by Kyle, Celia
Mostly.
She paused in the doorway and gave herself a moment to make the transition from silence to a muted roar. Thoughts from the compound’s inhabitants assaulted her. True, they were like tiny pebbles being thrown against her mental mountain, but they existed nonetheless.
Instead of fighting them as she did in her youth, she let them swirl over and within her, accepting their presence. Then the dull throb of their existence settled.
She stepped into the hall and turned left. The kitchen beckoned her, the scent of pancakes and bacon leading her forward. Truly it was the bacon that drew her. Hell, any meat had her drooling. She hated that part of herself, the hint of shifter that had been given to her while she was growing in her mother’s womb.
Bastard.
Tess stopped and pressed a hand to her stomach, the voices pushing into her as if sensing her wavering control. Thinking of Alistair McCain always did that to her. Only his presence disrupted her more. But that wouldn’t be an issue any longer, would it? Another woman had done what Tess could not.
Refocusing on her path, she was in the kitchen in moments. The compound’s new cook moved easily at the stove. She almost snorted. New cook. All of the staff members in the compound were new. The only remnants of Freedom that remained were Tess and four other women who’d been rescued by the Council.
Rescued yet not released.
She understood their reasoning. The other four women had suffered through beatings and rape for years, and they were still emotionally unable to venture past the front door. Tess had only endured the beatings. The benefits of being Alistair’s self-proclaimed “daughter” meant sex was off the table. She shuddered with the thought and pushed it aside.
She padded to the coffee maker and quickly poured herself a cup, desperate for a shot of caffeine before she faced a crowded living room. Already the low hum of the women’s minds reverberated within her.
“Hey, Tess.” The cook’s soothing voice caressed her. Ben was a giant of a man, an elephant that was as gentle as he was large. “Pancakes? Or did Little Debbie and her wonderful world of brownies already feed you?” He pointed a spatula at her. “Brownies are not breakfast food, Tess.”
Ah, Little Debbie, how do I love thee? Since her “rescue”, Stone had introduced her to a plethora of snack foods, and they were amazing. They also added a crap-ton of pounds to her ass, but whatever. She’d lived without them for twenty-six years and figured she deserved a little bit of chocolate therapy.
Tess refused to blush at Ben’s words. Instead, she glared. “Brownies are really just smooshed muffins. I’ll have you know that there are plenty of people who eat muffins for breakfast and—”
“Tess?” Stone cut her off and she turned toward him, smiling wide when she caught sight of the gorilla shifter. He’d been the first Council guard to arrive and clean house, protecting them as if they were his own band of gorillas.
“What’s up?”
Stone squirmed, gaze traveling from Tess to Ben and back again. “Well…” He sighed and ran a hand through his midnight hair. “The Council has given me a sort of promotion.”
“Awesome!” She was thrilled for him, but something lingered beneath his words, and a hint of worry overrode the whispers in her mind. With his tension, her smile faltered. “It is, right?”
Stone snared a cup of coffee and slid onto the stool beside her. He cradled the steaming cup between his hands, rubbing his palms along the heated ceramic.
It was tempting, oh so tempting, to lower the walls that kept her sane and allow his thoughts to enter her mind. Conversations were so much easier when she knew what was to be said. Instead, she waited Stone out, blowing on her coffee and allowing the silence to stretch between them. Ben continued cooking, flipping pancakes and scrambling eggs while bacon sizzled in a frying pan.
Stone frowned into the mug, eyes intent on the brown liquid within. “It is. And it isn’t. You ladies need…” He huffed. “I’m leaving.”
Tess rolled her eyes and ignored the bolt of fear that took up residence in her gut. “I assumed you would.”
“Which means that I’ll be replaced.” More worry bordering on panic came from him. The man was so caring when it came to the women in the house it bordered on nauseating.
Even Ben snorted at the obviousness of his statement.
