Another gunshot and she couldn’t help herself. She veered toward the cabin. In her haste, she stumbled over an exposed root and went tumbling. The bear loomed over her, froth coating its mouth. Claws that could rip out her throat flared out and were crashing down. She rolled, but her back was scored. She yelped and twisted, but there wasn’t an immediate follow-up attack. The bear was shaking its head and snuffling.
It met her gaze and its eyes were clear, but exhausted. She carefully rolled to her feet, ignoring the searing pain in her hide. Calling on her own ability, she lowered her gaze and skirted a few feet away. Submission. She wasn’t a danger.
Another gusty exhale. She looked toward the cabin and whined. Danger.
The big, shaggy head swung in the same direction. She circled farther away and sat to show him she respected his size and dominance.
Somehow, her communication got through his terror. He lumbered away from the cabin, limping and zigzagging.
She staggered to all fours. The cuts were deep, but not fatal. She’d heal.
Sticking close to the trees, she made her way toward the cabin while staying concealed. She’d find out what was going on, who was doing the shooting, before she charged in to help.
She inhaled. So much blood. Four different shifters plus her. None of them was getting out of this unscathed.
The stench of death greeted her. Her heart rate kicked up. Was it just the brother that had controlled the bear? She lifted her snout and sniffed. Too many injuries to tell.
She crept forward until she had a decent view of the fight. Two prone figures were on the ground, but only one of them was moving. Malcolm, crawling toward the cabin.
Harrison was tangled in a fight with… She squinted. Rafe. The guy had always been a brute and he fought dirty. Each male wielded a knife and their fangs.
She glanced at Clayton. He must’ve been the one to control animals. He was nude with a neat gunshot in one side of his head and a not so neat hole out the other side. Had he been in shifter form when he’d charged?
She stepped out. Malcolm needed help. Rafe barely spared her a glance, but his eyes were packed with hate and fury. Yet he could do nothing to her while fighting Harrison. She trotted to Malcolm and nosed him in the shoulder to let him know she was there. The smells were too chaotic to determine proximity.
“Silver,” he gasped. His shoulder was ripped apart and he had a stab wound in his thigh. He’d sacrificed himself to shoot the wolf going after Harrison and taken a stab wound for the team.
Darting into the cabin, she found the container of salt. She shifted into her human form and opened the spout. Running back out to Malcolm, she dumped the salt on his shoulder.
He groaned and tried to roll away. “Fuuuuuck.”
That was a good sign, right? She scanned the yard. The glint of metal caught her eye. One of the guns.
Thuds and grunts filled the night. She scurried to the weapon, oblivious to her nudity. This was a good way to cure her self-consciousness.
Her hand was shaking when she reached for it. The years peeled away until she recalled the sight of her hand gripping another handgun. Except Roman’s had been a silver pistol. This was sleek and black. Modern.
Self-defense was about learning the skills she would choose to use in a fight. But she would never have chosen to use a firearm—a skill she didn’t possess in the first place. And this wasn’t self-defense. This wasn’t a situation she could command her way out of.
This was survival—hers and the twins’.
She had no clue about safeties or ammo or how to tell if a gun was loaded and ready to fire. She’d just have to learn on the fly, and remember what Mother had taught her about guns years ago—lessons she’d never been brave enough to use.
Steadying her hand with her other, she waited for a break in the fight, waited for her moment. Her gut twisted and she saw Roman’s face in front of her, laughing about how weak she was, how she could never pull the trigger. How he’d spare her if she put the gun down.
Only your bitch of a mother will pay.
The gunshot from years ago rang in her ears until she couldn’t decipher what was happening in front of her now and what had happened then.
She blinked and squinted. Roman is dead. You can’t even aim properly. Look how you’re holding that thing. Can you live with killing me, Bunny? Can you kill your unarmed mate?
She shook her head, her vision clearing in time to see Rafe slice down, the metal of his knife glinting in the starlight. Harrison danced back and kicked out. His boot hit Rafe in the gut. Stumbling back, Rafe snarled. He plowed to a stop and crouched to charge Harrison.
This was her moment. She lifted the gun. But the truth of Roman’s words echoed in her head. Killing him had taken everything away from her. For years, she’d seen him drop every time she shut her eyes.
Rafe sneered in her direction, readjusted the knife, and stalked toward her.
“Unload the clip in him,” Harrison barked at her.
Rafe was drawing near. “Sure you can do it yourself?” Bloody spittle covered his mouth as he laughed. “Why don’t you give the gun to one of your bodyguards?”
Harrison’s lips thinned and he attacked. Rafe spun and plunged into Harrison’s gut.
“No!” She’d screwed up her chance. She’d failed just like Roman had said she would.
Malcolm was next to her, swaying on his feet. He lifted the gun from her numb fingers and aimed. How could he shoot? The males were tangled together.
Harrison dropped to a crouch and the gun fired three times. Rafe jerked with each shot.
Harrison shoved him off and rolled backward out of the way, but he didn’t pop up.
She could do nothing but stare as Malcolm retrieved the salt for Harrison. Both Raymore brothers had silver-laced bullets in their heads and both had managed to die looking just as violent in death as they had been alive.
