by Dee Tenorio
She pushed at his arms with her hands but that only incited one of those devilish fingertips to stroke beneath her denim waistband. Cheating. Definitely cheating.
She closed her eyes to shut him out. “That’s not going to change my mind.”
“And your noble sacrifice isn’t going to change mine. I promise you, right here, right now, this is not over. He’s not going to take another day, not another damn minute, of your life from you. And I don’t make promises I won’t keep. I’m not going anywhere without you. No matter what you say or what kind of a fight you put up. That’s the way it’s going to be, so get used to it.”
Exasperation had her this close to hitting him. “How many times do I have to tell you this? You can’t just say something and make it true.”
Though in this case, she thought it might be. She didn’t want to leave him. Didn’t want to be out there on her own. Not yet, even though she knew it was the right thing. Damn, how did he do this to her? Take all her best intentions and make them disappear?
“Sure I can.” Just that simple. He knew he had her, too. He tugged her closer, then hissed at the pain of the jostling contact.
She looked down, saw blood seeping through the thin seam where his skin had joined itself together. “Fine, I’ll stay with you until we get to the next safe house.” If she could. There was no way of knowing when Asher might attack. “But not because you told me to.”
“Oh, yeah? Why, then?”
She moved out of his embrace, however tempting it might be to stay and find out what else he might do with those hands. “Because it occurs to me, O Naked and Bleeding One, that you can’t even put on your pants without me.”
Chapter Twelve
Despite taking precious time to search for the notebooks, all of them still safely inside the pocket of his rucksack, Lia found enough of the first-aid kit to put together a patch over his wound and—miracle of miracles—an only slightly bent hypodermic with a single-use dose of hydromorphone, for emergencies. Because of shifter metabolism, the drug wouldn’t stay in his system long, but it helped him get the few miles left to the safe house, a small farm on the edge of Amish country. He had to hope it would slow down the healing sleep long enough for him to get to some help.
Betha was supposed to have cleared out the house of any other travelers, but he fully expected her to have left a few guards. They’d have supplies there, a car. Hell, maybe even a driver. This walking shit was on his last nerve.
“How much pull does Asher have with this facility of yours? What kind of backup does he have access to?” He hated that he was breathless. The pain might be dulled, but his body was trying to slow down, to repair damage with the energy he had no choice but to use. They had less than a quarter mile left, the farmhouse visible from the dirt road they were traveling.
Worse, he hated that he needed her beneath his arm, helping to hold him up. Just because she was strong didn’t mean he couldn’t feel her bones poking into him. When they got out of this, he was going to spend every dollar he’d earned over the years just making sure she was plump and healthy for the rest of her life.
“He never really needs anything other than a cleanup crew when he’s done with the bodies.” She was breathless too. Winded from carrying his ass, damn it. “He’s not under the facility. He’s with the Shifter Control Task Force.”
He looked down at her shining hair. “What in the hell is that?”
She glanced up, startled. “It’s…what they call their death squads. They’re a subsection of the National Guard.”
So, the death squads were a federal military arm. He wasn’t even sure why he was surprised. He’d just never given it much thought. It wasn’t as if anyone ever stopped to have a conversation with the bastards, and there was no designation for them in any bills passed or in state legislation. He’d checked, researching on the side while he lived his fake life in the city.
That all seemed so far from here. The defense attorney he’d fashioned himself into most days was little more than a character, one who wore sleek power suits and commanded the media spotlight as effortlessly as he twined juries around his little finger. No one suspected a shifter hid behind those suits, which was exactly the way he needed it so he could do the work that mattered most, protecting Resurrection and all those who sought it. His secretary, a militantly organized little fox shifter, was a master at rearranging his schedule at a moment’s notice and protecting the illusion they’d built. How would she feel about him walking around in the middle of the night, bloody and half-gutted, taking advantage of a woman shorter than him by half a foot and lighter by no less than a hundred pounds? Could she even imagine such a scene from behind her neat little desk?
If she could, then Mari had a hell of a better imagination than he did.
“Have you thought about shifting again?” Lia asked, breaking into his random thoughts. “Would it speed the healing at all?”
“Not a good idea. Shifting moves things around, sometimes pretty far from where they are in human form. I wouldn’t be this bad if I’d managed to stay in Wolf form after I passed out, but the shock kind of messed me up. If I try it again, I could pull an organ out of alignment in the shift and make it even worse.”
She accepted that disappointment with a grunt.
He kept staring at her, something niggling in the fuzziness hazing his brain. “Why don’t you shift?”
Laughter, strained at best, barked out of her. “What? You think me being two feet closer to the ground would help?”
“I’m serious.” He tried to straighten, but his muscles refused to hold him up at that angle. “Why don’t you shift ever?”
He let her keep walking, staying expectant. Maybe it was the weight of him, or because she’d already revealed so much, but she didn’t fight him for long.
“I can’t.” Even he couldn’t miss the wealth of anger and hurt in that minute sentence. “Not without wanting to cut off whatever part of me changes.”
“What do you mean?” But as soon as the words were out, the delay in his mind caught up. “Your hand.”
