A Shifter's Claim (Pale Moonlight Book 4)

by Marie Johnston

  Bullets weren’t going to kill him. He just needed to take another breath or two before he could fight back.

  No shouts came from the parking lot. It was a busy time of day. Humans off work, minding their own business. A flurry of activity.

  A cool barrel pressed against his temple.

  The clatter of a shopping cart in the nearest cart corral made Oscar flinch, the cold metal jumping against his skin.

  “Oscar, no.” Jason’s whisper was ragged. “People are heading this way. We have to leave. The silver will keep him down. Killing him isn’t the plan.” The hatch slammed shut.

  Sweet Mother. They’d hit him with silver?

  The wooziness, the raging wildfire of pain in his gut, the sudden onset of weakness. He’d been poisoned and was as weak as a kitten.

  The front door opened and closed. One of them had grabbed his keys, and probably his phone. Another door opened and closed.

  Heavy breathing reached his ear as he struggled to stay conscious.

  “Did anyone see us?” Jason asked. He sounded closer. Was he in the backseat?

  “We’ll get out of here before they figure out what they saw. Knock him out.”

  It was now or never. Waylon summoned all his energy to surge over the backseat, but it was the equivalent of swimming through Jell-O. His eyes had barely cleared the top when Jason rammed his fist into his skull, knocking him out.

  Chapter 19

  Any minute now. Shilo paced the floor of the apartment. It was four in the morning and Waylon hadn’t come home yet.

  Could he have waited until after work to get gas and groceries?

  For the one hundred thirty-eighth time, she did the calculation. He was done with cleanup usually no later than two. Groceries for the two of them in a nearly empty store wouldn’t take two hours at this time of night. Ten minutes at the gas pump.

  Where was he?

  She prowled to the front door, around and through the kitchen, treading across every inch of open square footage.

  Fifteen minutes ago, she’d tried calling, but it’d gone to voicemail.

  She tried again. Nothing.

  Was he ignoring her?

  Had he…left her?

  No. She was at his place.

  But he’d been living with her when he’d left the first time. All he’d needed was his Jeep.

  The first time. She didn’t know whether he’d jetted or not. He was just…not here.

  Her gut churned. Her intuition screamed that something was wrong.

  Tentatively, she stretched her mind out. Are you coming home tonight or not?

  She waited.

  Nothing.

  Waylon?

  He could be out of range, which was disturbing enough. Mates could mind speak even when miles apart. But what if he wasn’t? What if something was wrong? She’d called him a coward before, but he wasn’t. He’d asked for her trust and she’d given it to him.

  She charged to the counter and grabbed her phone. Waylon had programmed Christian’s number in. She found it and hit send.

  Three rings later a grumpy female with a Southern drawl answered. “Whoever this is had better know what time it is.”

  “It’s Shilo Ironhorse. Do you happen to know where Waylon is?”

  Fabric rustling drifted over the line. Christian spoke next. “He called and asked for the night off because of you.”

  “He didn’t even work tonight?” Panic clogged her throat.

  “No, ma’am. What’s going on?” His concern made her feel both better and worse.

  “I don’t know yet. We had a fight and he hasn’t come home yet.”

  “That’s not like him.”

  No, it was, and that’s what scared her. “Sorry to bother you two. Give my apologies to Mabel.”

  “She can hear everything.” Shifter hearing. No wonder Christian had taken over the phone so fast. “Listen, call me if you find out he’s in trouble. And remember, the Guardians always have someone in town.”

  She passed on her thanks again. Calling the Guardians wouldn’t do any good. She had no idea if something was wrong, just a sense of trouble that was vague and unhelpful.

  Reorganizing her brain into being proactive, she took stock of her situation. No car. No contacts. No idea what had happened to Waylon.

  But she had some money. Waylon stacked his tip money in a safe and he’d gotten her a debit card, just in case she ever got to a point where she wouldn’t be a target.

