When A Lioness Growls (A Lion's Pride Book 7)

by Eve Langlais

  He knew that voice, but usually it simpered.

  “We were just kidding, boss.”

  Boss?

  “Get out of here. Now,” was the barked order. “Get ready. We’ve got a chopper arriving for a shipment in the next fifteen minutes.”

  Shipment of what?

  “On it.” Followed by a rustle of canvas and a muttered, “Bossy bitch.”

  Silence fell with only the hum of machines filling the air. Breathing in through his nose didn’t indicate any scent other than Stacey’s. Were they alone?

  He pried open an eyelid to find a pair of familiar blue eyes staring at him.

  “Hello, Jean Francois. I am surprised you came for a visit so soon after this afternoon.”

  Since the gig was up, he sat and looked Jan in the eye. “What’s going on here?”

  “Science. The medical wave of the future.”

  “What kind of science? What are you doing taking people prisoner?”

  “Is this the part where I’m supposed to launch into a villainous monologue about how my shitty childhood made me turn to a life of crime?”

  “It would help.” But wasn’t necessary. There were only two real reasons people committed crimes. Money, which went hand in hand with power, or passion. Since he didn’t know Jan, and he doubted Jan knew the other guests, he doubted passion had anything to do with her actions. Especially given the clinical nature of the equipment in the tent.

  “Let’s just say you and your so-called sister in the cage over there have something people will pay dearly for. And I am in the perfect position to provide it.”

  “Experiments on your own kind?”

  “My kind?” She snorted. “I am nothing like the animals I put in these cages.”

  At that, he frowned and sniffed. Frowned some more. “Where is your scent?”

  “I have none, courtesy of a special cologne.” She smiled. “It’s called nothing. As in not human, not shifter, nothing. It comes in an aerosol, and it’s very popular with the mercenary groups.”

  “So you’re using the people you capture to develop a non-scent?”

  “Of course not. The recipe for it is actually based on a flower that grows only in a few volcanoes. But this is my favorite place to collect it, given the Lleyoniias were kind enough to leave the instructions to the nothing scent behind in this one.”

  “If you use plants to make it, then why the cages? Why capture Shania and those other girls that went missing?”

  Jan’s expression brightened into an Aha moment. “So you are here to investigate. I thought so. You and that woman failed at the whole sibling thing.”

  Probably because he couldn’t keep his hands or eyes off Stacey. “You won’t get away with whatever you’re doing. People have begun to notice the odd happenings on this island.”

  “Then I guess we’ll have to shift camps. We can get samples from the animals elsewhere if needed.”

  “Samples of what?”

  “Blood. Semen. But the most popular thing on the market right now is eggs. Shapeshifter eggs. Did you know they can be used in a variety of medical procedures? They make the best stem cells for treatments.”

  “You’re harvesting eggs?” From unwilling and unknowing hosts. Even he was appalled. “How can you do that to your own kind?”

  “Not my kind,” she spat. “What has you and all those other animals fooled is the scent I wear. Again, another recipe I found when I stumbled across a cave in the volcano.”

  “You’re not a lion shifter.” The news took him by surprise. He’d never had his nose fooled before.

  “Bingo. He finally gets it. I’m surprised it took you this long. Then again, you’re not a shifter either. But you are something more than human. I just haven’t figured out what. What I do know is you’re nothing at all like the woman.” She pointed to the limp Stacey. “The blood samples we took this afternoon—”

  “Where did you put the samples?” Knowing she’d taken some of his blood brought a chill, mostly because the first rule Gaston made him learn after his creation was to never let anyone keep his blood. There were secrets in his blood. Secrets the world couldn’t find out.

  “Aren’t you just the demanding one. In case you hadn’t noticed, you’re in the cage, which makes you the prisoner.”

  “You can’t keep me here.”

  “Oh, but I can. These bars are silver imbued and shifter resistant.”

  As if he cared. He’d escaped worse places than this. “What are you planning to do with us?”

