by Kyle, Celia
She cradled his head, palms resting on his temples, and she forced his gaze to meet hers. “I’m going to fix this, Harding.”
An anguished howl escaped Harding and his face snapped and popped as the lion pushed forward. The man couldn’t help, so obviously the cat thought it could do better.
Tess took one last look at her mate, memorizing his features. Then she closed her eyes and prayed.
Prayed she could help him.
Prayed she’d get a chance to love him.
Prayed she didn’t fry his brain.
* * *
Was he breathing? He didn’t think so. No, his lungs burned and his throat was closed. His chest heaved in an effort to draw in air, but there was none for him. There was no air left. Pain. Dear God, pain overwhelmed him, pummeling him with its intensity. The fire in his chest was joined by razor-edged shards of agony.
His world became a sea of black with shades of grey trolling within the tumultuous darkness. Each roll of the shadowy mass sent another jarring bolt of pain through him. His mind was fully focused on the roiling ball of pure evil that had crept into him1.
And he was drowning in it. Drowning in the anger, the physical agony and mental anguish that accompanied the oily presence inside him.
A presence.
An intruder.
Yes, that was why he hurt. The person was back. The man that was Millie, but wasn’t. The one who’d been trying to hurt him over and over again.
An arm coated in the slinky oil of hate struck out at him, scattering droplets within Harding’s mind. He roared in response, snarling and growling and returning the strike with one of his own. Only it wasn’t his hand that attempted to inflict a wound, it was fur and claw. His cat. His cat had taken over, pulled his human consciousness into its feline body to protect him.
The viscous mass shifted and snarled at him, twisting this way and that. The heat of its loathing increased and expanded, filling him with emotions. Yet the midnight ball reformed, globs of the oil falling away to leave an almost human body. It was still coated in the moving robes of hatred, but it resembled a man more than a writhing ball.
The fur on the lion’s body stood on end, the cat watching the intruder. He picked his way around the puddles of hate, unwilling to discover how his body would react to touching the substance.
The presence struck out at him again, flinging droplets of those acidic emotions with the movement. Harding ducked and jumped to the side, barely avoiding the blow.
But he couldn’t do that forever. Fighting was what he did, but Harding couldn’t figure out how to defeat this enemy. How could he fight someone who was there, yet not?
Another glob of deadly emotion came at him and he jumped aside, but not quite fast enough. Stinging droplets burned into his coat, and the pads of his paws slipped into even more of the acidic oil. He hissed and spit at his attacker, baring his long fangs.
The intruder didn’t seem to notice. No, he simply repeated the move and sent another ball flying through the air.
Yet despite the pain, there seemed to be a glimmering light at the end of the tunnel signaling an end to the torment. Each flinging strike thinned the globulus fluid until some of the darkness lightened and gave way to the peach hints of skin.
Intellectually he’d known the intruder was a person, not just some thing that attacked, yet…
And yet he didn’t see the next mass flying at him, slicing through the air and heading straight for his head. It encompassed his face, slinking over his pale fur and sinking into his body. He roared and screamed, the cat overlaying the man as the pure, bone-deep agony overtook him.
“I’m going to fix this, Harding.”
The words sanded the sharpest edges of his pain, and then familiar hands were there. They stroked his fur and dug into the gelatinous fluid that clung to him. With quick, jerky tugs, the blackness was tossed away, turning into midnight smoke before it could form a new puddle.
The evil presence lumbered forward, its steps slow and measured, each one graceful yet heavy.
With the bonds of loathing scattered, Harding stumbled to the ground, his legs no longer able to hold his weight. He hadn’t realized how hard he’d been fighting the monumental emotions until they were lifted from him. He slumped to the side, paws sliding from beneath him, and he rested his head on the oily ground.
“I’m going to fix this, Harding.”
Tess stood between him and the attacker, her small, curvaceous body the only barrier that lingered between Harding and endless torment.