Taking a life shouldn’t be easy. But she hadn’t managed to do it to save herself, or even the male she was falling in love with. Roman was still in her head when it counted the most.
She didn’t know how long she stood there. Then Harrison was next to her, his hands on her shoulders. “It’s over,” he murmured. “It’s over.”
Chapter 17
This was the most the Synod had ever heard him speak. Harrison sat on a chair, facing the panel of five. Malcolm was next to him as they recounted the fight.
It hadn’t been forty-eight hours since Rafe and Clayton were terminated. He, Malcolm, and Sylva had finished their rations to spur healing and started the hike back to Malcolm’s pickup. Once they’d found a nice place to camp, they’d passed out until morning, then finished the long hike.
Malcolm had given up on conversation after the first few miles. Sylva had been stuck in her head and Harrison had a good guess why.
Instead of going to Sylva’s, they’d gone straight for the Synod. They’d cleaned up, patched their clothing where needed, cleaned their weapons, and slept. So much sleep.
As soon as they’d arrived at headquarters, Sylva had gone to check on her parents, and again when she’d woken. They were almost completely recovered and she’d spent the rest of the day with them.
He couldn’t forget the conversation they’d been in the middle of when they’d gotten jumped.
Up on the dais, Sylva was quiet, her eyes downcast as he recounted the fight. Demetrius and Jonathon looked like they could be passing a bowl of popcorn. They’d stopped him with twenty questions already about technique and style and more details than Harrison thought were important. He wrapped up the story and pressed his lips shut.
With the exception of Sylva, they seemed satisfied with the outcome. It made no difference to them whether Sylva had pulled the trigger or not, but Harrison had glossed over that part.
Demetrius tapped his hands on the tabletop. “I vote for you two to be the ones to go to the colony and inform them of the change in leadership, effective immediately. They’ll need to decide on a
new leading clan, with a leader who is not a Raymore.”
Jonathon inclined his head. “I agree. It’ll make more of a statement, as well as stress our message that they must allow and facilitate access to the Synod’s resources for their residents.”
Harrison wanted nothing more than to march into Four Claws and tell them how it was going to go. But there was that talk with Sylva.
Demke glanced at Sylva. “Unless you feel like you require their services?”
Sylva worried her lower lip, but she shook her head and summoned a small smile. “It will be quiet, but I will be fine. And I’ll tell John Todd about his brothers. Later.”
He didn’t blame her for waiting. John Todd would sniff out the fact that she hadn’t killed either brother and taunt her with it. She needed to fortify herself against him first.
“When would you like us to go?” Malcolm asked.
“As soon as possible.” When no one else added their thoughts, Jonathon continued. “Don’t give them time to reorganize. I’d rather they learned from us that Rafe and Clayton are dead.”
This was not a new assignment for him and Malcolm. They often went to small colonies on behalf of the Synod to open up communication, sometimes with discussion, other times with a heavier hand. But this time, it was personal. As if he hadn’t understood before how important it was that packs had to answer to an authority beyond their borders. This time, he’d seen firsthand why it was critical.
Demke rose, signaling their dismissal. “Clear your things out of Sylva’s and notify me when you head out.”
Harrison and Malcolm walked out with Sylva. The sun had already set, but it was only eleven at night. The late meeting had been for the vampires, but it had also allowed them to rest up.
Malcolm tossed him the keys. “I’ll have Demke take me back to the apartment. Pick me up on the way out of town. You two can talk and shit.”
Harrison stiffened. Talk. Picking up where they’d left off. It was time to be honest with himself. And her.
“Malcolm,” Sylva began, “never let it be said that I don’t appreciate your subtlety.”
He spread his arms. “I’ve heard it’s my best quality.”
Harrison glared at him, nerves rocking his body like the time he’d taken the blame for ruining Maw’s rose bushes.
Sylva climbed into the pickup. He got behind the wheel, fired up the engine, and pulled away. She propped her arm on the side of the door. Her dark hair blended in with the night and her eyes reflected the streetlights as he flew through town. Now or never.
“Sylva—”
“Was I special?” They were on the highway now, and without the streetlights, her expression was concealed in shadow.
“Yes.” Then he said deliberately, “You are special.”
She looked at him. “You really haven’t been with anyone on your own?”
For once, he let himself talk about her, about them. “Gloria and I were teenagers when we met. My family rarely ventured into town, but Malcolm and I were young males getting restless. I saw her crossing the street and I knew. She wasn’t like the other females, and at first it was just what I wanted. Then…”
“She was a victim of her birth?”
He chuffed out a breath. “Yeah. If she’d been born to any other family, she could’ve lived in peace. But she was determined to make her parents proud. She was just as determined to prove herself.”
“So she kept herself distanced from you to prove she could stand on her own, while relying on you to scare away anyone who’d hurt her.”
“Yep.”
“I’m like her.”
He was going to deny it, but he wasn’t sure what answer she wanted from him. “In some ways.” She didn’t reply and he sifted through his head for something to say. All he could come up with was “How are your parents?”
“Good.” Her voice lightened but was it just artifice? “Really good. They’re so relieved. And so proud.” They shouldn’t be went unsaid but he’d bet she was thinking it.
