by Lauren Esker
"But that's ... that's just nuts. You don't take people out in the woods and hunt them to see if they qualify for a promotion!"
"All shifters have their own ways of doing things." That salesman smile. So friendly. So reasonable. "This is ours. Usually, only lions can be promoted to the highest levels of our company. But you're something special. No one has ever done as well as you and your big ursine friend. Where is he, anyway?"
Jack. The thought of Jack jolted her out of the lulling effect of Roger's soothing voice and placating words. Jack certainly wasn't going to accept any bullshit job offer. Jack was an SCB agent. He would put all of these people in prison as soon as look at them. In prison, where they belonged.
Roger's figured out you're hard to kill and he's trying to buy you off. Don't let him.
She conjured up a mental image of Wendy, like a talisman against Roger's sweet, lying words. Wendy's smile was her armor; Wendy's laugh was her shield. Wendy, with her green-striped hair flung back, smiling on that park bench by the ocean, three days before she disappeared forever.
"What about Wendy?" she asked. "Did you make this same offer to her?"
"Wendy?" Roger said.
"Wendy Lebrun. She worked in the software division and went missing two years ago. Don't tell me you don't remember her, asshole. You faked a whole move to Colorado for her, put photos on Facebook and everything."
"I'll have to take your word for that last part," Roger said. "That was probably Mara. She's a whiz at that kind of thing."
"Tell me you remember her, at least!"
He spread his hands again; an impatient crease appeared between his sculpted blond brows. "Casey, it's not the past I want to talk about. It's your future."
The rage was growing in her again, swelling in her chest until it seemed she should be visibly puffing up with it. If she'd been in her feline body, all her fur would've stood on end. "Wendy isn't the past. She was—No, she is my friend, and she worked for you, and you killed her. At least have the decency to tell me you remember her fucking name!"
The last word emerged in a scream, and she had the satisfaction of seeing him flinch.
"There's nothing to gain from getting emotional," Roger said. His white-toothed salesman's smile had become somewhat fixed. "Yes, the name rings a bell. She wasn't anything like your caliber, though. No sense of strategy at all."
Of course not. Wendy had been a very straightforward, honest person. It was part of her charm. She wouldn't have been able to understand why anyone wanted to kill her. She'd probably have tried to make friends with them, talk them out of it—
Casey's hands balled into fists so tight that her nails bit into her palms.
"Not like me, huh?" she asked through gritted teeth.
"Not at all like you. How interesting that you two knew each other. She was quite intelligent, but not clever at all. A total disappointment. She barely lasted the first few hours—"
Casey shifted to the lynx, springing as she went.
She almost succeeded, almost tore into his unprotected human belly and throat. They were so close together that he didn't have time to dodge and barely had time to react. He shifted just as she hit him, and her claws bit deep into the golden fur, scoring his face and ripping across his shoulder.
Got you!
They rolled and came up facing each other. Roger seemed utterly shocked. Other than the marks she'd just made, there were no scars on his glossy hide. He probably didn't fight until the end, letting his brothers and sisters wear down the pride's chosen prey before he moved in for the kill. Casey wondered if any of their victims had ever hurt him before.
Then he opened his jaws and roared.
At this close range, the sound was deafening.
Another roar went up instantly, very nearby. Roger roared again. The entire world seemed to be a wall of solid noise.
Casey ran.
She'd been right about the woods and the relative size of her pursuers. She darted between close-standing tree trunks, ghosted through brambles, slid with feline agility under fallen cedars. Behind her, Roger crashed through the brush like an elephant. He couldn't keep up, and fell steadily behind.
But lynx were not distance runners. She wasn't sure how long she could maintain this speed.
She also hadn't realized how hard it would be to backtrail herself while running flat-out for her life. There was no opportunity to check for her own scent or look for the flattened grass of her passing. She just had to hope if she kept going uphill, Jack would be able to find her.