“This isn’t happening asshole.” Her voice echoed within his mind, bouncing off his mental walls.
The presence roared. No, trumpeted, the sound familiar but not.
A ball of sticky blackness flew through the air, heading straight for his mate, and he scratched at the ground. His muscles protested, screaming at him, but he crawled through the pain. Had to keep her safe. Had to protect her. Had to…
Had to do nothing. Tess seemed to catch the pulsing sphere of emotions, twist and turn them, and the oily mass scattered. The blackened bits were solid now, tiny marbles that rolled over the ground.
Each puddle they touched solidified and froze. The midnight hue lightened, easing from black to grey and on to a blinding, shining white.
The attacker trumpeted in rage, and Tess emitted a sound he’d never heard before.
His mate roared.
The bellow bounced off the walls, shattering the sparkling pockets of light she’d created. It vibrated his entire consciousness, shaking him to his core, and he could only watch the events unfold.
The presence attacked again, more oil-like blackness hurling through the air, only for Tess to capture the bit as if it were light as a feather. With each lob, the lightness of the man’s skin became more visible. More peach-tinged flesh emerged, and Harding searched for any hint of the man’s identity.
He didn’t have Tess’s power, couldn’t sense the mental flavors of a person with a glancing touch of minds, but he wasn’t blind. He hoped his mate could expose enough of the man to identify him… So Harding could slice him into bite-sized pieces.
Asshole Tartare.
Still the man lumbered closer, but Tess held her ground, legs braced shoulder-width apart and hands at her sides. Those slim fingers wiggled, twitching in an entrancing rhythm while the attacker neared.
A groaning whine built in Harding’s throat, both he and his cat objecting to the lessening distance between their mate and danger. Because…because she wasn’t just their mate any longer. It was more and bigger and deeper and—
A crackling energy rent the air, stroking his fur with an inhuman hand and easing through his mane in a gentle yet agitating caress.
“I’m going to fix this, Harding.”
The question was: how would she fix it?
Tess glowed, the brightening light coming from deep within her and sliding free into his mind. She pulsed with the energy and power that increased with every beat of his heart. Her hands remained passive at her sides, but the sparking extended to her fingers and danced between the digits.
“You can stop this now. Before it goes any further.” Her voice was deep and booming, a hint of growl tingeing each word. His mate had a beast whether she wanted to face that fact or not. “Let go. You’re not gonna win this. Move on, and no one will hunt you down. It’s over.”
Move on? Never. Harding would see the man dead and bleeding as soon as possible.
Apparently the lumbering male realized it as well, and continued to approach Tess until he seemed to be right on top of her.
Harding damned his inability to protect Tess, raged at his body’s reaction to that hate-tainted oil that had sapped all of his strength. He should be the one protecting her. He should be shielding her with his body. He should…
A deafening boom rattled his bones, pushing against his skull until the pressure grew and grew. His head was going to explode, any moment it’d be overcome by the force of the sound. He closed hi
s eyes, fighting the nausea-inducing agony that accompanied the noise, but a flaring light burned past his eyelids.
Tess.
Electricity invaded his cat’s body, his muscles twitching in response to the side effects of his mate’s attack. He pried his eyes open and watched as the hatred coating the intruder was burned away amidst shrieks and trumpeting roars of protest. More and more of the oily blackness flared and then disappeared to reveal skin.
The glow nearly blinded him, but he soon saw a man sans the midnight coating standing in front of Tess, her body blocking him from full view. But just because he couldn’t see, didn’t mean he couldn’t hear.
“It’s over, Ben.”
44
“Mistakes happen. You need to figure out how to turn your mistakes into someone else’s.” — Maya O’Connell, Prima of the Ridgeville Pride and woman who has decided that her twins are good for something: taking the blame…for everything.
Snippets of the fight returned to Tess the barest moment before agony overtook her. It writhed through her veins, pummeling her from inside out, the strength growing with every breath. Her body rebelled against the pain, fighting to push it from her, and her stomach heaved, anxious to rid herself of the taint.
