Bad Blood Leopard (Bad Blood Shifters Book 3)

by Anastasia Wilde

  Bad Blood Leopard

  (Bad Blood Shifters Book 3)

  by

  Anastasia Wilde

  Bad Blood Leopard

  Copyright © 2017 by Anastasia Wilde

  Copyright © 2017 by Anastasia Wilde

  First Electronic Publication: June 2017

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this book may be used, reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, scanning, uploading, or distributing via the internet, print, or any other means, without written permission from the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental. The author does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.

  Published in the United States of America.

  Cover by Jeanne Gransee Barker

  Fall in love with the Bad Blood Shifters!

  Smokin’ hot shifter men with hearts of gold; the strong, passionate women who love them; secrets, lies and danger; naughty, steamy love scenes—and happily ever afters.

  Books by Anastasia Wilde

  Silverlake Shifters Series:

  Fugitive Mate

  White Wolf Mate

  Tiger Mate

  Silverlake Enforcers Series:

  Silverlake Shifters – The Enforcers: KANE

  Silverlake Shifters – The Enforcers: ISRAEL

  Silverlake Shifters – The Enforcers: NOAH

  Bad Blood Shifters Series:

  Bad Blood Bear

  Bad Blood Wolf

  Bad Blood Leopard

  Bad Blood Panther (Upcoming)

  Bad Blood Alpha (Upcoming)

  Chapter 1

  Sloan McCall was a haunted man.

  His past was always with him, playing over and over again in an endless loop, and no matter how many times he tried to change it, the end was always the same.

  He’s in the hills, desert country, dry scrub and rocky cliffs and sandy earth. His orders are to watch the valley to the west, so they can evacuate the village before the warlord’s soldiers get there.

  So they can get Kayisha out.

  No. That’s wrong. He’s supposed to be with Kayisha. His mission is to protect her, to protect the artifact she carries.

  Why is he here, so far away from her?

  Behind him, he hears a rumbling like thunder. He looks up. They sky is clear blue, just one hawk circling. There’s another rumble and a distant ‘boom.’

  Not thunder. Mortar fire.

  They’re attacking the village.

  This can’t be happening. Their scout said the soldiers are miles away, coming from the west.

  But they’re attacking now, from the east. It’s impossible.

  Unless they’ve been betrayed.

  Fucking spooks. Sloan’s been played. They’ve all been played. There’s nothing here.

  And Kayisha is in danger.

  The stab of realization was both startling and familiar. He’d been here so many times. Each time, he knew that if he just moved a little faster, if he changed one small thing, it would all be different.

  He takes off running, pushing away the despair already collecting in his gut.

  It would be the same. It was always the same.

  No! He would fix it. He had to fix it.

  Things are jumbled now, confusing. He’s running through darkness, a windy forest that smells like rain, and then he’s stumbling over sandy hills again, slipping and sliding and grabbing at patches of long tough grass to haul himself upright, knowing time is running out.

  Just a little faster…

  A shell detonates overhead, a deafening roar and a blinding flash. It knocks Sloan to his knees, and he’s surrounded by wild trees with their tiny new leaves swaying and slapping at him, and then he rolls to his feet and he’s back in the desert.

  He’s lost so much time. The ground around him is pounded by mortar shells. He has to Change, leave his weapons behind and depend on teeth and claws. He digs deep, calling to the snow leopard that lives inside him, but his cat is hiding away, terrified by the noise and chaos, by the knowledge that they’ll never get there in time.

  He can’t Change. He’s running slower now, legs burning. Change! Change!

  This isn’t how it was.

  But it is, this is how it always is. He runs and runs, trying to save Kayisha, his cat hiding from the thunderous blasts of noise and light.

  Kayisha’s dead. You can’t save her.

  Yes. No. He knows she was dead, but right now she’s still alive and maybe this time he can save her, if only he can be fast enough, strong enough, smart enough.

  But his steps grow slower and slower, like he’s running through molasses. He can see the village now. He can see Kayisha, tiny in the distance, standing by a hut made of mud and stone. She’s far away, but somehow he can see her clearly. Her mouth moves. She’s trying to tell him something, but he can’t hear her.

  There are explosions all around him now, mortar shells crashing and detonating with thunder and fire. He runs and stumbles and falls and runs again, but the village never gets any closer, and Kayisha calls out to him but he can’t hear her words.

  And then she shadow looms up behind her. He should be able to see what it is, what’s behind it, but he never can. It looks like a roiling column of smoke, but he knows it’s a deadly threat.

  Where is Charlie? Why isn’t he protecting Kayisha?

  He knows she’s going to die. He raises his rifle and takes a shot, but it blows through the smoke with no effect. With all his might, he wills himself to Change, but he can’t.

  Kayisha’s eyes grow wide. Her throat gapes open from a great bloody slash, and blood pours down, a puddle of dark red on her light gray robe.

  Now he hears her screaming, but how can she be screaming with her throat cut?

  She’s still alive, alive for another moment, and if he can just get to her, Claim her, Turn her, he can save her life.