“Yes, if you leave, I figured we’d get someone new to keep us under lock and key and protected from the big, bad world.” Her tone was flippant, but she felt the same need for protection as the rest of the women. They feared being brutalized. She feared…so much more. “When’s your replacement showing up?”
More importantly who would get her pre-packaged goodness on a regular basis?
Ben nudged a plate of bacon (including a side of pancakes) her way with a wink and a fork immediately followed. “You’re a God.”
Because, really, Little Debbie hadn’t delivered breakfast that morning. She’d finished off “smooshed muffins” yesterday, and her stash was low. It’d become time for rationing.
She poured syrup onto the pancakes and then cut off a big bite, savoring the sweetness. She gobbled piece after piece, ignoring Stone’s silence. Scenarios flitted through her mind, the thoughts overriding any others from the compound’s occupants.
The man could be evil like the Freedom members, and who would protect them then? Stone had been teaching them self-defense. Three of the survivors were Sensitives—women who had the ability to soothe another’s beast, delve into their thoughts, and even influence someone’s behavior. They had a nearby Sensitive stop by twice a week to work with those women, honing their skills and training them control.
But not Tess. Tess was…different. She was human, yet not. She wasn’t a true shifter, yet she had some of the powers of a Sensitive that only shifters could possess. And some powers that weren’t. All in all, she was a commodity even rarer than a Sensitive. All of Freedom knew it, and the Council was pretty sure there were ex- members still at large that wanted her.
Stone abandoned his coffee cup and scrubbed his face. “He’ll be here soon. I’m just worried about how everyone will handle someone new. He’s a good man, but the other females are…”
He tilted his head to the side. Tess recognized the move as one many shifters employed. Listening intently tended to involve a lot of head tilting and squinting. She tried very, very hard not to laugh and tell the gorilla that he looked a lot like the puppy she’d always wanted when growing up. But concrete compounds weren’t conducive to dogs. At least, that’s what her “father” had said.
“Apparently, soon is now.” The gorilla popped up from the stool and strode through the doorway and toward the front entry by way of the living room.
A low ding announced the elevator’s arrival, the thing having traveled fifty feet from the surface and through the ground to their level.
Unfortunately, she and Stone hadn’t been there when the doors slid open. Or when the newcomer stepped off the elevator. Or even when he wandered further into the compound and came upon the living room.
Tess took two steps into the living room and then met the stranger’s powerful gaze. That simple connection quieted the voices invading her mind until there wasn’t even a whisper of emotion battering her. It was gone. A look had banished Stone’s worry and the ladies’ terror from her thoughts. Blissful silence blanketed her.
Well, at least until the stranger was slammed with the power of one of the resident Sensitives and rendered unconscious. He fell to the ground, more than six feet and over two hundred pounds of man and muscle crashing into the concrete, and the sound of his head striking the solid floor echoed in the room.
Poor Amelia really needed to get a handle on her powers.
Tess settled into a nearby chair, sinking into the cushions and hugging a pillow to her chest as four guards carried their new guy deeper into the compound. The moment he was out of eyesight, the rush of voices returned, battering against her defenses. She wanted to follow the guards,
bathe in the relief of having the whispers disappear if only for a moment. Instead, she huddled deeper into her seat, seeking the protection of a simple piece of furniture.
Even hidden in a corner, her presence sent the level of hostility in the room skyrocketing. It grew and swirled around her. And it was all directed at her, of course.
Apparently her being beaten instead of raped on a daily basis angered the others. Or rather, one of them. The animosity and rage punched her, the emotion throwing itself against her steel wall and bouncing off, only to try again.
She shrugged away the emotions, shoved back the whispers, and focused on the women in the room. Jackie was over in the other corner, glaring at her, a snarl on her lips. Tess turned away from her. The rage was… She shuddered.
The two Mastin sisters were simply leaning against one another, eyes closed and bodies tense. Those two… She didn’t even want to think about what they’d suffered.