Another lion loomed suddenly in front of her, jaws open, snarling. This was a male, the same one they'd fought at the cabin; she could tell because the side of his face was lumpy with wasp stings. One of his eyes was swollen shut.
Vicious satisfaction filled her. I hope it hurt, asshole.
He swung for her with a big paw. She veered aside, thinking of little now except getting away. The trees ended and she found herself in the edge of the stump field. There was no cover and the Fallons were right behind her.
Could she make the boat from here? No, the open ground favored the lions, with their long legs. But she couldn't double back; she'd lose her lead.
Instead, she streaked toward the cabins. The lynx had one other advantage over bigger predators: it could fit into spaces they could not. She wished she'd thought of it sooner. She might have been able to scope out a place to hide. Now she aimed for the camp in the hope that something would present itself.
To her gratified surprise, something did: the cabin roofs. They were low, with a shallow pitch. She couldn't jump all the way from the ground to the roof, but she leaped onto a propane tank behind the cabin on the end, and from there to the roof of the woodshed, and on up to the cabin's tin roof.
Her claws scraped uncomfortably on the metal, but she was able to avoid sliding off as long as she didn't stop. She scrambled all the way to the top and crouched on the peak of the roof, ears flat and stubby tail twitching.
She didn't think the lions could replicate her feat. They were too big and heavy.
The two male lions loped up to the cabin and circled around it, looking up at her, annoyed and confused. Roger shifted first. The one with the wasp-stung face, who had to be Rory, stayed in lion form and paced back and forth, rumbling a low growl.
"See, this is what I'm talking about," Roger said, gazing up at Casey with his arms crossed. "I wondered if it was just the fed's influence, but no, it's you, too. You're good at this. I had no idea you'd be this good. Heck, maybe you're the brains of the pair."
Casey hissed at him.
Roger smiled. This time, it was a cold mockery of the friendly salesman's grin he'd worn earlier. Blood trickled down the side of his face where she'd marked him with her claws.
"Sure I can't convince you to take my offer? Okay, I admit, I was stretching the truth a bit earlier. I didn't bring you out here with the intention of vetting you for anything. But I meant it when I said we'd hire you." He raised a hand, wiped casually at the blood on his cheek, then glanced down at his red-stained fingers. "I think someone with your skills would be a marvelous asset to the pride. Not part of the pride, of course, but a very useful assistant."
As if! Casey hissed again, hoping her body language said it all. If she could flip him off with cat paws, she'd be doing with all four feet.
"Oh, Roger, do stop toying with the prey," a woman's voice said.
Mara Fallon marched into view—or limped, rather, seeming considerably the worse for wear after tangling with Jack. Unlike her brothers, she showed no inclination to shift this time. She was dressed in loose sweats, with her hair pulled back in a sloppy ponytail.
She was also carrying a hunting rifle with a scope.
Casey's stomach went cold.
"Now," Mara went on, raising the rifle to point at Casey. "Let's stop messing around, take care of both of them, and get back to a place that has hot showers and decent restaurants."
Chapter Fifteen
As soon
as Casey vanished into the woods, Jack kicked himself for letting her go.
She was a civilian, for God's sake. She didn't know what she was getting herself into. She had courage and heart, but what she didn't have was training and experience. She could easily get lost on the hillside, stumble into the lions, lose her head and—
No, he told himself. No. She was right; they were no longer handcuffed together, but they were still teammates. Involuntary ones, but teammates all the same. And he had no more right to coddle her than any agent or soldier he'd worked with.
Besides, with Casey gone, he could take a couple of minutes to muster his strength before shifting.
The downside of fast shifter healing was that the energy had to come from somewhere. An injured shifter needed rest and sleep and food—and lots of it. He'd had very little of any of the three.
He was struggling to hold it together for Casey's sake. If she knew how much it was taking out of him just to move right now ... hell. He hoped he didn't have to fight, but had a bad feeling he wasn't going to get a choice about that.