  “After we take some more samples, we wipe your memories and put you back, none the wiser.”

  “I won’t forget.”

  “You’d better hope you do because otherwise you will die. A tragic accident in paradise. Happens all the time with the tourists.” Her smile proved quite cunning.

  For some reason, it made him brash. “I can see why Stacey hates you. You are a sly bitch.”

  “And you have a really unhealthy relationship with your sister.”

  “On account she’s not my sister, and you messed with the wrong people.” He stood, his shoulders brushing the top of the cage.

  And still Jan smirked, thinking she held the upper hand. “Do your worst. We had a bear shifter in here a month ago, big bastard, and he couldn’t even bend the bars.”

  “But I’m not a shifter,” he growled as he let the beast rise, the skin on his body turning dark, his teeth elongating, and his wings popping free. He didn’t stop at his hybrid shape either. Despite knowing a lack of feeding would leave him weak, he kept on shifting, his body thickening, horns spiraling from his forehead. His breaths emerged in a puff of smoke.

  Goggling him, Jan didn’t retreat. The stupid woman still didn’t understand she now breathed her last.

  Soon she would grasp just how badly she’d fucked up when she chose to mess with him.

  JF grabbed hold of the bars, hearing the hiss of skin being crisped by the silver alloy in them. He didn’t care. He pulled, and at first, nothing happened, and Jan’s shocked look turned into a smirk.

  Then there was a creak. A groan of metal bending and her eyes widened as the bars began to twist. A whampyr who let the beast through all the way was not restricted by the laws of physics when it came to strength but, rather, could call on magic, that ethereal force that bound all living things, and use it. Use it to enhance his strength and will. Not for long, not without blood to fortify him, but long enough to break free of this puny cage.

  At last Jan realized her mistake. “Someone get in here with a gun!” Jan shouted. Silly girl. She should have instead started running. He did so like to chase.

  JF was done playing opossum. I am not a prisoner or a mere mortal to be trifled with.

  He was better than her. Better than anyone. And he had to act now, destroy the blood she’d stolen. Destroy her before she could reveal any of his secrets.

  In the distance, he heard the whirring of a chopper. Would it carry reinforcements?

  Best take care of those in camp now.

  Time to hunt.

  He slid through the gap he’d made in the bars, and finally Jan moved, running from the tent shouting for help. “Someone shoot him!”

  She called for a rain of bullets. Painful, but not deadly. Not unless they blew up his head.

  While the front entrance beckoned, he avoided it. No point in making himself a target. He shot straight up, claws extended to tear himself an opening in the roof of the tent. He balanced on the metal pole ridge holding the canvas up, using it for a short moment before launching himself into the sky, the screams by Jan, the shouts of the men, and the loudening roar of the chopper making for chaos. The best kind of distraction for a stealthy creature of the night.

  Swooping from the sky, the man JF slammed into never saw him coming. He used the other male as a cushion for his landing, his knee ramming hard in the spine, his hands grasping him by the head and twisting.

  Crack.

  One down. No mercy. Leaving them
behind meant possibly facing them again later at a less opportune moment.

  JF scooped the rifle and took once again to the skies, holding himself aloft with mighty pulls of his wings, hearing the roar of the chopper as it began its descent into the bowl, and the wind caught at his wings. He alighted on a ledge, the slim rocky shelf enough room for him to balance and take aim at a man running toward the tent holding the cage and Stacey.

  Oh no you don’t.

  Pop.

  His shot took down the fellow, and Jan screamed more in rage than anguish.

  The chopper landed, and he took aim at it, the shot ricocheting off the whirring blades. A pair of men poured out of it, armed and ducking immediately behind objects for cover.

  Since JF found himself exposed, he took to the skies and might have enjoyed himself picking them off, except someone had the brilliant idea of turning on a huge spotlight, the same one they’d lit for the helicopter to land and aimed it upwards—which explained the rumors he’d heard from staff about the strange lights in the sky. People preferred to believe in the inexplicable rather than search out the truth.

