Rhiannon’s screams and the stink of sulfur wafted past him. He leapt into the cultivated desert plants in the manicured bed next to the sidewalk and paused behind a clump of palm trees, restraining his impulse to rush straight into battle.
Lilith had Rhiannon by the hair, and his mate fought back like a hell cat. Strong and fierce.
His beast yowled, but Kit forced himself to remain calm. He had to take Lilith by surprise. Attacking her head on at the train station left him injured, with wounds to his belly. The demon had tried to gut him, and the gashes were barely healed.
Kit crept forward, keeping low and silent, until he knew he could take the demon from behind. Rhiannon coughed and choked, but if he made a mistake and got killed, Lilith would still have Rhiannon. That stark realization calmed the beast.
Flicking a glance at the crowd of spectators creeping down the sidewalk, he dismissed them as a non-threat and landed on his toes behind Lilith. The demon rolled Rhiannon to her back on the sizzling hot ground and straddled her.
Kit leapt for her, front paws outstretched, claws extended, his lips curled back to expose the deadly length of his canines. At the train station he’d attacked with a thought to disable the demon. Contrary to most human religions, not all demons were inherently evil. Some of them were mischievous, some had no more magical power than the average human. Kit didn’t believe in killing someone when a situation could be handled by disabling them instead.
Now he regretted his inability to kill the demon at the first attack.
Lilith’s face turned up toward him, and he had a split second to decide to spare her life. The demon was a deadly threat to his mate. She had to be eliminated.
Allowing the beast control, he sank his fangs into her throat, his front paws knocking her to her back. He dug his claws in, her sulfur-laced rancid blood flowing into his mouth. The stinging bite of magic rolled over his fur, and he planted his hind legs on her abdomen.
He had to end this. Quickly. Now.
With short, hard slashes, he dug his claws into her belly, past skin, muscle, the soft ropes of her intestines, and the gush of blood. She tried to wriggle free, but he used his powerful jaws to clamp down on her throat, crushing her esophagus and shredding the soft tissue structures. One powerful jerk, and everything in his mouth came free of her throat.
Kit spat the hunk of meat out on the ground and rushed to Rhiannon.
The cougar shouted a refrain across his consciousness.
Save mate. Save mate. Save mate.
He sniffed her face, tasted the wheezing breaths exiting her nose. Leaning close, he nudged her with his forehead and purred, trying to rouse her.
Screams and hysterical sobbing surrounded him. The wail of sirens, the constant background noise of traffic, and the unending whispers of sound that permeated the strip beat on his sensitive ears. The cougar yowled, wanted to drag Rhiannon away from the noise and the humans.
Kit knew the police would be coming. Even if the rubber necking jerks loitering around had found it more important to film the carnage of him destroying Lilith, they’d have surely called for law enforcement by now. Demons didn’t have much protection from human or supernatural law, so he doubted he would be jailed for killing her.
But he would get tossed in prison if he lost control of his cougar and mauled the assholes standing around making a spectacle of him.
Kit forced his cat back, shifting in a blur of magic only afforded to the most powerful shifters. Bones broke and reformed, fur and fangs receded, and his muscles screamed in agony from stretching across sharp bone shards. Less than thirty seconds passed, and he stood over Rhiannon’s prone form.
Naked except for the special leather cuff watch on his left wrist, coated in blood and entrails, he let his cat flash across his gaze, pinning the spectators in place with his stare. The crowd would keep their distance.
The wounds on his chest and stomach from his earlier battle with Lilith seeped blood, but he ignored the pain.
Back home no one batted an eye at public nudity. Here in Vegas he’d likely get a fine and end up with his photo all over the internet.
The hardened soles of his feet started to burn from direct contact with the cement walk.
Rhiannon had to be getting cooked laying on the ground for so long. Scooping her into his arms, he rested his cheek near her nose once more, to reassure himself she still breathed.
The wail of sirens increased. Kit tensed, unsure how to proceed. Rhiannon was human. Fragile.
All the things he feared about her, all the things he’d told himself could happen to her if he stayed anywhere near her, came rushing to the front of his mind. But, Lilith would have gone after her regardless of his presence. Lilith wanted Jase, and saw Rhiannon as a means to an end. He’d saved her.
