Bad Blood Leopard (Bad Blood Shifters Book 3)

by Anastasia Wilde

  “Caitlyn?”

  No answer. He went back inside. Caitlyn’s work boots were gone from the mat near the front door, but her jacket was still on its hook.

  She hadn’t been gone long, not if the sheets were still warm. He checked the white board on the refrigerator. No note. Her phone was still on the counter, and her purse. That meant she hadn’t intended to leave the territory.

  His cat was scrabbling at his insides. She wouldn’t have gone off without telling him. Not after what they’d just been through. But she’d left of her own free will.

  Fuck. Was she trying to do a deal with Jared on her own?

  Heart in his throat, he scrambled into the nearest clothes he could find and went back outside, giving a shrill whistle. The crew stumbled out of the cabins and trailers, sleepy and half-dressed.

  “Caitlyn,” he said. “Has anyone seen her?”

  There was a chorus of “no’s.”

  “Jaz and I just got home from the restaurant a little while ago,” Brody said. “We didn’t see her then.”

  “Maybe she went flying?”

  Sloan shook his head. “Her boots are gone, but her jacket and phone and purse are still here.”

  “So’s her car,” Tank said.

  They all stared at each other. “She’s in trouble,” Sloan said. “Something’s wrong. I can feel it.”

  Flynn compressed his lips. “No outsiders have crossed into the territory,” he said. “I would have felt—”

  He broke off, his eyes going distant. “Shit,” he said. “Somebody just blipped on the radar. Enemy.” He slammed one fist into the other. “They weren’t there a fucking second ago. How the hell—”

  Everyone froze for a second, and then everybody except Flynn started taking off their clothes, ready to shift.

  “Which boundary?”

  “How many?”

  “Dammit,” Flynn said, his eyes still unfocused. “Not the boundary. Half a mile inside.”

  “Fucking flyers,” Xander muttered.

  “Just one,” Flynn said. “About a mile… that way.” He pointed. “Not moving.”

  But Sloan had stopped listening. He could see her at the edge of the clearing, robe perfectly still despite the night breeze. Gaping wound at her throat. Beckoning to him.

  Kayisha.

  Icy cold slid through his body. “Oh, fuck,” he whispered. He turned to the others. “The cliff, over above the ravine. Caitlyn’s there, and either Jared Donnelly is there with her, or his hired killer is.”

  Nobody questioned him. In moments, Flynn was back up the steps and into the house. Sloan heard the crash as he tipped over the dining room table to get at the weapons locker.

  The others were already Changing. They needed their animals’ speed, or they’d never get there in time.

  Sloan tried to call out his cat. It was terrified, scratching at his insides. Mate! Mate! Danger!

  Dammit, come out! We have to protect her!

  But it just retreated further inside him, growling and hissing. Flynn leaped down the steps, naked except for an oddly-shaped combat vest that bristled with weapons. He tossed a sniper rifle to Sloan, who caught it automatically. Extra ammo followed, and he shoved it in his pocket.

  “Let’s ride, brother,” Flynn said, and Changed. The combat vest molded to his lion form. If he had to change back, he still wouldn’t be defenseless.

  Next to Sloan, Tank rumbled, “I’ll carry you,” just before he Changed to bear form.

  Sloan vaulted onto his friend’s back, and the Bad Blood Crew began to run.

  Grizzly, black bear, jaguar, wolf, panther, lion. Tris’s white wolf was there too, one of their first brothers, not bound to the crew but still one of them in his heart.

  They raced through the woods, Sloan leaning forward on Tank’s back, rifle slung over his back, both hands grasping huge handfuls of coarse brown fur to keep himself from falling off.

  They made no sound but the muffled pads of their feet hitting the forest floor, the snap of branches as they pushed their way through the underbrush heavy with new leaves.

  Caitlyn. Caitlyn. Caitlyn. The name was like the beat of his heart, carrying the smile in her eyes, the warmth in her touch, the courage in her heart. She was in danger. He could feel it deep in his gut, a knowing old as time and deep as love. His mate needed him.

  They burst out of the forest near the edge of the cliff, and Sloan saw them silhouetted in the moonlight. Caitlyn, backed up to the edge of the cliff, with Jared looming over her.