  The bright beam caught him, and a bullet soon followed the heat of its passage, narrowly missing his wing.

  He dipped and swirled, looking for openings. But there were several of them firing blindly into the sky, making it difficult for him to attack.

  A smarter whampyr might have taken off. After all, he was no longer caged; he was free to go. Leave. Save himself.

  Saving himself, though, meant leaving Stacey behind. He wouldn’t even contemplate it. If he left, then it would be because she came with him.

  And then there was the fact they still had his blood.

  I’m not going anywhere. Not until he’d taken care of business.

  He fired and heard someone yelp. Then he was the one hissing in pain as a bullet finally tore into him, grazing his wing, but it distracted him, caused him to falter, and another bullet tore through the paper-thin parchment-like skin, upsetting his balance.

  Since the sky was no longer his friend, he dropped, hitting the ground feet first with a hard thump. He fell into a crouch and tucked his wings close, feeling the throb of the hole as flesh knitted together, the hot thrill of blood coursing through his veins.

  The beast inside pulsed and pushed, begging to fully come out. Few knew it, but the form JF usually morphed into was a hybrid version of his whampyr. There existed a deeper, darker part of him still.

  Don’t wake the monster. Because once woken, only blood would appease.

  Men with guns, led by a smirking Jan, converged. “Don’t kill him. I want some more samples first.”

  JF let them get close, his head bowed, the picture of subservience. Broken, bleeding, and beaten.

  Or so they thought. He still had one more trick up his whampyr sleeve.

  When they got within reach, he smiled, wickedly and without mirth, as he pulled at the world around him, sucked at everything he could find in the air and the ground. His horns tingled, storing all that sweet power. When he was full to the brim, he grabbed it and thrust it out of him in a dark cloud, a fog of night so deep no light could penetrate.

  But he didn’t need to see to hunt.

  As a shield, it did wonders, but he couldn’t use it for long, and so he moved quickly, tracking by sound. A whimper, a scuff of shoes, panting breath. His teeth snapped at his prey, gnashing their flesh, releasing blood, blood that he drank. He guzzled it the hot coppery fluid, feeding the monster that hungered. Replenishing the leeching strength from his big body.

  When the fog dissipated, it was to see bodies on the ground, broken and torn. Eyes staring sightlessly. His enemies vanquished while he pulsed with power.

  I want more.

  He looked around and noticed a particular body was missing.

  “Where are you, Jan?” He was still feeling peckish.

  The fact that she wore the nothing scent made it easy for him to follow her. It was the one path that negated everything around it. It led to the far side of the crater, the open area marked for landing.

  The chopper hadn’t wasted time. While some men might have joined the hunt, others loaded the chopper. The stack of crates nearby was gone, and the big metal bird was leaving. At the window, Jan’s pale face peeked, a middle finger pressed against the glass in a final salute.

  Good riddance. He’d had quite enough of her.

  She raised her other hand and waved a familiar belt.

  Stacey’s utility belt.

  Bitch took my princess.

  The beast consumed him at that point, roared through him, pulsing and bursting every atom he had left.

  Unleashing a mighty bellow, he shot off after the chopper.

  His wings flapped, hard, and yet he was no match for a machine. The helicopter drew away from him, taking not only his enemy but also his woman out of reach.

  Frustration made him scream, the primal sound of rage echoing around the inside of the volcano, so loud the very walls vibrated.

  He cried out again.

  Rumble. Another tremor rocked the volcano’s inner lining.

  Rock cracked.

  Crumbled.

  A large chunk from the lip dropped and hit the chopper, mangling a blade. The metal bird began to list drunkenly in the air, losing altitude, and JF arrowed toward it, willing himself to move faster.

  He couldn’t move fast enough. The helicopter slammed into the side of the volcano, and something ignited.

  A whoosh of flames engulfed the chopper, so quickly and fiercely that the screams lasted only seconds before dying out. Before everything inside that chopper died.