Even so, he should deposit her in an ambulance and give her over to the doctors and a hospital where the humans could keep her safe while he worked on finding Jase. Hopefully his jack ass cousin still had some of the money she owed the loan shark.
Except he couldn’t do that. Having her in his arms like this, cradled to his chest where he could hear her heart beat and keep her close...the jagged edges of his soul smoothed away.
Kit sighed, his heart heavy. This situation was impossible. He’d been sent to find Jase and bring him back home. Alpha’s orders. Kit didn’t question his uncle Colton often, especially when Jase was at the center of the argument. Jase was Colton’s blind spot, always had been. Colton said it was time for Jase to start taking on the responsibilities of the alpha, told Kit to go and bring him home, Kit went. Simple as that.
Except Jase had dropped off the map and his mate was in deep shit. Talk about divided loyalties.
This would be a hell of a lot easier if Rhiannon hadn’t gotten herself into financial trouble to start with. And what the hell was she doing borrowing money from a loan shark? What could have been so important that she needed to go and do something so fucking stupid?
Hell, his mate was a smart woman. That summer he’d met her, her father insisted on her being with him for every negotiation with other ranchers. Mr. Delamatre trusted Rhiannon’s ability to do complex math in her head over using electronics.
She was right every time, and usually had the answer before anyone else had even finished inputting numbers into their calculators.
He had no idea how to help his mate or his irresponsible cousin at this point. Eliminating the mob boss seemed like the easiest way out of the whole situation, but how?
“Want a ride out of here?” A tall, dark haired male approached him, hands relaxed and the reek of shifter magic clinging to him. “I have Rhiannon’s bag, your wallet and clothes.”
Kit backed away, careful to avoid stepping in Lilith’s blood. “Back the fuck up. Right now.”
“Rhiannon knows me. My name’s Paul Sloane. I’m a member of the local wolf pack. Word travels fast through the local shifters here, I’m just trying to help.” Paul held his hands up palms out and turned his face to the side, exposing his throat. “I heard what the demon said to your mate about a guy named Jase. Does he have a cuff like yours?”
Kit gave one short nod, his body tense and on edge.
“I know where he is. I’d like you to take him home before he does any more damage to my pack.” Paul tossed a wadded ball of clothing toward him. The werewolf blinked at him, and the cougar inside Kit relaxed a fraction.
Wolves were careful with eye contact. Among canids, direct eye contact was viewed as a challenge or a threat. But among cats, meeting each other’s stare and blinking was a sign of trust.
Kit didn’t have the ability to tell if someone was lying. But he could study their body language, and taste their scent. Paul appeared to be telling the truth. He blinked once at Paul, then met the wolf’s stare for a few seconds. Long enough to establish a sense of who held a higher rank between them.
Paul looked away first.
“Anything happens to her, and I will keep you on the brink of death for
years. I will torture and kill your entire family.” Kit let his upper lip curl to reveal the sharpened edges of his partially shifted canines. “There’s nowhere you or yours will be able to hide from me.”
“Understood.” Paul hooked his thumb over his shoulder. Rhiannon’s sodden, blood stained bag rested on the ground near his feet. “Come on, I’ve got a car around the corner.”
Too easy. All of this was too damn easy. Kit shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He should at least pull his jeans and boots on. But he’d have to let go of his mate, and every instinct he possessed screamed at him not to.
Or maybe he’d had a mind fuck of a day and was paranoid.
“Fuck.” A crowd of people with cameras and phones inched closer. Kit could imagine what the whispering, giggling women had their lenses focused on. His clan would never let him live this down.
Sirens sounded in the distance, getting louder with each passing second.
The cops would be there any second. Why hadn’t they gotten to him already? The fight with Lilith had damn near destroyed a monorail station and terrified a crap ton of people.
The rev and rumble of motorcycle engines eclipsed the emergency sirens. Kit sprinted for the noise, weaving past people continuing to film him. Wild magic called to the cougar within with a steady pulse, pulse, pulse of untamed energy. He remembered his younger, crazier days running free in that magic.