Her nod was so slight he felt it more against his arm than he saw it.
“After Asher…caught me.”
He had to smile at what he could tell was her quick revision. She didn’t want another lesson on bonding.
“They have a drug, it feels like poison. For all I know it’s just acid, but it makes you change. Only, not the way we’re supposed to. It happens in parts, happens wrong, changing you back and forth like some kind of a fit you can’t fight. It…hurts.”
Hurts a fucking lot, he figured. And given the way her hand had turned into a crippled fist, it left scars. “It still hurts?”
The nod this time was even smaller. Her shame cut through his haze like a wildfire, igniting something he couldn’t begin to put a name to. Something that made the Wolf growl deep and low inside him.
“I try, every now and then, but I can’t get past the pain. I know it’s just in my head. It’s just fear, but I can’t make it stop. I think if there’s anything I hate them the most for, it’s that. They burned the Wolf right out of me.”
The words punched him in the gut. So mournful. So wrong.
“No, I don’t think so.” He used his arm to tug her closer, offering comfort the only way he could. “I think you’re a hell of a lot more Wolf than anyone I’ve ever met.” Hell, he was starting to wonder if he would have been able to stand everything she’d been through and come out of it with as much spirit as she had. If he was honest, he doubted it.
She squirmed until he loosened his hold. “Yeah, well, you’re high on pain killers so you’re not exactly a fair judge.”
She got her extra few inches of space, but he didn’t like it. “Can’t I even compliment you?”
She lifted her face toward him, those eyes of hers glittering with mirth and moonlight. “That was a compliment?”
“Hell yes, it was a compliment. You think I’d let just anyone under me?”
“I’ll make it up to you next time.” Preferably on a soft bed, with cool sheets and absolutely nothing else to get in his way. Just smooth skin that smelled like sunshine, bare from head to toe for him to touch and taste and wrap around himself until he didn’t know where she ended and he began.
“Another pork chop or two might be a good start.”
He frowned at her, disbelief flattening his tone. “A pork chop?”
“Well, I was thinking steak at first, but I didn’t want to be greedy.”
Here he was, all but devouring her lithe form in his head, making plans for each and every inch of her and how they’d align with every eager inch of him…and she was making plans for a trip to the nearest butcher shop.
“Either you have very low expectations in your sex life or I have to work harder on my innuendos.”
“How about you work harder on your walking instead? I swear, you’re gaining weight with every step.”
That straightened him up, but not by much. She was right. Even actively trying to maintain his own weight was taking more energy than he had left. The draining sensation in his legs and hands had started, turning his limbs to blocks of cement. Not much time before the sleep claimed him. Just another twenty yards to the farmhouse. He could see the front porch, the windows open and the lace curtains inside gently blowing in the breeze.
His feet froze in place, his mind clearing in an instant, zeroing in on a scent that shouldn’t be here. A scent that was too strong to be an accident. To be anything but a trap.
Or a message.
“Tate, come on, don’t give up on me,” Lia groaned, pulling on him.
“Asher knew where we were headed.” It wasn’t a question.
Lia locked in place like a statue under his arm. “He could have been listening when they told me where to go next. Do you smell him?”
He wished. The bastard would be a lot less dangerous if he had a scent. “I smell his work.” But that wasn’t a stag inside that house. It was men. Dead men.
Lia’s tug this time was to the back of his shirt. “We have to leave.”
He turned to look her in the eyes. “We have to go in there.”
She swallowed, her gaze darting from him to the house and back again. “Wh-what if he’s in there?”
If he could let her run, he would. But running wouldn’t set her free. He took hold of her face, his fingertips gliding through the silk of her hair while his thumb roved lightly over the steely tension of her jaw. “If he is, then we kill him. Any way we can, okay?”
“But—”
“No buts. We find a way. It’s time for that fucker to be afraid of you.”
She blinked at him, the wide-eyed terror slipping back slowly as determination filled the planes of her face.
“Thattagirl. When we get in there, we need to see if there’re any weapons, anything we can use. Car keys, another phone, food. Anything. Try not to look too closely at any bodies we find. But don’t go into a room until you’re sure he’s not there. We’ll have to move quickly and quietly. Do you understand?”
She nodded, a few times too many for him to really believe her, but there wasn’t a lot of choice. Taking her hand, they headed up the steps, one scraped step at a time.
The house was too cheery looking, even in the moonlight, to fit the tension filling him. Whitewashed wood slats, slate-blue shingles on the roof and lining the bottom half of the outer walls. The front door stood open, only the white screen door keeping out any prospective visitors. He could see wood floors leading toward what looked like a traditional dining room to the back of the house. The smell of death was strong now.
He pulled open the screen and took the first step into the immaculate house.
The guard lay in the middle of the living room, a still figure in black cargos and a plain black T-shirt, face down, a dark puddle formed all around him. The blade handle sticking out of his back wasn’t the most subtle message Tate had ever seen. The round metal ball on the end, the grip with its laced leather, might as well be screaming, “This is all your fault.”