  They both looked up, startled, but Jared recovered first. He hooked his arm around Caitlyn’s throat and swung her around to shield him. The Bad Bloods surrounded him, and Sloan slid off Tank’s back, his weapon trained on Jared before his feet hit the ground.

  “Let her go, Donnelly,” he said.

  Jared bared his teeth in a parody of a smile. “I don’t think so.”

  Sloan said evenly, “Let her go, or I’ll kill you. You know I can. I’m a trained sniper, and I can turn the top of your skull into a bloody pulp without disturbing a hair on her head. You have ten seconds.”

  Jared sneered. “If I fall off this cliff, dead or alive, I’ll take her with me.”

  Sloan didn’t move. “She can fly.”

  Jared just started laughing like a crazy man. The whole crew growled, and took a step toward him.

  Keeping one arm hooked firmly around Caitlyn’s neck, Jared pressed a button on the gold cuff bracelet he wore on his left wrist. A blue light flashed.

  Then, still laughing, he stepped backward into open air, dragging Caitlyn with him.

  Sloan squeezed the trigger a split-second too late. The crew surged forward. There was a sound like a piece of cloth ripping, and a rift appeared in the darkness of the sky. Through it, Sloan caught a glimpse of a great grassy plain under pale sunlight.

  Jared and Caitlyn fell backwards through the ragged hole in the sky. It closed silently behind them, and they were gone.

  Chapter 32

  They all ran to the edge of the cliff. Despite what he’d seen, Sloan half-expected to see Caitlyn’s and Jared’s fallen bodies on the rocks below, or their owls soaring to safety.

  There was nothing there.

  The crew was babbling, Changing back to human and trying to make sense of what they’d seen. Sloan grabbed Tristan by the shoulder.

  “He took her into the spirit world, didn’t he. Didn’t he?”

  Tris raised his hands helplessly. “I think so. I don’t know! It looks different in different places, and I’ve only been there once. I—”

  Sloan, frantic, pushed him in the chest. “How do I get there? How do I follow her?”

  “We can’t,” Tristan said. “Only dragons and a few other magical shifters can travel the spirit world in their physical bodies. They can take people along, like Rachelle did for me, but—”

  This was taking too long. All this talk was taking too long. “He’s not a dragon. He’s a fucking owl. If he can do it, we can!”

  Tris shook his head, his long platinum braids clashing together. “He had a magical artifact. That he should not be using. It’s probably what’s making him crazy—that or too much spirit world traveling. The only thing we can do is call Ashley and see if she can track them. We need to…”

  But Sloan had stopped listening again. Kayisha was there, out past the edge of the cliff.

  “Stop it!” he yelled at her, pulsing with fury. “I don’t know where the fucking artifact is! Leave me the hell alone!”

  His crew was staring at him, looking out into the blank night and back at him. They can’t see her, he realized. Caitlyn is the only one who can see her.

  Tristan grabbed him on either side of the head. He felt the white wolf’s touch on his mind, and saw him start as he looked out at Kayisha through Sloan’s eyes.

  Kayisha’s mouth moved, and this time, like in the interrogation center, he heard her voice.

  Trust me. I will help you.

  She reached out to hi
m, beckoning, the way she had so many times.

  He pulled away from Tristan and stepped forward, closer to the cliff. “Can you take me to Caitlyn?”

  Xander murmured, “Who the hell is he talking to?”

  Kayisha nodded.

  He took another step. “Sloan!” Jasmin yelled. “Don’t!”

  Tank growled.

  Listen to me, Kayisha said. His crew was yelling, but he barely heard them. She was right. He hadn’t been listening. He hadn’t wanted to know. He had a sudden flash of him and Charlie, on the edge of a cliff in Afghanistan.

  All this time, she hadn’t been trying to kill him. She’d been trying to take him back.

  She’d been trying to make him remember.

  Tristan reached for him, but he was too late. Sloan bunched his muscles and leaped—a leap of hope, a leap of faith. His last chance.

  He grabbed Kayisha’s hand, and it was cold and solid and firm in his grasp. He heard a ripping, tearing sound, and he was falling.

