by Mina Carter
Then it was done, her body reformed into the shape of her lioness. She waited in the dark, eyes fixed on the light spilling through the opening in the trunk just ahead of her.
Her paws flexed, heavy talons biting into the dry wood beneath.
Let him try to get her out now.
She’d show him what a pissed-off cat was capable of.
Chapter Two
Renae Brogan was beautiful.
Hale hadn’t gotten more than a glimpse of short, golden-brown hair around delicate features as she stole glances over her shoulder, but he knew she was more beautiful than the photo suggested. There was a haunting fragility about her that called to everything male within him.
She was also a puzzle. He followed her at an easy lope, keeping his distance to study her. Shifters were notoriously difficult to trap, a fact he’d learned many years ago. The wolf shifter he’d thought he was tracking had turned out to be a bear shifter—which were rarer than rocking horse shit—and had clawed him up pretty bad before escaping. He’d lost on that job, and gained deep scars across his back to warn him to look before he leaped.
Which was why he studied Renae as he ran. She hadn’t shifted, which intrigued him. Brogan had said she was a lioness, a full member of the pride, and lionesses were fast as hell. Shifted, she could easily outrun him. Unless he used his magic, of course, but he always kept that in reserve until he needed it.
He kept himself in top physical condition. He’d seen too many warlocks let themselves go, only to be screwed when a spell went badly and they needed to fight their way out. Thankfully, he’d never needed to, but if he did, he could throw down with the biggest shifters. Demons might be a little harder to handle, but he’d give it a go. People always told him he had a death wish.
Right now, he had one wish. To get a better look at the woman he chased. An interest that had nothing to do with the bounty money filled him. She was small and packed with curves he wasn’t used to seeing on a shifter. Usually they were lean and lithe… and left him totally uninterested. He didn’t do stick insects. Especially when they could rip his face off on a whim.
Renae Brogan? Fuck, he’d do her all night long and still come back for more…
She changed direction and he realized something that had been niggling at the back of his mind. She had a limp. Very slight, but she favored her right side. Crap, what damage would a shifter need to take to cause a lasting weakness like that?
The wind shifted, bringing her scent to him and he breathed deeply. The scent of her panic and fear almost froze him mid-run. Hale’s eyes narrowed. He was used to his quarry being scared, but there was usually a healthy dose of anger and frustration in the mix as well. Not here. Renae just smelled terrified. Completely, utterly terrified and so close to shifting it made his teeth ache.
Shift, he silently urged her. For the first time ever he seriously considered letting a mark escape. He would go back to Brogan and tell him his ex-wife had bought it in a car accident—there were a few spells he could use…
Still running, he brought himself up sharp mentally. What the fuck was he thinking? She was a job, nothing more, nothing less, and he always got paid.
So why did he get the feeling there was more to her story than Brogan was telling him? To hear the guy talk, Renae was the biggest bitch to walk the face of the planet, but what Hale was seeing didn’t match that at all.
Suddenly his quarry changed direction and he lost sight of her.
“Oh, no you don’t, Missy,” he muttered and reached into his core for more speed. He hit the same clearing just in time to see her slide through a gap in a fallen tree trunk.
“Shit!” He was after her in a heartbeat, trying to grab her before she disappeared into the gap. A shiver and pop of power in the air told him she’d shifted and he yanked his hand back just in time. Vicious claws slashed where his arm had been mere moments before. Shit. She was fast.
She’d finally shifted. He couldn’t help the small smile that crossed his lips, absurd pride filling him that she outwitted him, if only momentarily. He knew spells that would shatter the log around her so her reprieve was only temporary.
He liked the challenge of getting her out of there without using magic though. And yeah, he was curious to see what her cat form looked like. Would she be small like her human form and delicate, or big and powerful like most lionesses he’d seen?
Making sure to keep out of range of those vicious claws, he crouched down to look through the gap in the wood. The interior of the trunk was darkened, but he got an impression of a hulking feline form. Bigger then, and powerful, the total opposite to her human form. Large green-gray eyes, rather than the amber he’d expected studied him intently. Her lips curled back from her teeth and she hissed at him.
“Hey there, gorgeous,” he smiled, keeping his teeth covered. Dealing with shifters 101, showing teeth, even when smiling, could be seen as a threat, and he really didn’t want his face ripped off for saying hello. “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”
She swiped at the entrance in warning. He hid his smile.
“Come on, there’s no need to be like that,” he chided, wagging his finger at her. Surging forward, she swiped at him again, her movement affording him more of a look at her. And she was gorgeous. Lean and sleek, her pale fur covered the hard body of a lioness in her prime. Why hadn’t she shifted before?
“Let’s get you out of there and have a look at you, shall we?” he murmured, and clicked his fingers in front of her face to make her look at him.
As soon as their gazes locked, he started to chant an incantation. Magic swirled around him. Reached out for her. He felt her start of surprise as soon as the tendrils reached her. Saw those amazing eyes widen. What he didn’t expect was the surge in power as his magic wrapped around her, ruffling her fur in a gentle caress. As though it recognized her. As though she belonged to him… A feeling that he’d tried to find for years but had always eluded him.