Amelia, she of the unconscious visitor, was crying on Stone’s shoulder, openly sobbing out her apologies. Ever since she’d regained her strength, she’d welcomed the powers that came with being a Sensitive. She just hadn’t quite learned control.
Stone urged her into the seat and then moved to the center of the room. His presence immediately quieting the others. All eyes turned to him, focusing on the gorilla shifter that had been their primary protector for over a year.
“As you’ve seen, a new guard arrived today.” Grumbles met Stone’s statement, but he continued. The man had talked through so much screaming and crying that he’d finally begun talking over all interruptions. “I’ve been promoted and reassigned by the Council.”
Voices came tumbling over one another.
“No.”
“It’s not happening.”
“We don’t need someone else.”
“Take your shit and leave, monkey.” That was said with a sneer, pure rage on the speaker’s features, and Tess had to bite her lip to keep quiet. Jackie was an all-around bitch and had been talking crap from day one. Even now, after hours upon hours of therapy, she was as hateful as ever.
Stone brushed all of the comments aside, even managing to ignore Jackie’s “monkey” dig. “Harding Grange comes to us from Ridgeville, North Carolina. He has been assigned as one of the guards to the pride’s Prima. I’ve worked with him, and I’ve trained with him. You ladies won’t find a better man to keep you safe while you heal.”
Some of the animosity drained from the room with his words. They all liked Stone, even if Jackie dug at him a lot. He’d been there from the start. As Freedom members filed out, he rushed in, ready to help them battle their demons. He’d been scratched, kicked, and punched by them all at some point or another, their emotions overcoming sense when faced with a new male.
But he’d persevered.
“What if we don’t want someone else?” The voice was whisper soft, almost lower than the voices in Tess’s head, but there was no mistaking the source. Maria Mastin.
Stone slowly stepped toward the sisters and carefully eased onto the coffee table. Of them all, these two women were in the worst shape, still locked inside their own minds, barely surfacing to speak to anyone.
“He’s a good man, Maria.”
The other sister, Lauren, shook her head. “No. He’s so scarred. He fights…”
How many brawls had they witnessed? How many nights did they wait to see who would come to their bed, bloody and torn, yet victorious?
The scars were something Tess had noticed as well. In that split second their gazes had clashed, she’d spied the web of white scars that decorated his face and arms. With their abundance, she imagined there were more hidden beneath his clothing. They hadn’t appeared to be random either. No, they looked to be carefully sculpted lines, smooth and thin, not jagged and uneven. Someone had gone through a lot of trouble to ruin the man’s face.
He let his gaze travel over them all, landing on one woman for a heartbeat before moving on to the next. “Those aren’t from fighting. He’s a survivor.”
No details were handed over, but the meaning was clear. Yes, Harding was a man covered in scars, but those weren’t from challenges or fights. Just like the five of them, he’d survived.
* * *
Harding didn’t remember getting drunk. At all. Plus, it would have been hard considering he was a lean, male shifter who burned off alcohol almost as quickly as he drank the stuff.
But fuck, his head hurt. The steady thump pulsed through him, overriding his other senses. It felt as if a sledgehammer pounded on his skull, fighting to crack it in two.
God, had someone given him a main line of vodka?
He shifted and groaned. Then groaned again as the sound rattled around his brain. Even his lion cowered in the back of his mind, whimpering and covering his face with his paws. The beast wasn’t even pretending to try and help him.
Bastard.
His body ached from head to toe, every muscle tight and tense, the pain merely adding to the pounding of his head.
Another shift, another bolt of agony, and then a gentle hand stroked his forehead. With that first whisper-soft brush, the pain receded, easing from his arms and legs in a slow wave. Another touch and it left his joints.
He sighed, relaxing into the plush surface beneath him. Stroke by stroke, the agony lowered to a dull, pulsing throb.
Harding struggled against the last remnants of pain, fighting through the snippets that remained and encircled his head.