  Sunbaked dirt far below him. A clear blue sky above, with one hawk circling high overhead. And the distant sound of thunder.

  Flynn led the crew back to the compound. As soon as they got there, he got on the phone to Israel.

  “It’s an emergency, Drakenwolf,” he said. “We need you and Ashley here right now.”

  Flynn had it on speaker; they could all hear his reply. “Shit, Flynn, can’t it wait? Ashley has a recording session first thing—”

  “Cancel it,” Flynn said.

  Tristan took the phone from him. “Sorry, Israel,” he said. “I really think you’d better come. We have a rogue spook who used an illegal artifact to kidnap Caitlyn and take her through a rift into the spirit world. Sloan went after them—”

  “In his body? How the fuck did Sloan get into the spirit world without a guide?”

  Tristan blew out a sigh. “A ghost crossed him over.”

  “Dammit to hell,” Israel said. “We’ll be right there.” He cut the call.

  The Bad Bloods all stared at Tristan. “Kayisha?” Xander said. “That’s who he was talking to, out there?”

  Tristan nodded.

  Xander echoed what everyone was thinking.

  “Fuck.”

  Israel and Ashley showed up less than fifteen minutes later, Ashley as a cobalt-blue dragon, with Israel on her back. They joined the crew in the living room of the cabin after Ashley Changed back.

  She was still shaking her head. “I can’t believe he followed a ghost into the spirit world.”

  “Yeah,” Xander said. “No way that could end badly.”

  “Exactly,” Israel said. “Ghosts are unreliable, even when they mean well, and this one seems to have an agenda of her own.”

  “That damn artifact,” Flynn said. “Somebody should gather up all that magic shit and melt it into slag.”

  Ashley raised an eyebrow at him.

  “Don’t look at me like that, Draken,” Flynn said. “That shit’s dangerous, and people kill for it. That’s the reason you all left this world in the first place.”

  “Don’t look at me,” Ashley said mildly. “I wasn’t there. And in case you’ve forgotten, I’m not the most popular person in the Dragonlands.”

  Flynn snorted.

  “Let’s stay on target, why don’t we,” Tristan said. He turned to Ashley. “Can you find them? Either of them?”

  Ashley spread her hands helplessly. “The spirit world is a complicated place. It changes depending on your needs, your desires, your emotions. It takes a lot of skill to navigate it.”

  “But you can go there.” That was Tank’s low rumble. “You could take some of us with you.”

  “Of course I could,” Ashley said. “But you can’t track people there the same way you can here. They might not have even ended up in the same place. I wouldn’t know where to start.”

  “We have to try,” Tristan said quietly. “They’re both in danger. I don’t know if Donnelly knows what the hell he’s doing. And Sloan...”

  “What?” Flynn asked.

  “Sending your spirit into the spirit world is one thing. But traveling there in physical form, without a guide—it can unhinge your mind. Sloan had multiple concussions less that twenty-four hours ago, and he’s in a precarious mental place…”

  “You’re worried about it making him crazy,” Jasmin said flatly.

  “In a word, yes.”

  “He’s already crazy,” Xander said.

  They all stared at him.

  “What?” he said. “We all are. He’s used to hallucinations and shit changing around him and precarious mental places. Maybe for once that’s a good thing.”

  Tristan raised an eyebrow, then shrugged in acknowledgement. “Maybe it is.”

  Ashley worried her lip between her teeth. “That doesn’t change the fact that I don’t fucking even begin to know where to start looking for him.”

  Israel had been sitting on the sofa, blue fire playing around his hands. Now he looked up. “What if we don’t have to find him?” he said. “What if we could bring him to us?”

  Flynn said, “How the hell do you plan on doing that? Sending up a flare?”

  “Kind of,” Israel said. He looked at Flynn. “The magic that defines this territory came from the Dragonlands. It was channeled through my magical doohickie,” he held up his hand, “into Flynn, as the alpha.”

  Jasmin arched her eyebrow. “Doohickie being the technical term?”

