One True Mate: Shifter's Solace (Kindle Worlds Novella)

by Georgette St. Clair

  The Chief nodded slowly. “Show me,” he said.

  And it was true. The room showed every sign that Ivy had simply got up, got dressed, tidied up as best she could, and quietly left the firehouse without saying goodbye.

  Except…

  The Chief stooped and retrieved something from the floor. He held it out to Rory between two fingers.

  Rory took the square of card and stared at it. The vanishing property manager. The one who didn’t answer her phone, and whose business address was a misprint or a mistake…or, he thought with sudden realization, just a lie.

  The one who’d known that Ivy would be alone at her mom’s shop that night; that if the building caught fire, there’d be nobody to hear her screams for help.

  He scrunched the card violently in his fist. Someone had heard her, though. He’d heard her. Heard his One True Mate inside his head. And he’d find her wherever they’d taken her.

  * * * * *

  Ivy wondered if Rory would find the card. She wondered what help it would be if he did. After all, the address and phone number were fake, so probably the name was too. But it was the only thing she’d been able to do as the chloroform had taken effect and her vision had closed in – let the card flutter to the floor under the couch and hope Ms. Renard wouldn’t notice as she folded the blankets with brisk efficiency before she lifted Ivy over her shoulder. Ivy certainly hadn’t had the strength to cry out – she hadn’t even been able to move.

  At the time it had seemed surreal and dreamlike, that the bony little woman would be able to carry her with such ease, but now she realized what an idiot she’d been – obviously Ms. Renard was shiften.

  “What are you?” she asked now, as the car jounced along the potholed road. “Bear? Big cat? I bet you’re a wolven – you’ve always struck me as a bitch.” Her head was throbbing from the effects of the knock-out drug, and last night’s supper threatened to make a reappearance every time the car turned a corner. She was cuffed and her ankles were shackled, and she was as mad as hell.

  Ms. Reynard gave her a poisonous look. “I’m a daughter of Khain,” she said. Something went cold in the pit of Ivy’s stomach. “We’re foxen.”

  In the close confines of the car, even underneath the woman’s cloying perfume, Ivy could now catch a hint of that feral fur scent that had resurged in her vision as a warning. She couldn’t blame herself for not picking it up at the shop – the whole place had been full of musty, stale smells, and back then it would have held no significance for her anyway.

  “The Chief didn’t say anything about foxen,” Ivy said. “Do the real shiften never ask you to play?” She made a mock-sad face, and Ms. Renard snarled – really snarled, her lip curling back and showing little white pointed teeth.

  “Shut up,” she hissed, “or I’ll make you shut up.”

  Ivy gave a pleasant laugh. “James Willett said that to me back in the children’s home when I was eleven,” she said. “I blacked both his eyes and knocked one of his teeth loose.”

  She had, too. The little shit had been picking on the smaller kids.

  Ms. Renard snorted contemptuously. “We’ll see how smart your mouth is when I turn you over to Khain,” she said.

  But somehow, Ivy wasn’t afraid anymore – not as afraid as she should be. She was sad that Rory might think she’d snuck away in the middle of the night. She was fighting mad that Ms. Renard had been able to fool her so easily, and bewildered by all the weirdness that had entered her life unbidden.

  But she knew on a deep, fundamental level that Rory would never stop looking for her – not even if they killed her. Because she was his One True Mate.

  And that gave her a secret weapon Ms. Renard knew nothing about.

  Chapter Twelve

  Rory threw down the length of charred wood in disgust. “This is hopeless,” he growled. “I can smell foxen, all right, but what hope have we got of following a scent with these idiots getting under our feet?”

  When they’d arrived at the blackened shell of The Antique Boutique, the KSRT had already been on the scene, sifting through the ashes for evidence of Khain’s presence.

  The Chief laid a steadying hand on his shoulder. “They’ve got their job to do, just like we’ve got ours. Chances are we wouldn’t have found anything anyway – that call-out got pretty fraught.”

  He didn’t say that Rory had gone full-on berserker trying to get back into the building to save Ivy and the sidewalk had turned into a battlefield, but Rory took the point anyway. Any scent evidence would be hopelessly confused.