The Wild Hunt was near. All he had to do was catch it.
Kit leapt into the street and landed in front of a riderless black and silver motorcycle. The eardrum clattering noise of the engines surrounded him. Fae magic enveloped him and Rhiannon like a welcoming mother. In recent years, the glamor encapsulating the host that rode with the Hunt had taken on the appearance of a motorcycle club to fit in with modern times.
“I beg transport from the Hunt.” Relief made his knees weak. For the time being, they’d be safe. The Hunt’s magic would hide them.
Daegus, a fae unlike any other Kit had ever met, rolled up next to him, a blue haired, horned female perched behind him on an enormous motorcycle engulfed in black smoke dotted with thousands of tiny stars. “Truly, we will grant you and yours safe transport.”
“Free of obligation? We may leave whenever and wherever we wish?” Kit’s skin crawled with apprehension. The magic of the Wild Hunt might decide it wanted to keep them. There was intelligence behind the magic, an unpredictable, uncontrollable thing, but he knew the Hunt didn’t mean him or his mate any harm.
Paul, on the other hand, was an unknown.
“The Wild Hunt will take you and your mate with us, disguised with our glamor, and protected from harm.” Daegus laughed, a deep rich ringing that Kit was hard pressed to resist joining. “And we will even ensure that time passes as normal hours and minutes. Come on Kit. We are friends. No harm will come to your mate. Doesn’t my intervention at the train station count for anything? We can’t send the police in circles around Las Vegas much longer.”
“I’m having a bad fucking day my friend. How did you happen to be there to save my ass back there?”
Daegus leaned over the bike’s handlebars. Several of the other members of the Hunt laughed. “Kit, you rode with us once upon a time. We always know where you are.”
Well, if that wasn’t kind of creepy, he didn’t know what is.
The urge to thank the fae rested on the tip of his tongue. But a person who valued their freedom did not thank the fae. Ever.
“Guess all that partying paid off then, huh?” Kit grinned, but the cougar within paced, agitated and unnerved. Rhiannon wasn’t safe yet. He swung his leg over the empty motorcycle’s saddle, grateful that the bike could balance on its own. “The devil you know...”
Daegus turned solemn, his black eyes almost wistful. “You know, no one’s accused me of being Lucifer for centuries.”
The female behind Daegus laughed. Kit adjusted Rhiannon on his lap, trying to maneuver his clothes without dropping anything.
“Grabbed her bag for you.” A curvaceous blonde woman rolled up next to him and hoisted the formerly purple bag into the air. Something about her turned his insides molten, and his cock grew partially hard. “Let me help you. I’m Peyton, this is my mate Ian.” She gestured toward the motorcycle she rode. “He’s a phooka. I’m a lawyer turned fae. A fae lawyer. I uh, have gifts with fertility. Sex stuff. So...yeah...it’s kinda weird sometimes. Sorry. It’s all confusing and wibbly-wobbly.”
Kit’s eyebrows rose and he swallowed hard. What the hell did he say to that?
Peyton blushed and stammered. “What I’m trying to get at, is, uh.... Never mind. Just forget it.” Her cheeks turned a pretty pink and Kit found himself relaxing a fraction. She was sweet and more embarrassed by his current state than he was. “I assume you know that many of the Hunt are shapeshifters, and the Hunt’s magic disguises them, so me telling you this motorcycle is my mate isn’t surprising.”
“Yeah.” Kit swallowed another growl. Being turned on by a strange woman when he held Rhiannon in his arms felt wrong, like a violation, even though he couldn’t help his reaction to her magic.
“Well, at least I haven’t told you we all have to jump into an opening to hell to save the world, right?” Peyton cleared her throat, stroking the gas tank clasped between her thighs.
His lips twitched. A nerdy fae lawyer fertility deity. And he thought he had his hands full with Rhiannon.
Reality washed over him in a cold, furious tidal wave. No, he didn’t have his hands full with Rhiannon, because she hadn’t accepted the mate bond yet. If she’d accepted their bond, she’d be able to heal magically.
