A Shifter's Claim (Pale Moonlight Book 4)

by Marie Johnston

  Shilo stalked closer, stealthier in her wolf form, braver. She inched closer than she had planned to on two legs.

  “Hey.” Oscar left Waylon in the trunk. Her mate’s pain and blood clogged the air and fed her rage, prodding her to attack without a plan, but she held fast. Jason should be easy enough to subdue. Oscar a little harder.

  Jason shook his head and took a few extra steps away. Fatigue weighed on his shoulders. A long night and the stress of stealing her mate and fleeing Oscar’s psychotic family must be weighing on him.

  A glint of metal from Oscar’s waistband caught her eye. He’d shoved the gun behind his back. He’d be the one to attack first.

  “Hey,” Oscar said again, gripping Jason’s shoulders from behind to stop him from getting farther away. “This is my life. You knew that.”

  “It’s just different seeing it than hearing about it. Different experiencing it.” He was going to turn around. She had to act while their backs were to her. In a different world, they could talk it out. Join sides to stop Langdon. But these two smelled rigidly resolute.

  Shilo crouched, then launched. Claws dug into the dirt as she flew through the trees, bounding as fast and as far as she could.

  Oscar spun around, his hand reaching around his back.

  “What—” Jason might sense her, but he was completely unprepared for what to do.

  She tore across the distance between them, but it seemed like slow motion. Oscar’s arm pausing. His shoulder flexing as he swung his arm around. She might not make it, but all she needed was to clamp her jaws around his neck and he’d go down.

  The muzzle of the gun caught a glint of the early dawn sunlight streaming through the dappled canopy. Oscar’s eye was squeezing shut to aim. She was going to get plugged. Dammit. This plan could’ve used more thought, but that would’ve taken more time, and—

  From the trunk, a dark object sailed out and thunked Oscar on the head. A boot. His head jerked and the gun fired somewhere over her. The only reason her ears weren’t ringing was because of the silencer.

  Two more leaps and she tackled Oscar. He careened backward, the gun skittering on the ground toward the car. Jason, who hadn’t stepped out from behind Oscar, got pushed down beneath his mate.

  She didn’t know who the grunt came from, she just ripped into anything her jaws could latch on to. Her fangs scraped across his chin and she snapped her teeth together.

  “Fuck!” Oscar twisted and turned, but between her weight on top and Jason’s body tangled up beneath him, he couldn’t get very far.

  She snapped again, catching his shirt. Ripping it, she went for his throat but got bucked off. Jason had heaved up and away, tumbling her and Oscar off him.

  She charged again as Oscar flipped to his hands and knees.

  Dirt crunched and grass rustled behind her as a heavy object hit the ground. She couldn’t spare it any attention. She plunged into Oscar. He threw his hands up to push her off, but she had the benefit of momentum. Knocking him back down, she flipped around to drape over his back. Opening her mouth and aiming, she bit down. Oscar cried out, throwing himself around to toss her off, but he couldn’t get enough leverage.

  Shaking her head, she ground her jaws together for maximum injury. She sensed movement to her left before a heavy kick landed on her ribs.

  She loosened her hold, but snapped down again and whipped her head back and forth. Nausea rose. Another boot hit her ribs. She yelped, but before Oscar could get away, she snapped down tighter than a metal trap. Warm blood welled in her mouth and what normally shouldn’t bother her almost made her gag. His desperation was sour.

  Her side throbbed, but she prepped for another kick. Jason might’ve cracked a rib.

  Oscar collapsed to the ground, covering the pool of blood gathering under him. A shadow blocked out the sun. Another kick was coming, this one toward her head, and she knew this would be the one to disengage her. She only hoped she had enough wits left to take on Jason. Oscar wasn’t going to be quick on his feet.

  A muffled shot fell flat in the trees. Jason stalled for a moment, his eyes flaring, before folding to the side. His body hit the ground with a grunt.

  Oscar’s yell was merely a hoarse whisper. “No!” He reached for his mate, but the loss of blood and the trauma she’d caused sapped his strength. He went limp under her.