He couldn't wait any longer, not if Casey ran into danger up ahead. He pushed himself into his change, letting the human fade back and the bear come forward. It didn't work at first. He had to push as hard as he ever had, until his head swam and his stomach lurched, and he almost fell over. Black spots bloomed in front of his eyes.
But he was on four legs now, instead of hands and knees.
Jack panted heavily, his shaggy head hanging. He wasn't sure if he could do that again. He might pass out the next time he tried.
So make it count, genius.
He started lumbering forward, following Casey's trail.
The wet foliage held scent well. He was most of the way down the mountain when a lion's roar echoed from the hillside, taken up by other lions' throats until the forest rang with it.
Those sons of bitches must have found Casey. There was no other explanation.
Jack leaped forward, dredging up reserves of strength he hadn't known he still possessed. Not many things could stand in the way of a determined bear. He plowed through the brush like it wasn't even there.
He came to a halt at the edge of a clearing. Damned nearsightedness—he couldn't see more than blurs, but his nose told him he was alone and there was a vehicle of some sort parked in the clearing.
Casey had mentioned a helicopter.
There was no time for finesse. He lumbered to it, tore open the hatch to the helicopter's engine, and with a few swipes of his powerful paws, made sure none of the Fallons would be using it to hunt them from the air anytime soon.
Then he took off again, running. Casey's scent carried him to a much larger opening in the trees, where he paused again.
He was at the edge of some kind of field. People were talking distantly. He couldn't make out the words, but there were at least two or three of them. Lynx smell—Casey was with them. And lion. There was a whole lot of lion.
It was going to be difficult to approach without being seen. Afternoon had drawn down to early evening, but there was still a lot of light, and enormous grizzly bears were hard to hide.
He used his nose again. A bear's sense of smell was keener than almost any other animal's, sharper even than a dog's. He smelled the old-wood scent of commercial lumber, the tang of metal, gasoline's sharpness, the lightly sweetish smell of woodsmoke. Diesel exhaust. Propane.
Gun oil. His ears lowered. They had at least one gun, probably a rifle.
Casey's smell altered. She'd shifted to human. He could smell blood, but he didn't think it was hers.
So, Jack, what do you have to work with? He knew there were buildings and vehicles, but he couldn't think of a way to use that to his advantage. The ocean's smell was very strong, and Casey had said there was a boat. He'd have to get past them somehow, though, to get to it.
He'd taken out the possibility of stealing the helicopter, but he didn't think he could fake his way through flying one anyway. A small plane, maybe. They were pretty simple. Helicopters ... no. All he'd do was crash and add their bones to the island's charnel tally.
Speaking of helicopters, though ... His small ears pricked. Was that just the thumping of the generator up ahead, or a more distant engine noise?
Maybe help was on its way, after all.
Or maybe it was a commercial flight somewhere along the coast.
Come on, Avery. I'm counting on you.
But, if the cavalry was coming, it wasn't here yet. They still had to find a way to hang on a little longer.
And Casey was literally in the lion's den. He had to get her out.
The sharp report of a gunshot froze his heart in midbeat. Echoes rolled back and forth from the mountainside to the sea. Dying. Dying. Gone.
Casey!
***
Casey had never had a gun pointed at her before. She hadn't realized how utterly chilling it would be when the black, round mouth of the barrel rose to aim at her face, especially with Mara's ice-cold eyes behind it.
She shifted almost without meaning to, and was suddenly naked and human, straddling the peak of the roof with her knees. "Wait," she said, raising her hands. "Please. Let's talk."
"Reconsidering, are you?" Roger asked. His oily grin slid back into view. "Too bad. The offer's run out."
They really were playing with her. Lions were just big cats, after all, and cats had a habit of toying with their dinner.
"Just say the word, brother," Mara said, the rifle steady in her hands. "It'll be my pleasure to shoot the little bitch."
The male lion with the wasp-swollen face backed up her statement with a low, rumbling growl.
