by Zoe Chant
He scowled into the wind. In front of the chopper, the side of the mountain loomed dangerously close. Grant could see a few deceptively smooth-looking patches of snow from where he hung at the side of the chopper, but he knew any one of them could hide vicious rocks. The rugged crags that appeared when the wind from the chopper’s blades blew the pines around was enough to put him off aiming for the ground.
He sighted along the helicopter’s path, tensed, and flung himself into thin air. As icy wind tried to tear the breath from his lungs, he released his control on his panther.
By the time he reached the stand of pines, he was reaching for the branches with heavily clawed paws, not hands, his body three hundred pounds of pure, honed muscle under inky black fur.
He struck the closest tree with a crash, breaking through branch after branch until he landed on one that could bear his weight.
Grant’s claws bit into the bark as he regained his balance. Then he bounded to the ground in an effortless leap. A moment later, another crash told him that his bodyguard was following close behind.
With his white-tufted fur and huge paws, Lance’s snow leopard was far better suited to the sub-alpine climate than Grant’ tropics-loving panther. The bulky mountain cat padded out of the trees, shaking a dusting of snow from its coat. If it wasn’t for the pack strapped across its back, the cat might have seemed like it belonged here.
We’re two clicks from the target, north-northeast. Lance’s telepathic voice had the same warm baritone tones as his human voice, though with an underlying burr courtesy of his cat form. There was nothing showing on the satellites, so my guess is we’re after a cave of some sort.
Grant bared his teeth and growled. Out of the snow, and into the dark.
It’s not ideal, Lance agreed. He set off and Grant followed, every nerve on edge. Not the worst hostage negotiation I’ve faced, but not the best, either.
Hostage negotiation? Grant didn’t bother to keep the snarl out of his voice, and Lance huffed back, the cat equivalent of a laugh.
Don’t worry, boss. The only thing we’ll be negotiating is a path out of these mountains with your girl.
Snow began to fall as they skirted the mountain, heading for the coordinates from the note. After the third river crossing and second detour to avoid recent rock falls, Grant had to admit he was more of a city boy than he had thought. Lance, on the other hand, seemed to be navigating by some internal GPS. Here in the mountains, without his spectacles or the tablet that seemed constantly attached to his human hand, Lance looked every inch the predator.
At last they reached the edge of a clearing. Lance dropped down into a crouch, and Grant followed suit. Under the trees, he could blend in with the shadows, but the clearing ahead of them was entirely open.
The pines thinned out, leaving nothing but brush for cover, and then no cover at all. In front of them, a creek-bed full of snow led up to a deep, narrow crack in the mountainside. A cave?
Grant sniffed the air, opening his mouth slightly. The bitter air washed over his fangs, bringing with it a familiar scent. Irina.
She’s in there, he told Lance.
Lance lowered his head. Along with some machinery I can’t make out… and Francine.
The two felines exchanged a glance. Grant could feel the snarl on his own muzzle, but Lance’s expression was blank, even for a cat.
Grant fought back a sudden rush of protective rage. Stick with the plan, Lance. I know you get along with Francine better than any of the rest of us, but—
She’s crossed a line this time, Lance interrupted, with only a hint of unhappiness in his mental voice. You can rely on me, boss. Now, are you going to shift?
Grant was about to say No, but checked himself. He had to assume that Irina was safe. If she was safe, she would probably be conscious, and he couldn’t risk her seeing him in his animal form. Grant concentrated, found his human shape, and began to shift.
The icy wind bit into his bare skin and he quickly changed into the spare set of clothing from the pack Lance had brought.
Try to act as though you came alone, Lance advised as Grant began the trek up to the cave mouth. If you can keep Frankie’s attention, I’ll sneak in after you.
The interior of the cave was so dark it looked as though it had been painted onto the rocks. The floor was uneven, cracked rock and fallen stones making a treacherous path into the pitch black.