  But she didn’t let up. Adrenaline pumped furiously through her.

  “Get off him,” Waylon croaked.

  Shilo released Oscar in an instant. He was passed out. Waylon was prone on the ground, his face pale, his socked feet splayed out. He held the gun and miraculously his hand wasn’t shaking.

  She jumped off Oscar and staggered a few steps. Fire lanced her side, but she was still standing. Waylon was alive and the two other males were down.

  That should be enough to keep them both down. She no longer wished to kill the couple. If she were in their position, she would’ve done the same thing. They were going to have it rough enough if they survived. I’ve got salt.

  She ran back to her pack and wedged her head under one strap. Back at Waylon’s side, she shifted. Warm air surrounded her and did little to ease the protesting of her bruised ribs.

  Waylon was even paler up close. He’d collapsed onto his back, his arms limp at his sides. Dried blood crusted his shirt. His shallow and uneven breathing spurred her urgency. Taking his boots off and falling out of the trunk had nearly robbed him of all life. He was fading fast.

  She fumbled with the salt, ignoring the stabs of agony in her side. Dumping a pile in her hands, she rubbed them together. If she happened to brush against a wound, some grains might get inside. Anything helped.

  She gripped his hem and ripped the shirt until his front was two panels of material. He was so bloody, she couldn’t tell where he’d been shot.

  Biting her lip, she poured more salt into her palm and rubbed it all over his torso. His eyes had fallen shut.

  “Don’t die on me.” She hadn’t got her mate back just to lose him to fucking silver.

  Squeezing his lips together, she made enough of a pocket to dump some grains of salt inside.

  He screwed his face up and smacked his lips. “Uck.”

  It was helping.

  “Where were you shot?” Shaking the salt container, she gauged how much was inside. Not quite half full.

  “Back. Twice.”

  Bracing her heels into the ground, she rolled him over.

  A low, long groan escaped him, but he didn’t fight her. He couldn’t offer any help, but she didn’t need it.

  Peeling the shirt away from where it had stuck to his skin, she searched for the holes. Racking her brain, she tried to recall the rules for silver. Bullets were usually dipped in a silver solution since actual silver bullets weren’t practical. He’d been shot twice. Two holes.

  She piled salt into her hand and chose a mucky spot on his back that had to be one entry point. The salt acted like an exfoliant as she ground it into his skin, and as soon as the opening was cleared, she plugged it inside of him.

  “Fuck me, that hurts.” Waylon faced away from her, still too weak to twitch.

  She smiled. “Is it just a coincidence that your mouth is the first thing to come online?”

  There, the second hole was only a few inches from the first. Were the bullets still inside of him? As long as they took care of the silver, his shifter side could heal around the lead until it could be surgically removed.

  She let him relax against the ground as much as he could to recover. And to give her time to think. She’d done it. Waylon rescue, phase one complete.

  Chapter 21

  The inferno in Waylon’s gut hadn’t died down. If anything, it burned fiercer. He took it as a good sign. The silver was no longer poisoning him so badly that he was too weak to feel the ravaging his body had taken from the bullets.

  Shilo’s footsteps were all around him. He blinked into the dirt. Trampled grasses helped prevent him from breathing grit in.

/>   A seedling of strength returned. The salt was negating the effects of the poison and his body was attempting to repair itself, but until he got a few rare steaks inside himself, and the lead out, his injuries would be an obstacle.

  He and Shilo had to get out of here. He’d tell her that, but she was likely already on it. She’d tracked him down not knowing who’d taken him or where, and without knowing that he hadn’t just walked out on her.

  Love swelled, lending a smidgeon of extra healing energy.

  He propped his hands under himself and pushed. Amazingly, his body responded, his muscles firing. But getting to his hands and knees was the easy part. His mate was doctoring an unconscious Jason.

  In a heartbeat, Shilo was next to him, lifting him to his feet. She wedged a shoulder under his arm. He swayed, remaining standing only because of her strength.