  He keeps expecting the spook to swoop down on great white wings, talons extended, but he’s not there. Sloan runs harder now, pelting through the clouds of dust and debris, almost there. He throws himself forward…

  A huge white shape swooped out of the darkness right in front of him, and a harsh scream rang in his ears. Sloan flinched away from the deadly talons, throwing himself to the side.

  He landed hard, startling himself awake. Wet earth and stone crumbled underneath him, breaking and falling away into a deep ravine, sharp rocks gleaming faintly in the darkness far below.

  More earth broke away, nearly sending him over the edge.

  Using all his strength and animal reflexes, he scrambled back. Above him, thunder boomed, and a flash of lightning lit up the sky.

  Then the rain came down.

  It was cold and punishing, and it woke him up all the way. He wasn’t in Afghanistan. He was in the Tennessee forest, in his crew’s territory outside of Nashville.

  And he’d come within inches of sleepwalking himself over a hundred-foot cliff.

  He sat, arms around his knees, and let the rain soak him. The lightning confused his vision, but he thought he saw a glimpse of white wings disappearing among the trees.

  No. He was imagining it. He was stuck in his fucked-up mind, reliving a past that needed to be buried and forgotten.

  He wasn’t going to save anybody. The
chance of that was long past, and he had to live with it. If this could be called living, when all his mind wanted to do was go back. Fix it, somehow. Fix the biggest mistake of his life, the one that had cost him everything.

  He couldn’t save Kayisha; Kayisha was gone. Except that was the problem. She wouldn’t fucking leave.

  A deep shiver went through him. Slowly, reluctantly, he turned his head toward the cliff edge.

  She hung in mid-air, translucent, her gray robe unmoving even though the wind still whipped the tree branches and snaked across his chilled skin. Dark blood soaked her chest, and the wound at her neck gaped open in a gory parody of a mouth.

  Kayisha. The woman who haunted him, following him through his days and nights, appearing whenever lightning flashed and thunder roared.

  She’d never tried to kill him before.

  He rose to his feet, fists clenched, facing her, and shouted into the wind. “What the hell do you want from me?”

  She held out her hand, beckoning to him, daring him to step over the edge.

  Frustration and rage surged through him. “I tried to save you! Why the fuck are you still here? Why are you punishing me?” His voice broke. “I tried to save you.”

  She hung there, unmoved, while cold rain pelted him.

  “Dammit, Kayisha! You’ve already destroyed me. When is it ever going to be enough?”

  Her silent answer echoed through the night.

  Never.

  Chapter 2

  Caitlyn Anderson clung to a pine branch at the edge of the tree line, her sharp talons holding her on as it lashed wildly in the wind.

  She was trembling, her white feathers ruffled in agitation. That had been way too close.

  This was the third time she’d found him sleepwalking toward the cliff. The first two times she’d managed to wake him before he got there. This time she almost didn’t make it.

  But she’d done it. She’d saved him.

  Maybe now the visions would stop.

  For the last five weeks, every time she closed her eyes she saw this man. Sloan McCall. On his knees in despair, danger hovering around him like smoky shadows. Plunging to his death. Lying at the foot of a cliff, sightless eyes to the sky. Being buried in a shallow grave, by someone who was no friend of his.

  And every time, something deep inside her told her she could save him.

  None of her past visions had ever been as strong as this one. It haunted her, obsessed her, until she left everything behind and came to Tennessee to find him.

  She’d hunted him down. Watched him. Protected him.

  This man with tousled blond hair and sad eyes and magic in his hands. The first time she heard him play the guitar, she was transfixed. He didn’t just have talent; he had soul. He poured his whole self into his playing—beauty that could break your heart.

  She’d thought she would feel relief and satisfaction when he was finally safe, but she just felt drained and empty. He’d filled her life for this brief time, given her something to do that mattered, something to pour her own heart into.

  This stranger who didn’t even know she existed.

  And now it was over. He would never know she’d been here, never know what she’d done for him.

  She hadn’t just saved him from going over the cliff. She’d abandoned the clan that stifled her, the home that seemed more like a cage, her pledged mate who didn’t love her.

  She had nothing left. What was she going to do now?

  As the thought slid through her mind, she heard a voice shouting over the wind, shaking with rage and despair.

  She dropped off her perch, wings spread, battling the wind to the edge of the cliff.

  And found a nightmare.

  A woman, translucent and covered in gore, hung in the air over the rocky abyss, holding out her hand as if to pull Sloan in.

  Caitlyn swooped down, ready to beat him back from the edge with her wings if she had to, but he planted his feet on the muddy ground, fists clenched.

  “Why are you punishing me?” The despair in his voice broke her heart. “I tried to save you.”

  The ghost didn’t move.

  “Dammit, Kayisha! You’ve already destroyed me. When is it ever going to be enough?”

  As Caitlyn floated over his head on silent wings, she could have sworn she heard a whisper on the wind.

  I can’t stop. Never. Not until it’s done.