  He had no other leads, though. This was the only place he could be sure the shady property manager had been.

  “Don’t give up hope,” the Chief began. “Wade Lombard’s boys are good at what they do. If anyone can find her—”

  “Shut up,” Rory snapped.

  The Chief cocked his head and gave a low, menacing warning growl. That was over the line no matter how upset Rory was – way over.

  Rory waved his hands frantically. “I mean shut up, please, sir… I can hear her!”

  …she’s a foxen, Ivy was saying in ruhi, inside his head. She’s taking me to Khain. Can you hear me, Rory?

  He punched the air. “She’s alive!” he yelled to the rest of the squad, then frantically sent back, I can hear you. Where are you? Can you see any landmarks?

  The guys crowded round, silent, as he listened for her response. It faded in and out, staticky and indistinct, like a radio station with bad reception.

  …don’t know where I am. But a couple of miles back…guy with a can of spray-paint…ey walk among us…

  He told her to hang tight, that he was coming for her, then he spoke to the guys.

  “Bad news is, we’re on graffiti cleanup next week. Good news is, I know where she is.”

  The Chief clapped him on the back. “Let’s go!”

  As the fire truck roared into motion, heading for the water tower near the edge of town, the wolven piled into their squad cars and peeled away from the pavement. They fell in alongside as an escort, sirens blaring.

  As they moved through the busy center of town, cars pulled onto the sidewalk to get out of their way and pedestrians gawped from the sidewalk, probably wondering what had all of Serenity’s emergency services tearing through town like their asses were on fire.

  “Find out as much as you can about where they’re taking her,” the Chief instructed Rory.

  “I will, but she fades in and out. What’s out there anyway? Mostly farmland, a few abandoned barns and stuff, right?”

  The Chief’s nod was grim. “It’s a lot of ground to cover. And if Khain’s coming for her…”

  He didn’t have to finish his sentence. They were racing to beat the clock.

  * * * * *

  Ms. Renard glanced over sharply at Ivy, and she realized with dismay that her lips had been moving as she concentrated on speaking to Rory over the miles that separated them. His answers were faint – she didn’t actually know whether it was really him or just wishful thinking. But she answered as though it was real, because what other hope did she have?

  “You’re communicating with him, aren’t you?” the foxen demanded. “Shit. Nothing about you is easy, is it?” She thumped the steering wheel with her bony fist, then pulled over sharply to the side of the road, yanking on the handbrake.

  She tore her scarf from around her throat and tied it tightly around Ivy’s eyes, knotting it roughly at the back of her head. Pity, really – Ivy had been trying to work out if there was a way she could throttle her with it.

  “Try leaving him a trail of psychic breadcrumbs when you can’t see where you’re going, Promised,” she gloated. “At least I know now that you really are one of them and I haven’t been wasting my time on some random little hussy.”

  “Hussy?” Ivy said. “Ooh, can I guess where we’re going? Is it 1953?”

  Ms. Renard gripped the knot at the nape of Ivy’s neck and yanked her head back. “Let’s see how feisty you feel
when I hand you over to Khain,” she snarled.

  And now the fear was beginning to creep back, because Rory had been her only hope. If she couldn’t tell him where she was being taken, how would he find her? She remembered the prophecy Brady had recited.

  In twenty-five years, half-angel, half-human mates will be discovered living among you.

  Warriors, all, with names like flora.

  Pity she wasn’t a warrior. Right now it would have come in really handy to know Kung-Fu or kick-boxing, or have a ninja throwing star hidden in her panties. Smack-talk probably wasn’t going to cut it.

  * * * * *

  Rory was sitting with his eyes closed, fingers pressed to his temples, thinking so hard it made his head ache.

  “It’s just vague impressions. A rutted road – she’s being jounced around a lot. She can smell strong perfume…and cow shit.” He thumped the wall of the fire truck with a metallic clang, then shook his hand, wincing with pain. “That’s all I’m getting – cow shit. What good is that?”

  From the expressions on their faces, the other guys could plainly hear the rising panic in his voice, but they were out of ideas.