“Easy.” An angel spoke to him. Lame, but true. Her voice was like a gentle tinkling of bells, sweet and seductive at the same time. He grunted and tensed, fighting to open his eyes and look at the woman soothing him. “No, you need to stay down. Millie is small but packs a punch.”
Millie. So he’d had his ass handed to him by a woman. Fuck, he didn’t remember that. He retraced what’d happened to him since receiving his orders to get to Georgia. He’d packed (as ordered), he’d gotten on a plane (as ordered), rented a car (as ordered), and the drive from the small, private airport hadn’t been bad.
Then he remembered. Life went to hell the moment he’d entered the compound. He’d traveled down through fifty feet of soil and rock. The mountain had been a good hiding place for Alistair. Easily defensible and fairly close to town.
The elevator dinged and he’d taken a handful of steps into the compound. He remembered getting a glimpse of a comfortable looking room filled with women. A couple looked at him with stark fear, terror freezing their features, while one other simply snarled. Damaged or not, those were expressions he was familiar with. He wasn’t exactly a guy that got smiles of welcome from women.
The heavy thump of booted feet on concrete drew his attention from the scowling ladies and he turned to look at the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his life. His lion even perked up in interest, curious and urging him to go to her.
Stone had been at her side, but Harding had been too focused on the woman to care about his friend. He needed to get closer. Touch her. Smell her. Wrap his body around her and protect her with everything inside him.
His gaze had flicked back to Stone, and he had the sudden urge to throw the man across the room and away from the woman. He took a step forward, intent on doing just that, but agony had enveloped him. A fierce bolt of bone-crushing pain had wrapped around him from head to toe, strangling him with its intensity. Then, thankfully, blessed darkness swept him away from the hurt.
Until now.
Harding pushed through the last remnants of pain and forced his lids to open, demanding that his eyes obey his command. They fluttered wide, unfocused for a moment, and then they responded to his order. As his vision cleared, he was met with a glimpse of heaven.
She was there. At his side. Sitting on the bed beside him. His lion perked up once again, paws sliding from his face to peer at the woman in interest. The cat rose to its feet and padded closer, intent on nudging Harding along. The cat didn’t have to push hard. Nope. Harding was as interested a
s his beast.
Then she smiled. God help him, she smiled. The gesture illuminated her face, brightening her features and beckoning him with her allure. Her hair sparkled in the room’s low light, strands catching the dim rays and glittering. The deep red tresses looked like spun silk, and he couldn’t wait to run his fingers through them. Freckles decorated her pert nose, dancing over the bridge and just above the feathery sprinkling. Her emerald green eyes were intent on him. He didn’t bother pausing his inventory. Her lips were plump and full, topping off her sweet, heart-shaped face.
The long line of her neck led to her shoulders and further south to her lush breasts. More than a handful. He couldn’t see much more of her body, her sitting position blocking him from tracing her waist and the flare of her hips with his gaze. She looked so damned fragile. But he sensed a hidden strength in her. A faded scar on her throat called to him, and then he found another. And another. His cat growled at the idea that she’d been harmed, but it also told him that she was like him in some ways.
A survivor. Pain was easy. It was living that was hard.
Harding’s lungs burned, reminding him that he was holding his breath, and he relaxed, inhaling deep. Then he froze.
Oh, God. Honey, sticky sweet honey, bathed his senses and called to his lion. The cat wanted to lap up every drop of those flavors and then hunt up even more. His beast, typically content to lurk at the back of Harding’s mind, rushed forward with a fierce roar and slammed into his mental walls. It pushed, scratched, and bit at the internal confines and snarled his displeasure.
There was one reason, and one reason only, for the lion’s behavior.
Mate.
Fuck. Here, now, in a place meant to provide the woman a haven while she recovered from her past, he’d found his mate. Another look into her eyes showed him the pain that lingered and the unease caused by his intense scrutiny. He begged a little help from his cat and the lion leapt to his aid, adding a hint of his shifter abilities to his human half. Another deep inhale gave him further clues about her.