  Caitlyn’s vision went black, and then she saw him lying at the bottom of the cliff once more, eyes sightless in death. The force of the vision nearly knocked her out of the sky, and she barely recovered quickly enough to land on a nearby stump.

  She realized, like an icicle piercing her heart, that she hadn’t saved him at all.

  The apparition faded with the storm. Sloan sank to his knees on the ground, head buried in his hands.

  Caitlyn stayed on her perch, her feathers ruffled against the cold, driving rain. She thought longingly of her hotel room and a hot shower, but she couldn’t leave as long as he was still here. It was like she was tethered to him with an invisible cord.

  Finally, he climbed to his feet and trudged away from the cliff. The hideous apparition was gone; the thunder was abating. It was just an ordinary rainy night, cold and desolate, and he was a lonely figure looking for home.

  She shadowed him, floating silently through the forest as only an owl can, her wings making no sound.

  He walked as if it took all his strength to put one foot in front of the other. He looked so defeated and unhappy, it pulled at her heart. She wished she could walk beside him, just so he knew someone was there.

  As they approached the compound where his crew lived, she heard the bloodcurdling scream of a panther echoing through the forest. Sloan’s head went up. “Fuck,” he muttered, and started running.

  Caitlyn beat her wings, sailing between the trees, anxious to see what was going on. She’d watched the crew for five weeks, and even though they’d never seen her, she felt as though they were her friends.

  The panther—Xander—had a volatile animal, always on the edge of going crazy. That scream sounded like he he’d lost it. Again.

  She glided out of the forest into clear air, banking sharply upward. The scene below her was chaos.

  Xander was locked in battle in front of the main cabin, tearing wildly at a cream-colored wolf. Brody. This was no casual crew brawl. He was going for the jugular, and there was blood everywhere.

  A huge grizzly—Tank—waded into the fight and slapped the writhing ball of fur with his giant paw. They rolled over and over, and Xander lost his grip on Brody. A woman with long black hair—Jasmin—ran over and knelt next to the wolf, her hands on his bleeding neck.

  “Dammit, Xander,” she screamed. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  Caitlyn landed on a tree branch high above the carnage, heart in her throat.

  Tank had gotten between Xander and Brody, and Xander lunged at him, letting out another wild, feral scream. He’d gone completely crazy. Where was their alpha? Flynn? He should be putting a stop to this.

  Sloan burst out of the trees, dropping his shirt and undoing his jeans. He leaped forward, transforming in mid-air, turning into a white leopard with black spots.

  Caitlyn’s breath hitched, even in owl form. He was so beautiful, his coat gleaming in the wavering moonlight peeking through the clouds.

  He dove into the fight, hitting Xander full-on with a bone-rattling thud. They crashed to the ground, and Sloan rolled to his feet, snarling a warning.

  Xander lunged at him, raking Sloan’s shoulder with wicked claws, and snapped his teeth. Tank batted him away from the leopard. Infuriated, Xander lunged at Tank instead, and Sloan body-slammed him again. Xander barely seemed to notice. He was insane with rage, and looked ready to attack them all night without stopping.

  Caitlyn trembled. If they didn’t defuse his rage, his animal could take over entirely, and they’d never get him back.

  At that moment, a small, curly-haired woman
dashed down the porch steps of the main house, carrying a rifle. “I can’t find Flynn,” she called out. “We’re going to have to take him down.”

  She stopped, raised the rifle to her shoulder, and squeezed the trigger.

  With a hiss, a dart flew out of the gun and caught Xander in the shoulder. He ignored it, lunging for Sloan once more.

  “Fuck,” Lissa muttered. She shot again, this time getting the panther in the flank.

  Caitlyn watched with the crew, afraid that even the tranquilizer darts couldn’t take Xander down. Then he wobbled and stumbled, and sank to the ground.

  Even then, he still twitched and growled, clawing in vain at anyone who came near him.

  “Shit,” Tank said. “He’s still conscious. What the fuck?”

  The bear had Changed back to human, a huge mountain of a man. A huge naked mountain. Caitlyn still wasn’t completely used to that.

  The others Changed back as well, all except Brody. Lissa left Xander to Tank, and went back inside to get a medical kit.

  Caitlyn breathed a sigh of relief. It looked like Brody would be okay. Shifters healed at a fantastic rate, especially fur-bearing predators. Caitlyn, as an owl, healed faster than a human, but not that fast.

  Tank lifted Xander’s panther like he weighed no more than a child. The panther was still agitated, though weak from the drugs, and Tank picked up a couple of sets of deep, bleeding scratches, which he ignored.

  He carried the panther over to a stoutly build shed at the edge of the clearing. It had an iron band across the door, with a huge padlock.

  The crazy shed. Caitlyn had been shocked when she first saw the crew lock one of their own into the shed, but she knew now it was the only safe place for them when one of their animals—usually Xander’s—went ballistic.

  Tank laid Xander gently down on a bed of straw. He was still struggling weakly, trying to get up, trying to attack.