  “There are two cattle farmers out this way,” said the Chief as they barrelled up the road toward a T-junction. Culkin to the East. Jeffries to the West. Left or right. We choose wrong…”

  He didn’t have to finish the sentence.

  “She’s my mate,” Rory said, his breathing fast and panicky. “It’s my responsibility to make the right choice.”

  “No,” said Ben.

  Rory turned desperate eyes to him.

  “Brady should choose.”

  “She’s not Brady’s mate,” Rory protested. His voice shook.

  “No, but Brady will choose right,” Ben said. He held Rory’s gaze, steady and true. “Brady always rolls lucky dice. He never picks the short straw. He always chooses the right card. Trust him – he’ll make the right decision.”

  Rory shifted his gaze. “Brady?” he asked, grabbing his arm hard enough to leave bruises.

  Brady nodded, face grim. “I’ll make the choice,” he said. “East. We’ll go east.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Boots hit the ground as soon as the vehicles came to a halt. The last part of the run had been made without sirens, so the foxen wouldn’t be alerted to their arrival. They could only hope the people who’d taken Ivy weren’t aware she could communicate with Rory in ruhi.

  It was clear at once they were in the right place, from the vehicles parked around a large farmhouse, and the stench of foxen. There must be a couple of dozen of them at least; the air was thick with their musk. Rory clasped Brady’s hand in silent thanks. Brady clapped his shoulder.

  Wade Lombard and the Chief strode towards each other and stopped, and there was a brief crackle of dominant energy in the air before they shook hands.

  “Your guys can take the perimeter,” Wade said. “We’d appreciate the backup.”

  The Chief shook his head. “We’re going in,” he insisted. “You want to keep Rory out of there, you’re going to have to kill him.”

  “Khain Special Response Team,” Wade shot back. “It’s in the damn name, Chief. This is what we’re trained for.”

  “And I’m glad you’re here, believe me.” The Chief looked over at Rory. “But Ivy’s his mate,” he said. “She’s his responsibility; his to keep safe.” He hesitated. “Ours to keep safe.”

  Wade lifted his chin and watched the Chief through narrowed eyes for a long, tense moment. Then he nodded tersely.

  “As soon as there’s a whiff of Khain crossing over from the Pravus, this becomes KSRT business and you get the hell out of our way. Until then, me and my boys have got your backs.”

  The wolven spread out silently, some of them heading around to the rear of the farmhouse to make sure none of the foxen could get out that way with their captive. If any of the foxen tried to run, they’d run into a bottleneck of cops in full combat gear, not to mention Trent and Troy, who bared their teeth and growled eagerly at the feral scent in the air.

  Not that the foxen were likely to try to flee. More likely they’d attack the squad in full force as they went in through the front. Facing down enraged bearen would be nothing compared to what Khain would do to them if they let one of the One True Mates slip through their paws.

  Sure enough, as Rory took point and kicked the front door open, foxen came at them in a tidal wave of snarling, snapping russet fur.

  The twins Jasper and Jake immediately shifted, bursting out of their turnout jackets and pants, towering above the squad as the rest of the men swarmed into the building, throwing open doors and calling Ivy’s name.

  Rory was aware that his voice was harsh and desperate, because sometime around when the sole of his boot had hit the door, Ivy’s voice in his head had gone quiet.

  Jasper gave a bellow that jarred his spine, and swiped at a fox with his gigantic paw. It crashed against the doorframe and dropped to the ground, neck broken and head lolling.

  At his side, his twin Jake scooped up a fox and bowled it at its oncoming brethren, sending them scattering like yelping ninepins.

  Three of the creatures had leaped on the Chief as he made his way deeper into the house; one had its jaws clamped around his calf, dark blood staining its muzzle, while two of them jumped and snapped, trying to tear at his belly or throat.

  Jasper seized one of the foxes by its tail and swung it against the wall, then dropped its limp body, not caring whether it was unconscious or dead. The Chief prised open the other’s jaws and swung back with his uninjured leg to kick it away, then turned, even as the last clamped its teeth shut on his arm, to help Brady, who had gone down under the weight of half a dozen of the vicious, bloodthirsty animals.