Until now.
A suspicion crossed his mind and Hale frowned. His voice grew louder, the words shifting from ones of cajolement, to command. The command of a warlock calling his familiar to him.
Hisses and snarls erupted from the darkness of the trunk, but she inched forward. The battle to refuse his command was written all over her face and she was strong, fighting the bond. Against him. He kept chanting. Inch by inch, she emerged from the log, first her head and he got a look at her beautiful near-white fur in the light of day. It suited her unusual eyes.
His voice rose in pitch and she edged toward him, snarling. Almost there. He reached a hand to her and she bared her teeth at him. Her claws remained sheathed though, and he knew she wasn’t going to hurt him. Just as he could never hurt her.
He eased himself to the ground, to her level, as she crawled out from the safety of the log and finally he understood why she hadn’t shifted. Her back leg was the wrong shape, and curled in slightly under her. Anger hit him, closing his throat as he fought to remember to breathe. Someone, somewhere had hurt his beautiful familiar.
He would rip their hearts out with his bare hands, and their spines through their damn guts. He’d make them suffer, and laugh as he danced in their entrails. Drawn by the compulsion between them, she reached him and crawled into his lap.
Fuck. Hale’s eyes fluttered closed as he buried his face against her neck. One touch of her soft-as-silk fur and his suspicion was confirmed. She was his familiar.
The long dormant part of his soul stirred and he held his breath. Please, no… it couldn’t take exception to Renae, not when he’d just found her. Power surged through him and he gasped. He’d never felt the thing so strong, like it had swum up from the depths of his soul to take a look out his eyes. Time froze as he concentrated on the female in his arms and the creature that prowled his blood. Please let it like her…
It purred.
Using his goddamn throat.
He blinked, yanking his head up in surprise to meet the e
qually startled gaze of the lioness in his arms. She gave a slow blink, then without warning, he had an armful of curvy woman. Curvy, very naked, woman.
“Please,” she begged, reaching up to touch his cheek. “Don’t take me back to him. Kill me now.”
*
Renae never begged. Even through all the years of emotional and then physical abuse Lance subjected her to, she’d never broken down and begged. No matter how bad it had gotten, the fact that Lance wanted her to crawl before him meant she just couldn’t do it. He was the worst sort of bully, the kind who wouldn’t be satisfied until his victim was completely broken.
Given the number of bounty hunters he’d sent to haul her back to the pride, the fact he hadn’t been able to crack her and turn her into a blubbering mess without thoughts and options of her own like his mother must’ve really pissed him off. He’d have to suck it up though, because the only way she was going back to the Brogan pride was as a corpse.
Begging Lance might be out of the question; he was an asshole who got a kick out of using his power over others, but the man who held her so gently in his arms was a different matter. She didn’t know him, but something in his gaze told her he was a good man, even if he tried to appear otherwise.
He watched her steadily, his deep blue gaze unwavering on hers. Magic wreathed him like a clock, shimmering over his skin in a way that made her instincts sit up and take notice. She’d been wrong about him being a lion. He wasn’t a shifter, he was something else entirely. She’d always been sensitive to magic and even the most magically unaware couldn’t miss that he was a warlock.
Her inner cat nudged her. No, he wasn’t a warlock. Her lioness, sometimes the most intelligent of the two of them (it hated Lance with a passion) recognized him and pulled memories from her childhood to parade in front of her. He wasn’t a warlock, he was a werelock… the perfect magical symbiosis between high magic and the primal magic of a shifter. He’d sacrificed his animal form to reach greater heights as a magic user. They were almost unheard of these days and supposed to be as powerful as the most famous of their number, Merlin, had been.
Great. Just her freaking luck. The bounty hunter Lance sent after her was not only as sexy as sin, as ripped as a damn underwear model, he was also one of the most powerful magical creatures to walk God’s green earth.
She. Was. Screwed.
Big time.
He shook his head, and sunlight danced in the golden flecks of his hair. She wondered what kind of shifter he would have been. A wolf, all grays and browns…or a bear, a black grizzly maybe? Two of the rarest paranormal creatures rolled into one. But try as she might, she couldn’t see him as anything other than a lion, all golden and tawny.
“No. I’m not going to kill you.”
His voice was low and controlled, deeper than she’d expected, and warm… the timbre teasing along her senses like an auditory caress. She wanted to gasp, and arch against him, rubbing her body against his all cat-like.
Her naked body.
Shit. Her eyes shot wide as heat burned across her cheeks. Hot enough to fry eggs? No, that was for losers. She was talking total and utter cremation to rival the fiery pits of hell itself.
“Uhmmm, why not?” She tried to squirm and hide herself from his gaze. At least with the way he held her, he couldn’t see that much. An eyeful of cleavage and an awful lot of leg, but not like… anything in between. Then she realized he’d seen her in her cat form and her cheeks went from volcanic to supernova.
He didn’t move, and neither did his eyes shift from hers. Either he was a complete gentleman— Or he’s not interested in a fat, useless lump like you. What did you expect? He’s seen what you look like as a human and lioness. As always, the horrible little voice in the back of her mind sounded like Lance. She couldn’t remember a time when it didn’t.