They fell quiet again. Was this how Malcolm felt when there was silence, jittery and uncomfortable? He said the first words that came to mind. Important words. “I like you. And not because you’re like Gloria. I like you because you care about others. You’re kind and sexy and you make me feel…like myself.”
She was staring at him. He wanted to face her, but he’d go off the road. Or stop the pickup and take her right there on the side of the road—if she’d let him. He needed to show her how he felt.
“It wasn’t just empowering sex for me. I wanted to be with you.” Her tone wasn’t shy. It was strong. Firm. Decisive. “I still do. The way you make me feel…” She sighed. “Like myself. Like it’s okay to be myself. I’m just really tired of pretending and I don’t have to do that with you.”
“I count our walks at night as the favorite time of my life.” More had to be in his future. Had to.
“Can you… Can we… before you go, can we be together?”
His body lit up like a holiday parade. He wanted to be with her, too. And while the time by the ruined garden was special and their stolen moments against the bathroom counter and out in the garage had been amazing, he wanted to…he wanted…
To make love, dammit. Nice and slow.
He pulled into her yard and parked in the usual spot. Killing the engine, he let the quiet of the night seep into the cab. “Malcolm won’t mind if I take a little extra time.”
He slipped out and got to her side before she could open the door. Helping her out, he did his best impression of a gentleman, which was mimicking Malcolm in this case.
Sylva smiled at him, but his good manners only went so far.
“I wanted slow and easy,” he growled, picking her up, “but I think just getting you to a bed will have to be enough for now.”
She wound her arms around his neck and hooked her legs around his waist. “We’ll have more time when you get back.” She planted her mouth on his.
A slither of unease passed through him like ghosts from his past. He was leaving her. But she was safe. She wasn’t begging him to stay.
It was his senses that got him up the porch stairs to unlock her front door. Pushing through the entry, he kicked his boots off and went straight for the spare room she’d been using. Spreading her out on the bed, he stood back and rolled his tattered T-shirt up. She propped herself on her elbows, her silky hair falling back. Her curvy body was on display—but she was still clothed.
Less than a day ago, a bear had been chasing her and he couldn’t get to her. But she’d survived and she’d run back to the fight. He had to see her now. Ripping his shirt off, he growled, “Take your clothes off.”
She stretched up to lift her top over her head. He couldn’t pull his gaze away as she kicked her boots off and shimmied out of her bottoms. Somehow, he’d managed to strip himself. He crawled onto the bed and over her.
He’d never had such an urge to plunge inside a female and let his body take over, to release only so he could start over. But he held himself off her and saw to her pleasure first.
Starting with a kiss. Long and sensual until she was clinging to him. She slid her legs up and down his, but he couldn’t lower himself or he’d be a goner.
“Spread your legs for me, Sylva.”
She did as he asked without hesitation. Leisurely, he made his way down her body. Their previous times together had been about what he could do for her, but this was about how good it could be between them. How good they could be for each other. How they could communicate when words failed.
I like you didn’t come close to his feelings for her. He knew her scent, her expressions, when she needed a little more support and when she could conquer on her own. He knew her body, her taste, and how she arched just before she came. He knew that she wanted to be held afterward but was too afraid to ask. His own insecurities at the time had made him wonder if she’d just wanted to get away without hurting his feelings.
But there’d be holding t
onight. He and Malcolm might not be able to leave until dawn.
Pressing a kiss over her navel, he wedged himself between her thighs and gazed up at her.
Her skin was flushed and desire filled her violet eyes.
“I’m going to make this good for you,” he said. There was no reason not to, and talking during sex had never been his thing, but he was different with her.
“You don’t have to try too hard.”
“Like this?” He dipped his head and licked through her until he landed on her clit.
She bucked against him. “Oh, god. Just like that.”
She was wet and responsive and no, he wouldn’t have to do much before she was coming on his tongue. Forcing himself to slow down, he strung out her pleasure. He refused to think his past was useless. If it had taught him the skills to show Sylva how much he cared about her, then so be it. He called on every single trick he’d ever learned.
“Harris—Harrison!” Sylva squirmed, but he held her tight. Her hands were twisted in his hair and she rode his face, searching for her release.
Not yet, honey.
He slid a finger inside her and groaned. Wet, hot, and tighter than he’d ever felt. She was coiled and ready to blow.
He set a steady pace and backed off with his tongue.
She rocked her hips once, then again, and a long groan left her as she arched her back.
There it was. His beautiful shifter was climaxing. Letting his finger do the rest of the work, he looked up and watched as her eyes fell closed and she moaned his name over and over. Her body shook and when she was done, her legs went lax.
“That was amazing,” he said as he slipped his finger out and heaved himself over her.
Her scent coated his face, his beard, but neither one of them ever cared. Trailing her fingers over his beard, she murmured, “It was amazing for me. You did all the work.”
He touched her forehead with his. “And for me. Giving you pleasure means a lot to me. I get to watch you come. I treasure it.” Look at that. Give him Sylva and an erection and he couldn’t shut up.
A Shifter's Bodyguard (Pale Moonlight Book 5) Page 16