“Hurry it up you two. We’ve got to move. I’ve already sent the local human cops around most of the outskirts of the city. The witches in the supernatural division will figure out how to track us soon, and then this little joy ride will be over.” Daegus rolled past them, the metal studs in his lip and eyebrows glittering under the Vegas sun.
Kit placed his feet on the pegs, confident that whomever provided his transport wouldn’t let him fall. Paul ran up and down the sidewalk, shouting for them, the glamor hiding the Hunt confusing his senses. Kit believed the wolf shifter knew where Jase was, however the lure of finding his cousin could be a trap and he wasn’t taking his mate into a den of strange wolves when they were both injured. Paul showing up with their stuff was too convenient, too easy. Something smelled like rotted meat with that wolf. “Let’s go.”
Rhiannon took priority right now. Worst came to worst he’d hide her with the Wild Hunt. She wouldn’t age, would never die, and might even decide to forgive him. She’d be safe.
He brushed shaking fingers over the deep purple and black bruises blooming on her throat, the road rash on her palms and forearms, a nasty lump on her cheek.
Scratch her.
The cougar had never been so vocal. Kit didn’t know if he liked this new development or not. Most people had no reaction to being scratched or bitten.
But a fated mate would change. Become a shifter themselves. The wound had to be deep enough for the magic to take hold. Those little hickeys and tiny nips he’d given her earlier wouldn’t do shit. But a decent scratch with one of his claws, something two or three inches long and a half inch deep? That’d do it for sure.
The anger rose in him again, and he sighed. Impotent fear, fear without an outlet, grew into uncontrollable rage. He wasn’t angry with his mate, he was scared. No other woman—shifter or human—had ever come close to his heart, because she’d stolen it years ago.
One flick with his claw, and all his worries about her human fragility could melt away. The temptation to inflict a small wound crested inside him, pressure mounting until he thought he’d smother under the indecision.
The motorcycle under him rolled forward, and Kit studied his index finger’s long, razor tipped claw.
Chapter Ten
Soft warmth enfolded her up to her neck, in sharp contrast to the line of heavy, unyielding heat crowding her back. Rh
iannon slithered away and rolled to her belly. A headache kicked her temple in an unceasing rhythm, and all the muscles in her body had frozen into contorted positions.
In short, she wished she’d never woken up at all.
Lying on her stomach made breathing difficult and now that she’d moved away from the source of furnace-like heat on the other side of the mattress, she grew cold. She groaned and rolled back to her side until she collided with the body next to hers.
Could be anyone at all in bed with her, but she didn’t care. She hurt, itched, and needed comfort, even if that comfort proved false.
Breath slid over the nape of her neck. “How are you feeling?”
Kit. Speaking took two tries and lots of swallowing past the damaged tissue in her throat. “I’m sleeping. Go away.”
“No.” He curved his arm over her waist and managed to get even closer. “You’re not.”
She huffed, not sure if she was angry that he was in bed with her and they both had clothes on, that he’d snuggled her and kept his hands to himself while she slept, or that he’d gone and put his arm around her without permission. “I’m totally asleep right now. This is sleep talking. I’m asleep and I’m dreaming this whole thing.”
Lips slid across her neck, the stubble on his face tickling her. A rush of heat and arousal flooded her. She moaned and tipped her head down, not sure if she was hiding her face or trying to give him easier access for more kisses. Heavy, strong, calloused fingers massaged her scalp, and he eased one leg between her thighs, fitting her ass tight to his groin. Positioning her how he wanted.
How they both wanted.
There was a new ache in her bones, a calling in her blood for this man.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
He licked the side of her throat, paused over her pulse, and hummed a few bars. “I’m singing you a lullaby.”
“I sure as hell don’t hear any singing,” she wriggled her hips.
“Rhiannon,” he sang, his voice gruff. Soft. Perfect. Exactly how she’d remembered him singing through all the long years she hadn’t seen him. Every word of the old Fleetwood Mac song was a vibration in her blood. It was like he lived inside her, called to an unseen, sleeping part of her to emerge from the dark. Kit had a voice and range that could have landed him on a major studio label.
A Cougar's Claim (Charmed in Vegas Book 7) Page 9