“This.”
One word, that’s all the warning she got before he bent his head and covered her lips with his. Surprise held her immobile for a moment, as her brain tried to process what was happening. In her world, the sexy as hell, hot guy did not go around kissing curvy peeps like her. They certainly didn’t groan when she parted her lips and slid their tongues inside her mouth to mate with hers, or shift her in their arms so she could feel just how much their lip-lock affected them.
Yet, it was happening. The long, hard bar of his cock pressed insistently into her hip as he explored her mouth as though the fate of the world depended on it. Meticulously, thoroughly, sliding his tongue against hers in an age-old dance that seemed as new as each breath she took.
Oh. My. God.
She broke away with a gasp, hands on his upper arms and nails digging into his skin. Not wanting to hurt him, her lioness hadn’t manifested claws, a first for the chaotic cat. Forcing herself to meet his eyes, she wasn’t prepared for the depth of heat she saw there, or the amber that leeched into his blue gaze.
So she blurted out something, anything, to avoid commenting on the tension between them.
“That’s a hell of a reason, but I don’t think it’s one Lance will accept.”
“You let me worry about him.”
He stood and lifted her to her feet. Taking a step back, he peeled off his shirt and wrapped her in it, always keeping his eyes above shoulder level. She shivered as the soft cotton wrapped her, enveloping her in the scent of warm man and magic.
Without saying another word, he bent and scooped her into his arms. Exhausted after her madcap dash through the forest, she didn’t argue, simply accepted this strange turn of events and draped her arms around his shoulders.
He was younger than she’d thought a werelock would be. Not that she’d thought of them often. Like werebears, she hadn’t really believed they existed. They were a tale to scare werelion kids.
“Behave or the big, bad werebear will get you.”
“Eat your dinner or the werelocks will steal you away.”
But she’d seen both in Deal’s Gap. If that wasn’t a clue to reassess her beliefs then she didn’t know what was.
He carried her plump, curvy form easily, his gait smooth and steady. After all Lance’s taunting about her weight, having a man not even mention it… not even break a sweat when lifting her like it was a total nonissue, made her release the little breath she held deep inside.
It was easier to breathe without his unsettling gaze on her so she took the opportunity to study him. The typical tall, blond, and handsome, he looked the typical jock type gone rebel with earrings, chains, and fingers full of silver rings.
Only someone who knew what they were looking at would spot the real magical symbols hidden among the fashion pieces. Hiding in plain sight. The MO for almost every magical race out there.
His features were classically handsome. A strong brow was set over blue eyes that ranged between the color of the deepest ocean and pale as a winter sky. His nose was straight and perfectly Roman. His lips fascinated her. Sensuously full, they were maybe a tad too wide for the ideal of perfection but they suited him.
How old was he? He looked mid-twenties, which would put him only a few years younger than her. Fine lines had already formed around the corners of his eyes. Laughter lines, but she got the feeling he didn’t laugh often. His whole demeanor was less young buck out to get drunk and laid, and more dangerous predator prepared to do whatever it took to get the job done.
A dangerous bad boy.
Shit. She’d always had a thing for the bad boy. It was what had gotten her into a relationship with Lance, but now she saw Lance wasn’t a real bad boy, he was a wannabe with a mean streak playing at being dangerous. He thought hitting women and those weaker than himself made him powerful.
Real danger carried her in his arms like she was the most precious thing in the world.
He turned, catching her gaze and for a moment it was like she could see into his soul. Her cat purred, wanting nothing more than to turn belly up and invite this powerful male to take whatever he wanted.
Her cat was a freaking h
ussy.
A second later, the shutters came down in his eyes and he smiled. Far from reassuring her, the expression made all her guards go back up. She fought the feeling of safety which tried to wrap her in its snares, urging her to relax and trust him. Persuasion spell. Had to be. He’d compelled her cat too easily for it to be anything other than magic.
Crap. And her cat already liked him way too much. She was on her own in this particular fight.
No matter. Given that her cat was the weaker of her forms, she’d long ago gotten used to overriding her natural instinct to shift, controlling her cat ruthlessly to keep them both safe. She’d get them out of this. She had to because no way was she going back to Lance. Not with what he threatened.
“Ever try to leave me and I’ll put you in the ground with your dead parents. Bury you alive in a silver banded box. You’ll die down there knowing no one’s coming to save you.”
He’d made the promise with such relish, she knew he’d carry out the threat at the earliest opportunity. He’d probably had it planned for years.
But she wasn’t dead yet. Her natural stubborn nature kicked her up the ass before she could slide into depression and apathy. Her mind went into overdrive, turning over all the options. If she could get free, she could try to make it to the sheriff’s office or maybe the Dark Moon and beg for help. She’d been in the roadhouse once or twice, strictly in passing and keeping on the lowdown, and the guys that ran it were seriously scary dudes. They might help her.
No. Instantly she rejected the idea. Had Lance sent the usual shifter-type of bounty hunter after her, then she might have tried that, but a werelock was a whole new level of nastiness. Especially when she barely knew anyone in the town, preferring to keep to herself. Long experience had taught her not to make friends and the only person she could rely on was herself.