  Rory pressed on into the building, checking that each room was clear before moving on to the next. All the time he called Ivy’s name, using both his voice and his mind. Was she unconscious? Or worse? She had to know he was coming for her, so what else could be stopping her from calling out to him?

  At the end of the corridor, foxen stood guard on either side of the door, in human form. Rory broke into a run. She had to be in that room. He was vaguely aware that Ben was on his six as he collided with one of the guards, knocking him to the ground and feeling a grim surge of satisfaction as his skull made an unpleasantly hollow-sounding noise against the floorboards.

  The guy was stronger than he looked, almost succeeding in flipping Rory onto his back, but Rory was desperate, and he drew back his fist and cold-cocked him with single hard punch to the jaw.

  Ben was trading blows with the other guard, and it looked like he was having fun. Too much fun, maybe. But one guard was out cold and the other was distracted.

  “Ivy!” he called, rattling the door handle. It was locked. “Ivy!” He raised his voice and listened for her response. Nothing. Or…maybe just the faintest gasp, on the very edge of hearing.

  Dreading what he’d see, he stepped back and kicked the door open, catching it as it rebounded back towards him and pushing through it.

  Ivy was standing behind a kneeling foxen woman, the chain between her handcuffs wrapped around the woman’s throat. Ms. Renard, he presumed – the phoney property manager. She was gurgling and clawing at the chain as Ivy pulled it tighter, throttling her.

  “You took your sweet time,” Ivy said, teeth clenched with effort.

  Rory couldn’t do anything but gawp. “You stopped answering me,” he said. “I thought you were dead.”

  “I was a little…busy”, she said tersely, and on the last word she gave the chain a final hard yank and the foxen woman slumped, unconscious.

  Chapter Fourteen

  He rocketed across the room to take her in his arms, and she went limp against him, all the bravado suddenly draining out of her.

  He stroked her dark hair away from her face. “Shhh,” he crooned, rocking her gently as she sobbed. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

  He could feel her tear
s damp against his neck, and he set her back so he could look at her beautiful face. Even blotchy with tears, she was gorgeous. He kissed the tears away, then quickly prised apart the links of the handcuffs and bent to release her ankles. She shook her hands, as if trying to get rid of pins-and-needles. The bracelets had dug into her wrists when she’d pulled the chain tight around Ms. Renard’s throat, and he was pretty sure they would be circled with purple bruises tomorrow.

  “I should have known sooner,” she said. “What a bitch.”

  “A female foxen’s called a vixen, not a bi—” Rory began, then he caught her expression. “No, okay, I take your point. Are you okay?”

  She took a shaky breath and nodded. “I’m fine. Thank you for coming.” She gave him a wavery smile. “I knew you would.”

  “Of course I came.” He gazed into her gorgeous dark eyes, uptilted and elfin. “I’ll always come. You’re my mate.”

  He stroked her hair again, and would have kissed her, except she put her fingers against his lips. The pain in her expression made it hard to breathe.

  “But I’m not your mate, Rory. I can’t be. Look at me – in an emergency, I go all to pieces and start crying in your arms.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice muffled against her fingers. He gently took her hand and lifted it away. “What are you talking about? Of course you’re my mate. You couldn’t have spoken to me in ruhi if you weren’t. We wouldn’t have been…the way we were together if you weren’t. You’re my mate, and I’m going to claim you as mine and keep you safe from Khain.”

  “That’s just it,” she said, her eyes searching his. “You’d have to keep me safe. The prophecy said the One True Mates are warriors. I’m no warrior, Rory.”

  He looked at her delicate, tear-stained face and took her trembling hands in his. He didn’t know how to respond to that. He didn’t have the words. His heart was so full that he could hardly swallow, or breathe. He wanted to tell her that when he’d come into the room and seen her standing there, she’d been like an avenging angel. So strong, so beautiful. That if he hadn’t already been in love with her, from that moment on he would have been hopelessly lost. That he was utterly, irrevocably hers, and would follow her to the ends of the Earth if she crooked her finger.