  “I fucking love you,” he said. The words just poured out of him. He should conserve his budding strength for moving, but after the way they’d parted and his terror that he wouldn’t ever get a chance to set the record straight, he had to finish. “I was so scared you’d think I was just a bastard who couldn’t take not being right. Or that I didn’t understand how much you miss your family. Or how much of your birthright is leading Ironhorse Falls. I mean, I’m beginning to understand and I know you have to try to get your position back. This relationship isn’t about what makes me comfortable, it’s about us. You’re a leader. I’m your mate, and while I might storm off and get groceries if we bicker and yell, I’ll always come back. If I don’t, you might have to come save my ass again.”

  She gaped up at him, emotion welling in her brown eyes. She was still nude from the shift, but there was nothing sexual about his declaration. She was everything to him and if they survived this, he wasn’t going to be negligent about telling her how important she was to him.

  Her free hand caressed his face. He tipped his head into her touch.

  “I love you, too. Whether you’re Waylon Wolf or Waylon Covet, you’re mine.” Her shrewd gaze darted to the road. “We need to go.”

  He listened. Yes, that was a motor and it was growing louder by the second. Oscar twitched. The male would come to soon. He’d be frantic to rescue his own mate. They wouldn’t have to worry about them anymore.

  With Shilo’s support, he got into the passenger side. Much more comfortable than the trunk.

  He curled a lip. Stuffed in the fucking truck.

  Shilo slipped behind the wheel and handed him the gun and a protein bar. “Eat that. I have two more.” She tossed a backpack in the back.

  Shilo threw the car in reverse and stomped on the gas. Waylon lurched forward, but caught himself before his head banged the dash. He fumbled with the wrapper and shoved the whole bar into his mouth, surprised he had enough spit left to chew after the salt.

  He ripped the remnants of his shirt off. The heft of the gun felt good. Stable. Uncle Wolf’s lessons ran through his mind. At the time, Waylon had thought he might use them someday. His future had seemed dark and lonely, the weapons to protect his back a necessity. Then as an adult, he’d set aside his shotgun for a soda gun, and that had been more than okay. He wasn’t the type to go looking for violence. But Uncle Wolf had known what Waylon might face in the future. He’d been the only one to know exactly who Waylon was.

  Resting the sidearm on his thigh, he glowered into the rearview mirror. He couldn’t see Langdon’s vehicle yet, but they were coming.

  Shilo flew along the trail, the bumps slamming his head against the top of the car. She had the wheel to hold onto and fared better. Waylon braced his hands on the door and dash.

  Tiny hairs on the back of Waylon’s neck quivered. The engine quit.

  With no power, the car rolled to a stop. Shilo turned the key, pumped the gas, hit the steering wheel.

  “Fuck!” She craned her head around.

  Paulie.

  “They’re going to be pissed when they find Oscar,” Waylon stated the obvious.

  Or maybe Langdon wouldn’t care. Waylon was the bigger prize.

  “Can you shift and run?” She reached over and undid his fly.

  Whoa. His healing had reached the point that his groin warmed, like it considered pleasuring Shilo more important than survival. Wrong priorities, buddy.

  “I think so.” He’d have to, but his run wouldn’t be full speed.

  She grabbed the gun from him and slipped it into the backpack. She got out and changed into her wolf.

  As much as he wanted to admire the richness of her coat and the strength in her stance, Waylon opened the door and caught himself before he fell out. All he had to do was shed his pants and shift.

  He was glad she was on the other side of the vehicle. The transition sapped a lot of energy and he sagged, his muzzle close to the ground.

  Usually, the change flooded his senses with sharp smells, brighter colors, and vigor. Not today. The protein bar was kicking in, but it’d burn off fast.

  The motor grew louder.

  Over here.

  Waylon padded around the vehicle. Shilo held the pack in her mouth. She could probably outrun him like that. She might have to.

  I’m not leaving your side. Her voice caressed his mind.

  If it comes to it, there’s a whole colony depending on you.

  Then you’d better run.

  A glint of metal far down the path spurred him into a trot. The rough terrain used more of the reserve he didn’t have. But as the car closed the distance, he dug deep.

  At a run, he traversed the woods. Shilo ran slightly in front of him, guiding him toward her rental car.