  She called a cab. While waiting, she found Waylon’s bag and packed supplies. A change of clothing because she didn’t know how long she’d be gone. The last apple and the rest of the protein bars. All three of them.

  Weapons. Did he have anything? Waylon never carried more than a knife. It hadn’t been necessary. If more of a fight was necessary, then they shifted and used teeth and claws.

  But that didn’t mean others weren’t packing, or that she wouldn’t run into trouble on her hunt for her mate.

  Searching his place gained her nothing more than a folding knife and a utility tool that had fingernail clippers in its mix of options. Better than nothing. Too bad all of Uncle Wolf’s guns sat useless in his cabin.

  With no weapons, perhaps she should pack in the event one was used on her. She veered into the bathroom and dug out Waylon’s first aid kit. She stuffed that into the pack. It took up more room than anything else.

  She was going through the kitchen when she stopped at a cupboard by the sink. Waylon’s spice rack was inside. She opened the door. A bottle of Morton salt was closest to her hand. Silver poisoning was rare, and usually inflicted intentionally, but she didn’t have a gun. And Waylon had said silver killed Uncle Wolf. If he’d gotten into a fight with Langdon’s dad, then they had silver-laced bullets.

  It might be her paranoia talking, but if hefting salt made her feel more badass, then it was what it was.

  The salt was the last item to go into her bag.

  The taxi pulled up as she was locking up. She hopped in. “Nearest rental car place.”

  It would be cheaper to rent a car and comb Freemont than to pay the taxi to drive around for hours.

  Because she was going to find Waylon and get answers.

  What the hell was going on?

  Waylon groaned and cracked an eye open. The amount of energy that took almost put him back to sleep.

  Darkness. Repetitive bumps jostled his aching and weak body, and the drone of an engine surrounded him.

  Was he in the trunk of a car?

  He listened hard, reached out with his senses to go beyond the drone of the engine.

  “Where’d he say he was meeting us?” Oscar.

  Am I in their sedan?

  Foggy memories rose of getting jumbled and shoved during a transfer from his Jeep to a trunk. He’d barely come to and Jason and his fist of doom had knocked him out again.

  “He said to meet two hours after dawn at the far edge of your land.” Jason wasn’t sounding as scared as he’d looked when Waylon and Shilo had confronted him, but there was still a quiver in his voice.

  The things we do for our mates. Waylon would’ve snorted at his sarcastic thoughts if he’d had the energy.

  “The service road, I suppose, but I don’t like meeting him in the middle of nowhere. But I’ve got a silver bullet just for him.”

  Him must be Langdon. Were they going to assassinate their leader?

  Why not? Seemed to be a family trait. He vaguely recalled Oscar calling Waylon bait. Was it too much to wish they’d kill each other and leave him be?

  “So we keep this one alive until you deal with your cousin?”

  “I’m not a maniacal murderer like my dear cousin. Waylon needs to be alive. Langdon will know something’s off if he smells death.” At least Waylon had that little bit of time on his side. “Sadistic bastard wants to do it himself since the guy messed up his careful plans.”

  “Trying to use Brynley to turn Shilo on him didn’t work,” Jason agreed. “Why’s Langdon
still trying to land her?”

  “Because if he interferes with someone else in Ironhorse Falls now, it’d be too obvious. That colony would turn on him. And we can use his preoccupation with Shilo and her mate against him.”

  For fuck’s sake. Like his situation needed even more drama. Oscar and Jason were using him to gain their own form of freedom? Well, it wasn’t the worst idea, but he didn’t care to take part in it and get killed in the crossfire.

  Waylon’s eyes fell shut. He’d never been so sick in his life, and he doubted there was a salt molecule to be found in this vehicle. At least not one he could have until he’d served his purpose for their escape.

  He was so screwed.

  Screwing his eyes shut to keep from groaning, he clutched his belly. Blood had crusted on his shirt. His wounds refused to heal thanks to the silver. Fresh blood continued to seep, smearing his skin and clothing.

