger. They watched and waited, much like Cole. Waited to see what she’d do.
She turned back to Walters, meet
ing his eyes and staring the human down. His complexion had lightened further, skin waxy and peppered with sweat.
“Come on, sweet. Let us take him in.” A large hand stroked her head. The fabric of her skintight suit blunted the sensation, but it couldn’t block his scent. Cole touched her, stroked her in an attempt to calm her raging beast.
“Oh God.” Walters chuckled, the laughter coming out in harsh breaths. “You’re…You are, aren’t you? You’re all shifters.” He sneered and shook his head. “He told me this place was secure. I wouldn’t be found, he said.” Walters grimaced. “And here you are. Abominations.”
Stella flexed her claws, aching to scratch that smirk right off his face, but Cole’s touch stopped her.
“Keep laughing, asshole.” She could hear the smile in Cole’s voice. “Just keep laughing. Laugh all the way to headquarters and right into your cell.”
Walters snorted, and he shook his head. “You think you’ll get me to your little SHOC headquarters? Not likely.”
Stella wondered how the human knew about SHOC. Then again, a man had to know his enemy, and UH had been trying to get rid of shifters for a long time.
“And why is that?”
The human smiled wide, exposing bright white teeth, and his smile reminded her of a great white shark…just before he eats someone. “A mutual acquaintance made sure I got off that boat. You think he’ll let you walk me into your headquarters? I’m untouchable. You won’t hold me for long. Somehow, some way, they’ll get me out, and I’ll disappear.”
Well, the pain she’d caused Walters had at least loosened his tongue a bit. Cole had said he was concerned there was a mole inside SHOC, and Walters had basically confirmed that suspicion. Cole trembled, and she swung her attention to her mate, worried that he’d gotten hurt somehow. But he wasn’t trembling. No, he was laughing.
“I figured I’d probably drag you into headquarters personally.” Cole shrugged and turned to his team alpha. “Actually…You know, Birch. He’s human, and they’re fragile little fucks. I think Mr. Walters needs medical attention. Maybe from our satellite compound about twenty minutes north of here. And since it’s just a quick stopover, we don’t have to give anyone a heads-up, right?” Cole dropped his voice and leaned toward Walters. “Maybe he gets talkative, and he tells us everything.” Cole looked at Birch again. “What do you say?”
Birch grunted. She wasn’t sure what that meant, but Cole must have because a wide smile spread across his face. He was one happy tiger.
Chapter Thirty-five
Stella still hadn’t shifted by the time Cole walked her back to Pike’s SUV. He held the back door open, and the sleek jaguar leapt into the vehicle before he nudged it closed. A double thumping knock on the door signaled Pike he could take off. Then Cole was alone, waiting for his team to haul a still-breathing Walters to their panel van. He stomped across the leaf-strewn grass, the crunch of dead leaves accompanying his every step.
Grant swung the van’s side door open, its light popping on to reveal the interior. The wolf didn’t say a word, simply held out his bag of Doritos.
Cole grunted and stuck his hand in, snagging a handful and chomping down the snack. His cat told him it would have preferred them chomping on Walters. Yeah, well, him too.
Then came the pop of a soda can, and Grant’s hand appeared once more, offering him a drink. They exchanged low grunts, silent guy speak for “thanks” and “you’re welcome.” The fucker was a pain in the ass and liked to tweak Cole’s tail, but he knew enough to be silent when it was needed.
Cole needed it now. Needed it because he’d just sent his mate off with another male while he’d vowed to stick around and end Walters’s life. When all he wanted was to wrap his arms around Stella and hold on tight.
It was good to have a team who got him—didn’t think of him as the rich asshole playing at soldier.
The rustle of brush and the snap of twigs announced the team’s approach, movements loud and peppered with groans and moans. Soon the group came into sight, team members clothed in head-to-toe black, while Walters stumbled along with them. Blood soaked Walters’s pants leg, bright red against his torn khakis. Stella had gotten a good swipe in, at least. He limped, steps stilted, and the only thing keeping him upright was Birch’s tight hold, though one look at Walters’s face showed he was disgusted by the contact.
TFB, motherfucker. Too fucking bad.
They drew near the van, and Birch released the human with a small nudge, sending Walters careening into the side of the vehicle. His head struck metal with a low thump, and he slumped to the ground, one hand clutching his skull.
“Oops,” Birch drawled, then focused on Grant. “Any chatter?”
“No, sir. All’s quiet.”
“Damn.” Birch sighed.
Yeah, Cole didn’t like quiet, either. There should at least be local traffic. If no one was making a sound, there was a reason.