Rolling to her side, she opened her mouth and let it rise along her throat, burning as it pushed past her lips. She didn’t open her eyes, didn’t want to see what had actually come from within her.
Because she knew.
Dear God, she knew.
Hate and anger that heavy couldn’t be contained, and it’d somehow seeped into her as she’d banished Ben from Harding’s mind.
How long ago had that been? Hours? Days? Weeks? It was difficult to tell when she fought that hard. She’d put every ounce of herself into saving Harding from the elephant’s perverted attack. Somehow Ben’s love for…someone…had twisted and turned into a rage so potent it made her physically ill.
She heaved again, stomach emptying, and she finally noticed a large hand holding her hair back. Its warmth seeped into her, forcing her to take note of the frozen shivers that traveled through her body.
“Shh… It’s okay.” The deep timbre of Harding’s voice was unmistakable.
Tess fought to open her eyes, ignoring the crust that clung to her lashes. Her first glimpse of the living world was of the basin beneath her along with the black remnants of Ben’s rage. At the sight, she closed her eyes once again, unwilling to see what had come from the fight.
“T-Take it away,” she rasped.
Harding’s touch disappeared for barely a moment and then he was back, his gentle hands urging her to lie back down. He stroked her as if she were as delicate as glass. And right then, she probably was.
Eyes still closed, she sank into the comfortable mattress, thankful for the cushioned surface at her back. Softness meant she was in the real world. Back where things made sense and her friend wasn’t a walking oil slick.
“Better?” Harding twined his fingers with hers.
She nodded. “Yeah.” She cleared her throat, swallowing whatever hints of bile that remained. “Yeah, much.”
“Good.” He squeezed her hands gently. “How long, Tess?”
She knew the question was coming, the one she didn’t want to answer, but had to nonetheless. “I didn’t truly know until this last time.”
“And your suspicions?” She was sure he tried to mask his anger, but he forgot whom he was talking to. There was no hiding things from her. Not truly.
“Ben wanted to come along.” She turned away. “He has his own family. His Herd is in the mid-west. Why would he want to come to North Carolina?”
“And you didn’t think it’d be prudent to share with the class?” His sarcasm was not lost on her.
“He’s a male. They can’t do that, they don’t have those abilities.” At least, that’s what she told herself over and over again. Male shifters couldn’t be Sensitives, they didn’t have those powers. Obviously she’d been wrong. Nearly dead wrong. “And he was my friend. I’d never sensed…”
“You could have warned us, Tess.” He gripped her chin and forced her to turn her gaze back to him. “You could have—should have—trusted me enough to tell me. I’m your mate for fuck’s sake. Fool that I am, I thought it meant something.” He released her and rose. “But obviously, it doesn’t.”
Harding padded toward the door, intent on leaving her behind.
Tess ached to reach out to him, let her mind brush his and allow him to peer inside her, but she didn’t have the strength. He could see the depth of her feelings. He’d be able to see how she was paralyzed by fear and uncertainty. He could explore her emotions and dig through her every memory. He could—
Before he left, he paused and looked back at her. The pain and anger were clearly written on his face. “Ben is in the living room and wants to talk to you before the Council takes him away. He’s drugged enough that he won’t be a threat to you or anyone else for a little while. He’ll be due for another shot in fifteen minutes. I’ll send someone in to help you.”
So, she’d smashed that to pieces. Whatever they’d been building had been pulverized by her unwillingness to accept the truth about Ben and her inability to embrace what Harding offered. She hadn’t been able to believe him, had she? Nor had she even tried to work past her fears. At least, not until the other night with Maya and Carly. And then it’d been too late. The lies of omission had started.
Alex appeared in the doorway with Maya hovering behind the massive shifter. His features were set in an emotionless, chiseled mask. “They’re waiting.”
Maya pushed past her mate, a worried expression on her face. She rushed forward, arms outstretched. “Are you okay?”