"Not up there," Roger said. "Don't be absurd. It'll be too much work to get her body down and wash the blood off everything, and you might hole the roof if you aren't careful."
Mara gestured with the rifle. "You heard him. Climb down."
"So you can shoot me? Are you high?" Casey demanded.
The report of the rifle shocked her. It was deafeningly loud. Her whole body went frozen and still, and for a long terrible instant she thought she'd been hit and just didn't know it yet. She fully expected to look down at her chest and see a red flower blooming there, right before the blood stopped flowing to her brain and darkness closed in.
Instead, her skin was smooth and unmarked. The rifle had swung up, just a little to the left, and Mara had shot over her shoulder.
"While I take my brother's point about damaging the roof," Mara said tightly, racking out the spent bullet casing and then aiming once again between Casey's eyes, "I am entirely willing to take on the burden of removing your body and cleaning up after it. In fact, I would consider it a worthwhile compensation for the pleasure of shooting you, if you don't come down right now."
Casey sucked in a breath. It felt like the first time she'd inhaled in years. "Yes," she said. "Yes, don't shoot. I'm coming down now."
She considered sliding off the roof on the opposite side and sprinting to the next cabin—but, no, the other Fallon brother was still down there in lion form. In fact, he was looking up at her now, fangs bared and his one unswollen eye fixed on her in bitter enmity. Her chances were probably better with Mara and the gun.
She'd just rested her bare toes on the top of the woodshed roof when Roger's eyes went suddenly wide. "Mara, shoot him, now!" he snapped, the last word emerging garbled as he shifted in mid-sentence.
"Him?" Mara repeated, startled, and then swung around to find an enraged grizzly bear charging her.
He was on her before she had time to fire. She pulled the trigger anyway, the bullet burying itself uselessly in dirt, and then went down under Jack's bulk, shifting as she fell.
Roaring, Roger lunged to his sister's aid. Mara was in deep trouble this time. Jack had her by the throat, shaking her great tawny body like a chew toy.
Casey had problems of her own. Rather than being distracted by the bear and lion fight, Rory went after her instead. He reared up on his back legs and planted his
huge front paws on the woodshed roof. Casey gasped and scrambled back up, inches ahead of snapping lion teeth.
Rory shifted to a naked man with his arms stretched to grip the edge of the roof. In human form, he looked even worse, his face hideously distorted with its swelling.
"Nice look on you," Casey couldn't help saying, as she clung to the roof peak.
"I'm going to tear you apart," Rory snarled. His arm muscles bunched, and he pulled himself up to the woodshed roof.
Shit. Her sanctuary had become a trap. She shifted and instinctively extended her claws for traction. Her lynx form had a decent chance of being able to take on a weaponless, naked human, even a large man.
Apparently having the same thought, Rory shifted. The woodshed roof tilted under the weight of a full-grown male lion, but he scrambled onto the cabin roof anyway, heading straight for Casey.
She didn't have a choice. She half-leaped, half-fell, twisting in midair to land on her feet in the mud beside the cabin, where she narrowly avoided being crushed by Mara and Jack's thrashing bodies.
Rory snarled in fury and leaped after her—or tried to; his much greater weight hampered him, paws skidding on the cabin's metal roof. Rather than leaping off, he ended up rolling over the edge and gracelessly belly-flopping on the ground with a tremendous thud.
Mara tore away from Jack and staggered backward, not fighting anymore, just trying to escape. She was covered in blood and gasping. Her neck and shoulder looked like hamburger.
Roger piled into Jack without giving him time to recover. Now it was Jack's turn to flee. He only went a few steps, though, and gave a tremendous blow of his paw to the propane tank behind the cabin. Casey had an instant to wonder What the hell? before Jack's huge bear claws ripped out the hose and regulator at the top of the tank, knocking it completely off its stand. There was a loud hissing of escaping propane, and suddenly the Fallons had another problem just as pressing as an angry grizzly bear in their midst.