“He doesn’t look like he’s been messed with much, I’ll check him for supplies. Check the bathroom down that hall for a first-aid kit. Remember, listen for any sound, any sign that he’s still here. If you hear anything, come back to me.”
She made a noise of assent before heading for the hall to the left.
He waited for her to leave the room before kneeling as close to the body as he dared. The knife in the back wasn’t even the death blow. Once he’d circled the man, he easily saw the massive cut through the victim’s throat, from one side to the other. The body looked as if it had fallen where it stood. No defensive cuts on the hands, nothing to indicate the man had seen anything coming. Most likely a silent takedown, sneaking up behind the target and slicing the throat before the target even knew what was happening. The knife in the back just added insult to injury.
Grimacing with regret, Tate wrapped his hand around the handle and pulled. It came free slowly, the body having been there long enough to tighten around the blade.
Bastard.
If he could have left it, he would, but they had no weapons and God only knew what would happen if any authorities found this crime scene. First rule of being a shifter, leave no traces of yourself behind. Ever.
He’d leave traces of Asher, though. In as many places as he could.
Stifling his anger, he patted down pockets, finding the slim bulk of a phone in one pocket. Tate pulled it free, not finding much else he could use. A wallet, a few hundred dollars, standard emergency fund. He tossed the wallet, stashing the cash and leaving the ID since it was fake anyway. Vision blurring, he rose to his feet again and cautiously moved down the hall. The bathroom was open, Lia nowhere to be found inside.
Leaning heavily on the wall, he pivoted into the next room. Another body, same as the one before. The keys to the car out there had better be on this one; he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get back up again from a third. Working hard to be efficient, he repeated his pat-down process, coming up with money but nothing else he could use.
Fuck.
This time when he rose, the edges of his vision were dark, and they stayed that way. He was down to minutes.
Lia came to the door, face white as a sheet, but she had a white case with a red cross on it and—God love her—a set of keys clenched in her fingers. “Can we go now?”
“You know how to drive?”
“It’s been a long time, but I can probably remember. Smash the gas pedal and don’t hit anything, right?”
“Good enough.” That was about all he could manage. They stumbled together back to the porch. “Car should be in the barn.” All vehicles had to be kept out of sight. The barn wasn’t far, just behind the house. Tate nudged her to the left, and Lia fit herself back to his side. “When we get to it, I want you to drive south. I don’t care where. Just south, as fast as you can, as far as you can get. Understand?”
“Yes.” He could hear her teeth chattering. Asher’s victims were a special kind of horror to her, he understood, but he needed her to keep it together. In a matter of minutes, he was going to be useless to her. And she’d be the only defense between them and a madman. Again.
The doors were unlocked and, as expected, the dark blue sedan waited. Lia lifted the keychain, pushed a button on the remote, and to their relief, the locks thumped and popped up into visibility. The smile on her face had to be the best thing he’d ever seen in his whole life.
She opened the passenger door and all but pushed him inside, leaving him to pull the door closed himself. A few seconds later, she was behind the wheel, fitting the key into the ignition and turning it to the fabulous sound of the engine turning over smoothly, day-running lights illuminating the hay bales stacked against the opposite wall.
The heavy thump slamming onto the hood of the car shook them both as Lia’s scream ripped
through his eardrums.
Asher, crouched like a spider, stared at them both for only a second before reaching his arm back to pound into the windshield.
Tate grabbed the gear shift and yanked it down into reverse. “Go, Lia, Go!”
The car lurched backward as she slammed her foot on the gas. Asher’s fist never came down, his unbalanced body tumbling backward and off. The car burst through the barn doors like an explosion before suddenly lurching to a stop that nearly sent Tate into the windshield.
“Sonofabitch!” Before he’d finished swearing, her hand was already on the stick again, throwing it into drive. She hit the gas again.
“This time, he dies,” she ground out, as the car lights illuminated the black form of Asher rising. His head turned, but there was nowhere for him to go because she was already slamming into him. The car bumper caught him mid-thigh, plowing him into the wall of hay. It might have been a wall of brick the way the car slammed into a dead stop. Lia went back into reverse, but just like before, she stopped. Her bangs flying from her panted breaths, she stared forward. Asher sat like a broken marionette, head down, arms hanging limply in awkward lines, legs grotesquely spread. But he still lifted his head to find her.
“Again.” Tate snapped, but Lia didn’t need the instruction.
The car sped forward once more, this time nearly lurching them both out of their seats, the groan of metal bending and glass breaking unmistakable.
He grabbed her hand on the gear shift when she went into reverse again. “Lia!”
“What?”
“We need to get out of here. You hit him again and this car won’t be able to move.”
“He’s not dead yet.”
He stared incredulously at the body against the bales. “He fucking is.”
She didn’t take her eyes off it either. “No, he’s not.”
“How do you know?” Anything else with a heartbeat would be more than dead after two hits like that.
“I know.”
“Fine. Hit him again. Make him deader, but that still leaves us with four bodies to explain and we’re the only two people alive for a five-mile radius. How far do you think we’re going to get on foot?”