Maya grasped Tess’s hands and fought to hide her wince. Fighting Ben had really done a number on her. “I’m fine.” She pushed the words past her gritted teeth and used Maya’s hold to pull herself to her feet. “I’m good. Let’s go.”
Alex spun on his heel, leaving the two of them alone, and the Prima gave her a look of pity. “He worries about Harding. They’re men, they don’t talk about things, but Alex almost looks at Harding as a brother. They’re the same age, and when he came to the pride…”
When Harding had come to the pride, he’d been a battered, wounded, and scarred lion. Kind of like now, only Tess had caused the damage, and it was all hidden beneath his skin.
Yes, she deserved their scorn. “It’s fine. Let’s get this over with. The quicker it’s done, the quicker I can leave.”
Maya’s eyes widened. Disbelief, frustration and sadness flowed from the woman, but Tess was too tired to pull them all apart to find the reasons behind each emotion. With agonizing, shuffling steps she hobbled to the bedroom door and braced herself against the jamb. Air heaved in and out of her lungs, burning with each inhale and exhale. Fatigue pulled at her, but she had to see this done.
Tess leaned on the Prima, bracing her body against the powerful woman, and the two of them slowly made their way down the hall. Inch by inch, they padded over the soft carpet, until they finally stumbled into the living area.
And there was Ben, bleary-eyed and slumped in one of Harding’s kitchen chairs. The man’s wrists were cuffed, arms stretched behind the chair, while his ankles were secured to the seat’s legs. Council guards stood on either side of their prisoner, guns unholstered and pointed directly at the elephant’s head as it lolled against his shoulder.
Ben’s slightly crazed eyes were intent on her. “Tess,” he slurred her name. “You came.”
With Maya’s help, she crossed the room, pointedly ignoring Harding’s presence where he leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. She’d be leaving him soon. Torturing herself by staring at him wasn’t the best idea.
Carly stood nearby and quickly placed a chair in front of the prisoner. “Here, hon.”
She spoke as if Tess would shatter at any moment.
Maybe she would.
Between the two women, she managed to se
ttle onto the seat and nearly groaned in relief.
Ben’s glassy eyes focused on her, but she took a moment to look around the room. And regretted the decision. Women from the pride gave her looks ranging from pity to worry, while the men were merely furious. At her.
She returned her attention to the man of the hour. “I did come.”
That earned her a winsome smile. “I knew you would. You were always so good. Always so nice to Amelia.” His eyes cleared for the briefest of moments. “Did you know elephants really don’t forget? It’s a curse. Can’t ever, ever forget.”
The wistful tone shot through her, his words in such contrast to the gruff male she was familiar with. “What can’t you forget, Ben?”
“I wanted to say I’m sorry.”
She nodded. “I know you are.”
“He wanted you and he wasn’t going to stop until he got you. I remembered…”
Tess leaned forward and braced her hands on her knees. Her arms shook, fatigue tugging at her. “What did you remember?”
The wall of fuzziness returned to his gaze. “Them taking Millie. She screamed over and over again. No-no-no-no… They hurt her, didn’t they, Tess? I was gonna watch over her until she was strong enough to live on her own, and I met you, and he wanted you, and I couldn’t let that happen, Tess.” A tear trailed down Ben’s cheek. “But I didn’t know. I thought he was forcing you and I didn’t know.”
She sorted through his words, snared bits and pieces and pushed them all together. She cursed the fact that she was too week to venture into Ben’s mind. Then again, there was no telling what she’d find there.
So, she took a flying leap and guessed. “Millie isn’t an orphan, is she?” She replayed the memories of the attacks on Harding, the taste and flavors that lingered. “She’s your sister?”
Ben paled, eyes going wide. “You can’t tell her. Not after what I did.”
“Shh…” She reached out to pat his knee, reassure the man who’d been her friend for months, only to find a massive hand wrapped around her wrist.