  “For a lump of gold fused painfully into my hand and imbued with dragon magic, yeah,” he said. “The point is, the Dragonlands connect all the worlds. Even the spirit world. And the territory magic connects all of you through the crew bond…”

  “And the crew bond connects Sloan to us,” Xander finished.

  “Exactly,” Israel said. He turned to Flynn. “If you activate the magic of this territory, with Ashley and me to help you, and your crew links together and focuses on the bond between you, I bet we can light up a flare that Sloan can’t possibly miss. With any luck, we can light his way home.”

  Xander said quietly, “He won’t come without Caitlyn.”

  “Well then,” Ashley said, “Let’s hope his ghost friend knows where to find her.”

  Chapter 33

  Sloan felt like he was falling in slow motion. His body hit a protruding rock, and he tumbled and spun. Then his head hit, and the ground came up to meet him.

  He landed on dusty, sun-baked earth. The breath should have been knocked out of him. He should have broken half his bones. The blow to his head should have scrambled his brains.

  The way it did before. That’s what happened before.

  But instead, he remembered everything with crystal clarity.

  He’s following Charlie through the dusty hills, jumping over scrub and low bushes, climbing over rocks that crumble under his hands and feet.

  He killed Kayisha. Charlie killed Kayisha. And he stole the artifact she’d guarded so carefully.

  Sloan is closing in on him, murder in his eyes. His cat may be hiding, but he has his hands and his knife, and he knows dozens of ways to kill.

  Charlie trips and falls, the leather bag spilling out of his grasp. Sloan lunges for him, and in desperation Charlie Changes. His great white wings spread out, and he scoops up the pouch with his talons as they sweep him out of reach.

  Sloan slides to his knees and picks up Charlie’s rifle. In the grip of his grief and fury, he doesn’t hesitate, just aims and shoots.

  A red spot appears on Charlie’s white feathers, like a rose blooming.

  Sloan watches him fall. He spirals through the air, screaming, and Sloan feels nothing but hot rage and betrayal.

  The owl lands at the edge of the cliff and transforms to human shape. Sloan pockets the artifact, that cursed object that caused so much misery. Then he walks over to Charlie, preparing to push him over the edge with the toe of his combat boots, to be eaten by the vultures that are already circling.

  He’s careless, in his rag
e, in his confidence in his own skills. But when he reaches Charlie’s body, his friend opens his eyes—and attacks.

  He feels it all as if it’s happening now—the heat and the dust and his hands slipping in the sweat on Charlie’s body. Looking into the eyes of his friend, his mentor, the man he trusted most, and seeing nothing there but greed, and Sloan’s own death.

  It’s quiet, so quiet, no sound but the thud of bodies and their breathing, the occasional grunt as one or the other gains an advantage.

  Then Charlie gives a great heave and Sloan slips over the side of the cliff. It’s steep here, but not vertical, and he slithers down a slope of gravel and sharp rocks until he lands on a narrow ledge.

  There’s a cave.

  Bullets zing by, one hitting inches from his head. Sloan dropped the gun when they fought, and now Charlie is shooting at him, desperate for his prize. Sloan ducks into the cave, but he can hear Charlie coming, dislodging the gravel on his way down.

  Quickly, Sloan pulls the leather bag from his pocket and stuffs it deep into a crevice of stone at the very back of the cave, piling other rocks on top. Charlie is just above him now, and Sloan begins to run, propelling himself toward the mouth of the cave.

  As Charlie’s feet hit the ledge, Sloan barrels into him, and they both go over the edge.

  Sloan feels like he’s falling in slow motion. His body hits a protruding rock, and he tumbles and spins. Then his head hits, and the ground comes up to meet him.

  He lands on dusty, sun-baked earth.

  And Kayisha is there.

  She is solid this time, kneeling beside him in her gray robe, no wound at her neck. She touches him, and her hands are warm and strong. They slide over the place where he hit his head, and the pain dissipates.

  “Do you remember?”

  He looks up at her. “I remember everything. I’m sorry it took me so long.”

  She smiles at him, her eyes sad. “You were hurt. You nearly died.”

  “And I didn’t want to remember.” He could admit that now. He could admit to the pain and the grief and the shame he’d carried buried within him all this time.