Grant paused just outside the cave. He didn’t know how deep this crack in the mountainside went, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that his mate was somewhere inside. And nothing would stop him from bringing her home.
17
IRINA
“What are you talking about? You’re crazy!” Irina’s blood was like ice in her veins. She thought she was going to throw up. “Your brother—Mathis? Is that who you’re talking about?”
“As if you don’t know,” Francine spat.
“I don’t know! Jesus!” Irina sucked in a ragged breath. Her mind was spinning. “Grant hasn’t killed anyone. He told me he’s been looking for Mathis ever since he got back from his vacation, he—”
“Liar!” Francine started pacing in front of Irina, her whole body coiled tight. Irina could see a muscle twitching in her neck. “I know everything. Mathis came out here to the mountains to meet his friends, and no one heard from him or Grant for six months. Until Grant came back. With you.”
Her eyes had been fixed on Irina as she paced, pinning her to the chair as effectively as her bonds. Now Francine leapt forward, slamming her hands down onto Irina’s bound arms.
“Did you think you were being funny? With your little paintings? Was that your sick idea of a joke?”
This close, Irina could see the hot, angry tears in the other woman’s eyes.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said again, her voice catching on a sob. “I—oh, God! Your teeth!”
Irina stared in horror as Francine’s teeth lengthened and curved into fangs.
“What are you?” Irina gasped.
Francine stopped, and a strange look came into her eyes. Her lips curved back over her outsized fangs in something that wasn’t quite a smile, and she straightened, covering her mouth with her hand. When she took it away, her teeth were normal-sized again, and hidden behind the thin line of her mouth.
“You don’t know?” she asked, her voice tightly controlled. “He didn’t tell you…?”
“Didn’t tell me what?” Irina cried out. “I’ve only known him for four days—you’re talking like, like we’re Bonnie and Clyde, or something, but I only met him on Friday night!”
Francine’s eyes bored into hers, their pale gold seeming to glow in the low light. Irina was somehow reminded of Grant’s eyes, although his green eyes were warm and kind.
I wish you were here, she thought desperately. Oh, God, Grant, what have I gotten myself into?
After what seemed like an eternity, Francine looked away.
“You really don’t have any idea,” she said quietly. Her eyes flickered back to Irina, considering, and then away again. “You have no idea what he is. What we are.”
“You’re crazy is what you are,” Irina muttered. She twisted her wrists back and forth, trying to free them from the thick tape while Francine’s attention was elsewhere. She didn’t know if she’d imagined those teeth—fangs—whatever, but she sure as hell didn’t want to stick around to find out.
“I don’t know which would be worse. If you’re an innocent bystander in all of this or his unwitting accomplice. I thought your paintings were some sick in-joke between the two of you, about my brother, but—never mind,” said Francine suddenly. Irina froze as she felt the woman’s pale gold eyes on her again. “He’ll come for you anyway. That much is clear, even if you don’t understand why.”
Francine was clearly mad. Grant couldn’t have killed her brother. He couldn’t have! He had been looking for Mathis that night when they first met. She was sure he would be horrified to learn th
at his friend was dead.
Unless that was another of Francine’s delusions.
Either way, Grant wasn’t coming for her. How could he be? Wherever Francine had taken her, it must be miles away from the city. There was no way that Grant would be able to find her.
If he was even looking for her. They had only known each other for a week, after all. They were only together for—for fun. A pointless, frivolous fling.
And even if he did really care for her… she had disappeared in the middle of dinner. What if he thought she had just left him?
Irina dropped her head, unable to stop the tears spilling down her cheeks. She couldn’t even raise her hands to wipe them away.
“Ma’am.”
Irina flinched as a strange man’s voice cut through the air. She looked around wildly, and her eyes widened as a man wearing a night-vision mask peeled away from the shadows at the edge of the cave.
How long has he been there?
She shivered. The man was wearing combat fatigues and had a gun holstered at his hip. Suddenly, any plans she’d had to escape seemed like pipe dreams.