  When he didn’t come home, what would Shilo do? What would she think?

  He had a feeling he knew. What else could she think? He’d stormed off after an argument and hadn’t returned. History, meet repeat.

  And he hadn’t gone to work. If she called Christian, his boss would have a whole lot of nothing to pass along, only that Waylon had said there was some shit between him and Shilo. Which would only reinforce her assumption that he’d taken off like a bastard.

  New rule if he survived this: never leave Shilo while angry. No good ever came of it.

  The car slowed and turned onto a minimally maintained road. Bumps knocked Waylon against all four sides. He threw his arms out to brace himself but passed out before it did much good.

  Chapter 20

  Waaaaylooon.

  He pried open his eyes. Having given up trying to minimize the impact of the rough road, he rolled with it. At some point, his heart was going to fail, the silver having sapped him of all strength. Did a few more bumps really matter?

  Waaaaylooon.

  He frowned, or at least thought of frowning because he didn’t have the energy for it anymore.

  The beautiful voice traveling through his head could be a premortem hallucination.

  Waaaaylooon.

  But damn, it sounded real.

  Sh-shilo?

  Waylon! The sharp bark made him wince. Oh my God, where are you? I found the Jeep abandoned on the side of the highway heading out of town. I’ve been driving all over with the window down, mentally yelling for you.

  If he’d had a fraction more of his health, he would’ve laughed. The two idiots who’d abducted him hadn’t checked the gas gauge before driving off to Passage Lake with him in the back.

  Waylon would’ve already been delivered to Langdon’s doorstep and roasted like the rest of his family if it hadn’t been for the Jeep running dry. Oscar had had to wait while Jason literally ran back to town to the get the car.

  It’d taken hours. Blessed hours that had been still and quiet while his body fought against the poison in his veins. It had both drained him and saved him at the same time.

  Oscar and Jason got me at the… His eyelids drifted shut. He forced them open. If he passed out, he was done for. Silver-laced bullets. Meeting Langdon. Service road. Edge of Passage Lake. Soon.

  Hang in there. I’m on the way.

  Shilo and what army? Don’t come by yourself. I will relay info. Give you proof.

  Yeah, totally. I’ll just hang out here and listen to you get killed.

  He managed a smile at her flat tone. Sorry. Was coming back. To you.

  Waylon. The soft caress in his mind was the best he’d felt since he’d been shot.

  Did she say she was driving? Car?

  Rental. I burned your tip money.

  What it was there for.

  Shilo believed in him. If his situation didn’t improve, he could at least die in peace.

  Shilo had to circle around three times before she found the trail Waylon had referred to as the service road. The entrance was grown over, but the new tracks laid down minutes ago were the only reason she finally located it.

  She stopped briefly to make a call. Another contact number Waylon had given her. She’d already called them once tonight.

  A deep voice answered. “Bennett.”

  Shilo rattled off the situation and where she was to the Guardian. “So can you help?”

  “On our way.”

  Shilo eyed the trail, seething with determination. “I’m not waiting.”

  “Didn’t expect you to. Watch your back.” The line went dead.

  No wonder Waylon liked these guys. Few words, even fewer questions, and complete competence—she hoped.

  But the Guardians weren’t going to make it in time. She had to move before Langdon got his filthy paws on Waylon. The setup to make her mate disappear was too perfect for Langdon to resist.

  Shilo eased onto the road. Road was a generous word for it. Thankfully, she’d rented a Jeep. She should’ve driven out here first thing, but she’d wound through Freemont, over to West Creek and back. Then she’d thought maybe Waylon had headed this way to get answers for good from Passage Lake.

  Finding his Jeep sitting abandoned on the side of the road and smelling like absolutely nothing had made her suspicious. She’d gone over every scenario, but not an abduction.

  They’d taken her mate. Pumped him full of silver and were making him hurt.

  Absent Brynley’s mental influence, she hadn’t thought she had a strong violent side. She’d always played it down, gone the politico route. She was the negotiator after all.