  Howls broke out behind them. One stood out from the rest. Longer and louder, it welled with rage and frustration.

  Brynley. They’d ruined her plans to help her brother and Jason, and her own escape.

  The mental attack that came from her was expected, but not the strength. Gone was the finesse, the subtle suggestion. She hammered them with wild and random thoughts.

  You’re worthless. She’s cheating on you. Your family didn’t love you. No one loves you. Your colony would rather see you die than lead them with that mutt.

  Waylon shook his head. He wasn’t inclined to believe one word, but the power behind them made his skull throb.

  Shilo dipped her head like she was trying to shake off the nastiness, but it kept coming.

  Your mom screamed like the unfaithful pig she was. No one wanted you to lead so they killed your family and tried to kill you.

  Now that was just confusing. Was Brynley talking about him or Shilo?

  Shilo’s just like your cheating mom. She’ll spread her legs for Langdon just like your momma did for Layton.

  Waylon stutter-stepped.

  She’s lying. Shilo broke around a tree. He went the other way and kicked up his speed, but he couldn’t shake the accusations.

  Langdon’s the better brother. Your dad hated your mom for what she did.

  Waylon skipped a step and nearly face-planted. His speed suffered.

  Shilo will mate you and fuck Langdon because you’re a loser just like your dad.

  Waylon whipped around, his wounds blazing from the sudden change in direction.

  Waylon! Shilo circled around. She’s lying. Come on.

  Was she? It made sense. So much damn sense. And it was like she was telling him exactly what he needed to know, but disguising it as a mental mind game.

  The tension in the picture. Uncle Wolf’s complete abandonment of Covet, and more glaring, his omission of any of Waylon’s heritage. Langdon’s constant attempts to destroy him in some way.

  Waylon was the Covet successor, and since birth order determined the next in line, he had a legitimate claim to Covet Falls.

  Not that he wanted it.

  Is that true, brother? Could Langdon even hear him?

  The wolves flared out around him. Langdon’s wolf was dark, much like his own. Brynley and Paulie resembled each other.

  Brynley was trembling
, her teeth bared. She was close enough that her snarling was loud and clear, but the look in eyes said she’d rather be back helping Oscar and Jason. Paulie’s wolf was as proportionately large as he was and streaked with white. He was older than Waylon had assumed.

  Langdon padded forward, his amber eyes hard. Deadly. We are not brothers. For a moment, relief beat in Waylon, until Langdon continued. You’re nothing but the proof that your mother was a whore.

  Waylon didn’t remember his mother, but a growl rattled his rib cage. I know you and the rest of my family well enough. My mother was either tricked or coerced. Your father was as evil and weak as you are. Honor is true strength.

  Hate rippled over Langdon. Just how do you think you can trick a shifter into fucking her mate’s brother?

  Waylon’s gaze shifted to Brynley. How old were you at the time? Old enough to have your powers?

  Brynley twitched and glanced away for the briefest second. She’d probably cast a wide mental net and suggested a young, traumatized Waylon forget who he was.

  And I bet my parents couldn’t escape. Right, Paulie? Except they got me out with enough of a message to save my life. I bet that pissed your dad off, Langdon.

  You’re a coward like our grandfather. He left when you were born, you know. Your birth drove our family apart.

  No, if that were true, Uncle Wolf wouldn’t have claimed him in Ironhorse Falls. Had he known what Langdon’s father had done? Had it driven him away when he’d predicted his family would rip itself apart?

  Waylon bared his fangs. These shifters had destroyed his life. He’d lived alone and unloved until he’d met Shilo, and even then their interference had almost cost him his mate.

  Brynley tossed her head back and howled. Paulie charged.

  Shilo launched. Waylon’s instincts were to stop her, but she was uninjured and the best one of them to take on the bigger shifter.

  Brynley sprinted for him, drool dripping off her fangs.

  Letting others do your shit like always? Waylon taunted before he twisted out of Brynley’s reach.

  He leaped on her as soon as she landed. Uncle Wolf’s lessons rushed back. Go for the neck. Pin ’em down. Keep fucking calm, Waylon.