What he said next made her blood run cold.
“Ma’am, we’re picking up life signs from the entrance. He’s here.”
18
GRANT
Grant stepped forward, just on the edge of the light. The megawatt fluorescent bulb that lit the cavern was so bright and so hot that the damp ground beneath it was hissing. It was hooked up to a freestanding cage, like a photographer’s light, and he could hear a generator farther into the cave.
The hairs on Grant’s arms rose, as though they were reaching for the heat from the fluorescent bulb. But the warmth of the light was nothing compared to the burning rage inside him.
“Get away from her,” he growled.
His heart twisted at the sight of Irina, his Irina, sitting slumped in the chair she was tied to. She raised her head at the sound of his voice, and her wide eyes caught the light. They were bright with tears.
“Grant,” she said urgently. “Grant, she thinks you killed her brother. That’s what this is all about, she thinks you killed him. Tell her—”
Grant started forward, his body moving before his brain was in gear. If he hadn’t been watching Irina so intently, he would have missed the moment her expression changed from surprise to shock.
“Look out!” she screamed.
He was already turning, following Irina’s panicked gaze over his left shoulder, as the blow that would have shattered his skull came down and cracked into his shoulder instead. Pain blossomed, bone-deep, and Grant’s panther rose up inside him.
He shifted without thinking, muscles bunching, sleek black fur bursting through his skin.
The man who had ambushed him was already swinging his weapon back for another blow. Grant ducked in under his arms, fangs bared. He struck the man dead in the chest with his paws, and they both hit the ground, tumbling back into the shadows. Grant flung himself onto all fours, crouching low in the darkness. Metal clinked on stone as his attacker grabbed his weapon—a tire-iron? In the darkness, he couldn’t tell, and he didn’t have time to confirm. He bunched his muscles, ready to spring.
“Stop!”
Francine Delacourt’s imperious tones rang through the air like a church bell. Grant froze despite himself, and so did the other man. They locked eyes.
Grant knew the effect his panther’s glare had. Any predator’s gaze was intimidating, but a shifter’s eyes held something more—human intelligence. The other man broke eye contact first, stepping back. If his body language didn’t spell out defeat, it was at least a momentary truce.
“I said stop. Good.” There was a quaver in Frankie’s voice that Grant had never heard before. He heard her shift her feet. “Come out here. Both of you.”
Grant waited until the other man moved out into the light, and then shifted back into human form. He stood for a moment in the shadows at the edge of the cavern, then stepped half into the light.
“Frankie.”
“Grant.” Frankie’s eyes were cold as ice, but Grant’s attention was already elsewhere.
“Irina…”
He crossed the cavern in three long strides and knelt in front of his mate. She shivered in his arms. The damp wet of the cave had seeped through her dress, and her skin was cold.
She dropped her head onto his shoulder with a sigh, and he pressed his lips into her neck, drawing a desperate trail of kisses up to her jaw.
“Don’t worry,” he murmured, low enough that Frankie’s shifter hearing wouldn’t pick up his words. “I didn’t come alone.”
“Grant, what was that? In the—in the shadows? I thought I saw…” Irina’s eyes widened as she took in his naked body. “What…”
“Stand up. Step away from her.”
Grant glared up at his old friend. He didn’t want to move, but then he saw the guns trained on him. Frankie’s two accomplices were armed with more than just blunt instruments.
He moved away slowly, arms at his side. He couldn’t risk Irina being caught by a stray bullet if things went wrong.
Frankie nodded, and Grant’s eyebrows shot up as a third man appeared out of the shadows.
That shouldn’t happen, he thought in shock as Frankie directed the man to pick up the fallen light and attach it to a temporary fixture. I should have been able to smell that he was there. Hear him, at least. But…
He inhaled experimentally. He could smell Irina, and Frankie, and himself—but the other three men might as well not have existed, for all his nose could tell.
The hairs on the back of his neck rose.