  The burning heap of metal plummeted, as did his heart. He sank more slowly to the ground, staring in horror at the wreckage. A smoldering ruin with no survivors.

  She’s dead. I killed her.

  He shouldn’t have cared.

  Princess…

  No.

  No. No. No. A hole gaped in chest, and he yelled as he pounded at himself.

  Only as the echo died away, leaving behind only the snapping crackle of flames, did he hear it far off in the distance.

  A piercing shriek.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Regaining consciousness, on a bare shoulder—drooling only a little bit—wasn’t the most awful thing that ever happened to Stacey. The time she woke up hugging the outhouse that had seen too many chili incidents? Still made her shudder.

  She’d also woken to much uglier views than that of the cute little butt flexing in the thong flossing the cheeks.

  However, she should note it wasn’t JF’s butt waggling. Nor was it his body that carted Stacey through the lava tunnel. And the hair tickling her was most definitely dead.

  “Oh gross, are you seriously wearing a lion’s mane?” she exclaimed.

  Maurice huffed and puffed as he replied. “You’re not supposed to be awake.”

  “I’m sorry. Did your date rape drug wear off?” She had a high tolerance. Most of her biatches did. Blame the drinking. Blame their teenage rebellious years. Some older pride scientists said something about their shifter genes metabolizing things more quickly. Whatever. It meant Maurice had miscalculated.

  “I’m not the one who drugged you. My sister did.”

  Sister, as in Jan. The plot thickened. Not really. She’d kind of figured they were related. They had the same sly eyes.

  “Your sister might have ordered those tranqs, and yet here you are carting me off wearing butt floss and a dead animal on your head.”

  “I’m saving you.” Said with the kind of attitude that indicated Maurice expected praise.

  “From what?”

  “From the battle.”

  “I’m missing a battle for this?” She craned to look back, but the twists and turns of the tunnel meant she couldn’t see a thing. Well, that sucked. She would have enjoyed hitting some things. Then again, the night waned young and she was being abducted. There was still hope someone would die, or at the very leas
t sob for his mommy.

  “Don’t worry. I have a place for us to go to stay safe. It’s not far.”

  Better not be because the way Maurice was huffing, he might pass out before then. It was enough to give a girl a complex. Except she knew JF could carry her without problem.

  Emerging from the tunnel, not the same one they’d used to get in, they found themselves in a new part of the jungle, the clearing well-trodden, the rock walls around it penning her in as surely as a palisade. No easy escape.

  For Maurice.

  Good. Stacey felt an urge to speak with the boy, and at least out here, no one would hear him scream.

  Maurice set her down, and she spent a moment looking around, the sheer rock walls unrelieved black stone but for the tunnel they’d emerged from. To the far edge of the rather large clearing, the ground mostly trampled dirty with a few scrubby plants struggling to push up, sat a hut, rough logs strapped together with a thatched roof.

  “What’s this?”

  “My secret place. There’s a bed inside,” he advised.

  “You brought me to your love shack?”

  “I prefer to call it the temple of conception.”

  That caused her to turn around to stare at him. “Your what?”

  “The temple. You’ll soon see. I shall bless you like I blessed the others.”

  Maurice was the liotaur on the video. A fake one. Not only that. There’s something wrong with him. Her nose twitched. Her inner lioness paced.

  Smells wrong.

  Which made no sense. On the one hand, Maurice smelled like a lion, the stench of it overwhelming, and yet…something seemed off about it. Almost as if the scent was false.

  Then there was the hat he wore. No self-respecting shifter, of any caste, would be caught dead wearing a deceased animal.

  “Isn’t there an unspoken rule that we don’t wear our ancestors, even if they’re not as evolved as us?” she asked.

  “I am more than a mere shifter.” Maurice puffed out his chest, the lean lines of it attractive but not as sexy as the bulk of a certain whampyr. “I am a god.”

  She couldn’t help it. She laughed.

  No surprise, he took offense. “Stop it. I am a god. I’ll have you know my family is descended from the Lleyoniias tribe.”