  But they’d taken her mate and she was done with their bullshit in Ironhorse Falls.

  She drove until she found a section sparse enough to fit the Jeep. As she pulled off, undergrowth swiped the bottom of the vehicle and branches scratched the paint.

  There wasn’t enough tip money to cover the damage, but she wasn’t going to waste precious seconds worrying about it.

  Wedging between two trees, leaving enough clearance to open her door, she parked.

  By the time her feet hit the ground, she’d made the decision to stay in her human form. She dumped as much as she could from the backpack, keeping the knives and salt. If she had to shift, she could carry the pack easier as a wolf.

  Staying parallel with the trail, she sailed through the woods. Her breath rasped in her ears as she jumped, ducked, and tumbled through the woody terrain. Part of her wished they were meeting on the other edge of Passage Lake, where a few more evergreens grew. They clogged out the bush a little better than the saplings and mature trees she was sprinting through.

  But the drive would’ve been farther, and the land hillier. In this area, she didn’t have to climb and worry about cartwheeling off a ridge she didn’t expect as much as where she lived.

  Didn’t mean her glutes and lungs weren’t getting a stellar workout. Muscles in her legs burned, and her calves wanted to cramp, but she kept going.

  This would be so much easier and faster if she shifted, but the salt was critical. She couldn’t risk it.

  A myriad of scents assaulted her. She slowed. Waylon’s blood hit her like a silver-laced wall.

  A familiar voice stopped her. “Do we leave him in the trunk until Langdon gets here?” Jason.

  Shilo ground her teeth together. To think she had pitied him instead of considering that he must possess some vicious fortitude to be Oscar’s mate.

  “No,” Oscar answered. “I want to make sure he’s visible when the others get here. You’ll need to head into the woods and hide before they arrive. I’ll cover your scent.”

  Jason’s anxiety pushed out far enough for her to scent. “I feel so guilty.”

  “It’s okay, baby. We do this and then we’ll be gone. My kin will be out of our life.”

  Was Oscar planning to leave town with his mate? They could’ve banded together against Langdon. But Oscar likely trusted no one after growing up the way he had.

  No, this was no time for compassion. No matter who the victor was, she needed to save
Waylon.

  Oscar had mentioned others. She was already outnumbered two to one. Langdon never traveled alone. Paulie and Brynley would be with him.

  The faint squeak of the trunk hinges reached her. They couldn’t be that far away. Shilo slipped around a tree, picking her footing carefully. How close dare she get?

  Closing her eyes to fully sense the wind, she calculated her path. Circling to the right, she angled herself to keep her scent from wafting over them. Getting close without being detected was still out of the question. Just a glimpse to see how they were situated before she attacked.

  They were stopped in the middle of the road. Langdon might be coming on foot from the other way or following the same path she had. It was possible that they’d see her hiding spot, but she doubted it’d slow him down.

  She couldn’t underestimate Jason again, but she doubted he was the fighter Oscar was. The acrid stench of Jason’s nerves was clear. Oscar hadn’t covered the man’s scent yet, probably to save energy if he planned a sneak attack on Langdon. The human would have to be a dirty fighter to keep up with shifters. And there was the gun with silver-laced bullets she had to consider.

  But she had to try something before the others arrived with their indeterminate numbers.

  Carefully, she shrugged off her pack. She ripped her shirt off and tossed it down. Next her shoes and pants came off. She shifted.

  “Holy shit, he’s not doing well.” Jason was peering into the trunk. “Think we should hit him with some salt?”

  “I didn’t bring any.”

  Jason had the grace to give Oscar a perplexed look. Shilo agreed with it. Pack that toxic kind of heat and not bring the ability to save yourself from an oops?

  Idiot.

  “It’s not like I planned to get blackmailed today,” Oscar snapped. “Or to kidnap fucking Waylon Wolf.”

  “But you carry silver-laced bullets around?” Jason shoved a hand through his blond hair and spun away from the car and the trunk.