“Frankie, what the hell is going on here?” Something very wrong. He didn’t need anyone to tell him that.
Frankie squared her shoulders. “I’ll ask the questions here,” she hissed. “Where is my brother?”
“I don’t know!” shouted Grant, bewildered. “I’ve been trying to ask you the same question for the last week!”
“Liar!” Frankie spat. “I know exactly what you’ve been up to. Gloating over those paintings. Rubbing it in my face. My people tracked you down, you know. Found out exactly what you were doing all summer. You knew my brother liked to fight, so you brought him out here, lured him out, where no one would be able to stop you.”
“You’ve lost it,” Grant said flatly. “I haven’t seen Mathis since before I left. For Bolivia. Not the goddamn Adirondacks!”
Frankie was still speaking, her voice a dangerous monotone. “I had my doubts, at first. I honestly didn’t believe that you, of all people, would betray my brother. His best friend. How could you? But then I saw those paintings…”
Her ice-blue eyes turned on Irina, and Grant’s whole body tensed. His knees bent automatically, ready to spring in front of Irina to protect her.
“My paintings?” Irina’s face was pale, and her voice cracked with amazement. “What the hell do my stupid paintings have to do with anything?”
Frankie rounded on her, eyes blazing. “Don’t you recognize where we are right now?” She didn’t wait for Irina to reply. “The last time I heard from my brother, he was heading into these mountains. The same mountains you painted. The same trails, the same peaks, the same caves!”
Irina looked sick. “But—I told you! I didn’t even know Grant then!” She turned pleading eyes on Grant. “Please, tell her!”
“She’s telling the truth, Frankie,” Grant said, fighting to keep his voice level. “Come on. Listen to me. We had nothing to do with Mathis’s disappearance. Am I lying to you?”
He met Frankie’s eyes, willing her to believe him.
Her shifter abilities should mean she could tell if he was lying. The smell of his sweat, his heart rate, the way he was breathing—all of them would paint a clear picture for a shifter with the intelligence to put it together.
So long as that shifter wasn’t half crazy with fear and rage.
Grant spoke slowly, empty hands beseeching. “I swear, Frankie, I’m telling the
truth. I only met Irina last weekend. I spent the summer in Bolivia, not here. I haven’t seen Mathis since before I left the country, and Irina’s never even met him. You know I’m telling the truth.”
Or he hoped so, at least. He’d never seen Frankie like this. If her lioness was as twisted up with anger and hatred as she was, it might override her ability to see sense.
Grant couldn’t imagine how terrifying the last hours had been for Irina, strapped into that chair with no way to defend herself from the enraged lioness. His heart twisted with guilt.
It’s your fault she’s here. He couldn’t stop the thought from searing across his mind, full of desperation and misery.
19
IRINA
The harsh light of the spotlight burned into Irina’s face, filling her eyes with tears. She could barely see through the glare, and what she could see was marred by her streaming eyes. Francine, her golden hair haloed in the light. Grant, standing half in the shadows. And somewhere beyond the light, the three soldier-like, masked men.
Her heart had leapt at the sight of Grant, and the knowledge that he had come after her. But her relief had been quickly swamped by more fear and confusion. She still had no idea what was going on, but a creeping feeling in her stomach told her there was far more below the surface here than she could ever have imagined.
She couldn’t have imagined what happened to Francine’s face: the lengthening teeth, the feral look in her eyes. And Grant’s fight with the henchman in the darkness—she was sure some of the shadows she’d seen cast on the cavern wall weren’t human.
When Francine had stopped the fight and Grant had hurried over to her, his clothes ripped from his body, Irina’s heart had almost stopped. What was left of his clothing was shredded. He didn’t look injured, but… what had happened to him?
And what was going to happen to them both, if Grant couldn’t convince psycho Francine that they had nothing to do with her brother’s disappearance?
Irina twisted her wrists again their bindings. It would hurt, but if she could just get one hand free, maybe she could get out of this chair while Francine and her henchmen were distracted.