Like their mole pulling strings and hoping to catch Team One doing something they shouldn’t.
Now he was being paranoid, right? A glance at his teammates told him that they were having the same thoughts. All right, then. They’d be paranoid together.
“Time for a trip, Mr. Walters.” Birch grabbed the human once more, using his bear’s strength to pick Walters up like a toy and toss him into the van. Walters whined and groaned as he rolled across the floorboard.
“Hey, no blood on the equipment, man,” Grant grumbled, scooting away from the human, then gathering his electronics and moving them away from Walters. “Blood and electricity don’t mix.”
Cole just snorted and shook his head, following Walters into the vehicle, with Declan right behind him. Birch hopped into the passenger seat, their master of transportation at the wheel. Though Ethan whined like a bitch whenever they took the van on an op.
Why take a van when they could take a Porsche?
Except this time Ethan kept his trap shut. The lion just tugged on his seat belt and got the van moving. They whipped around with a quick U-turn and crept along the darkened suburban streets. Small back roads led them through the countryside, civilization thinning the farther they got from town.
Still quiet. No joking. No laughter. Shit was heavy, the scene they’d just left weighing on them all. Stella hadn’t been able to speak in her jaguar form, but there was no missing the pain she held in her feline heart.
His mate had been broken, shattered by the confrontation. But he’d gotten her to walk away. Now he had to keep his promise. He’d finish it.
Cole must have zoned out, because when he came back to himself, they were pulling between two tall trees, the underbrush hiding what was probably a path at some point. The gravel remained buried beneath the encroaching forest, crunching under their tires. The van swayed back and forth, bouncing over the drive and hitting damn near every pothole.
The trees and brush enveloped them, darkness swallowing their black van as if it were part of the scenery. Soon the trees gave way to a larger open space, a squat cabin in the center of the overgrown clearing. The place looked half dead, the roof caving in and more than one window missing. But it wasn’t the outside that mattered. Nah, it was what remained buried beneath the small building that they’d come for.
A secluded, insulated space to have a private conversation with Walters.
Cole’s tiger rumbled and rubbed against his mental walls. The cat wanted out, anxious to keep their promise to Stella. Soon.
Birch didn’t have to issue orders—this was something they knew by heart. Grant packed up his most important equipment, while Ethan secured the van. Declan scanned their surroundings, the wolf ready to shoot at anything that moved. Cole did the same, palming his nine-millimeter while his tiger lent its assistance. Birch was the one who hauled Walters out of the van, dragging him by his collar across the yard.
Walters struggled to find his feet, cursing and fighting the bear’s grip, but if a grizzly didn’t want to let go, it wasn’t going to let go. The human should jus
t accept his fate and get real talkative, real fast.
They picked their way through the abandoned cabin, wood floor groaning with their weight. Small rodents scattered, shadows scurrying across the small space as they delved deeper and toward the back corner.
“Grant.” Birch growled the wolf’s name, and their tech genius moved forward, dropping to the ground near a trapdoor hidden in the waste. “Get us in undetected.”
Grant lifted the panel of wood and brushed away errant flakes of dirt. He tugged a cord out of his pocket and connected it to a small computer. Once the screen flickered to life, he murmured, “Hello, beautiful.”
Sometimes Cole thought the werewolf loved electronics more than the ladies, but in times like this, that was a good thing.
Cole moved to a nearby window and scanned the rough clearing, searching for any followers. Declan did the same, peering out the front entry while Ethan took a side. Birch kept Walters upright, and the coppery scent of the human’s blood soaked the air. It overwhelmed the cloying flavors of decay, dampening all other aromas.
“We need to get him taped up before he bleeds out.” Cole stated the obvious, getting nothing but a grunt back from his team alpha.
“He’ll stay alive long enough to answer questions,” Ethan murmured, the golden-haired lion’s attention still on the darkness beyond the cabin.
“That’s all that matters.” Declan’s voice floated across the shadows.
“Come to Papa, baby girl,” Grant whispered, fingers flying over keys. He punctuated his next words with harsh taps of the keyboard. “Who’s.” Tap. “Your.” Tap. “Daddy.” Tap.
A soft beep broke the quiet, a small light flashing green from his corner.
“And we’re in with no one the wiser. Saddle up, gang.” The wolf hurried to pack up his toys, carefully tucking his tools away as if they were made of glass.
Things moved fast then, the team peeling away from their positions and crawling into that hole—Birch leading the way. Soft lighting illuminated the abandoned satellite base, the reserve batteries at least giving them a little visibility. Cole brought up the rear, tugging the thick metal door back into place and locking it. With a double tap to the door, he turned and followed his team deeper into the winding halls.