A long, dark hallway stretched before him, the soft glow of safety lights barely illuminating his path. A bright light fifty feet away beckoned him—Abby’s office.
Unfortunately, a group of five human men—guns out and the thirst for violence on their faces—were bathed in that glow.
Chapter Four
A rap of knuckles on wood—two quick knocks that shattered the silence—announced Abby’s visitor. Adrenaline surged and yanked the cat even further forward. It wasn’t a single visitor, but visitors.
With Eric Foster front and center. Four others filed into the space behind him, forming a half circle of overgrown thugs at his back. Each man wore a tailored, midnight suit, but something told her the men were anything but mere business associates of Eric’s.
Abby licked her lips and left her mouth slightly open, just enough to draw in air and sample the flavors now consuming the room. Human. Anticipation. Unease. A fury that had to come from the man in the middle, and the heavy scent of metal, an aroma her mind connected to guns. Normally that meant police officers were near, but these guys didn’t look like humans intent on protecting and serving.
They seemed like the “killing and burying” type, with torture tossed in for good measure.
“Ms. Carter.” A sharp voice wrenched her attention to Eric.
“Mr. Foster.” She drew her lips into a gently curved smile, one that didn’t expose her rapidly growing fangs. The cat was prepared to act, ready to do whatever had to be done to protect them. “How are you?”
Abby was thankful her voice didn’t waver. Much.
He smiled at her, and yet it wasn’t a smile. It was a violent promise. He knew something. Knew that she knew something. Or he’d discovered the truth about her cougar and no longer wanted a furry in his building.
That was what Unified Humanity called shifters—furries.
When they weren’t being called dead.
“Better now that I’m here,” he purred. Or rather, he tried to. She’d had a lion purr to her before, all sensual and sweet. That was not what filled her ears, but there were bigger problems than whether the human man could purr like a cat shifter.
The scent of his anger and the sticky sweetness of suppressed violence surrounded him in a whirling cloud. She knew those aromas, the hint of impending pain. Abby swallowed hard and pushed those distant memories aside. Now wasn’t the time to let the past intrude on the present.
“Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Foster?”
Eric clicked his tongue. “Such formality. Call me Eric.”
Abby forced her fangs to retract. No sense in revealing her inner cat and poking the crazy person.
“Is there something I can do for you, Eric?”
Other than die, of course. She smiled wide and tried to portray the innocence and sweetness everyone told her she possessed.
Her cougar snorted.
I am sweetness and light. Sugar wouldn’t melt in my mouth, and you don’t need to throw me out the window.
“Actually…you can.” Eric moved around the desk, his footfalls slow and easy as he neared. When he drew to a stop, he was in the perfect position to see her screen.
Her fingers tingled, desperate to hide what she’d discovered.
“You were instructed to ignore a specific account, Ms. Carter.” He lifted his hip and sat on the edge of the desk. “And yet I was informed you disobeyed that simple directive.”
“Eric, I…” Abby swallowed hard—she was doing that a lot lately—and fought back the rising bile in her throat. She wasn’t going to puke all over the desk. For one thing, ew. For the other, it’d slow her down when she finally grew a set of brass ovaries and ran.
Because she was so running. The second she had the chance. At five eight and more curvy than lean, she had her bulk and her cougar’s strength behind her, which meant she’d be a match for him. Maybe.
She licked her lips, mouth dry. “I didn’t get a chance to look things over. I just opened the site and logged in. I didn’t realize I was in the wrong account.” She chuckled and tapped her forehead. She kept her eyes on Eric and reached for her mouse, intent on closing the Internet browser. “Sometimes I should be called a dumb blonde. I haven’t really—”
“Do you know what else I learned?” A crazed light filled his eyes, a sharp edge of madness. Another wave of panic and adrenaline entered her blood. “I learned your secret.”
“I—I—I don’t have a secret.” She shook her head and battled to suppress the trembles attempting to shake her from the inside out.
“Liar.” He hissed the word. Again with the animal references.
“I just…” Discovered your company funds an organization intent on exterminating my kind. That’s all.
“You’re a shapeshifter.” He spat the word.
Abby kept shaking her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You mean, like werewolves? Mr. Foster, I’m hu—”
“Human?” He snatched her wrist in a punishing grip, squeezing muscle and bone. “You’re still lying, but I know that pain breaks your kind.”
Agony could shatter a shifter’s control. Hell, it often did snap her kind’s restraint and release the animal.
The cat thought freedom was a wonderful idea. She’d bust out with fur and claws, take a few bites out of the men in the office, and then run for safety.
“Eric…” She pushed the two syllables past gritted teeth, hissing as the pain grew. It spread from her wrist, tendrils of pain crawling through her veins and scraping her nerves. “I’m not a—”
“It took one phone call and now I know what you are.” He bared blunted human teeth, as if the expression would frighten her.
The guns the others carried? Yes, they were scary. His sneer? Not so much.
He grasped her throat with her other hand, fingers curling around her neck as if they were claws. He’d accused her of being a shifter, but he couldn’t be sure, right? She had to cling to her skin. It was illegal to reveal herself to humans. His hold tightened, gradually cutting off her air, and she fought to draw oxygen into her lungs.
“You’re a furry who poked her nose where it doesn’t belong. Now you’re going to pay.” Menace filled his every word, hatred evident in his voice. “But first we’ll have some fun.”
Abby didn’t want to have any kind of fun with Eric Foster or his minions. Her cougar yowled, the cry consuming Abby’s mind. It surged, giving her strength—enough that she should be able to overpower a single human man. At least enough for her to break free. Except the longer he kept hold of her throat—cutting off her air—the weaker she grew.
The beast’s horror joined the terror consuming her human body. It blanketed her in a layer of blind alarm until she was hardly more than an animal driven to live. The cougar’s emergence began with her whiskers, the flick of one thick strand after another pushing past the skin on her cheeks. Pop. Pop. Pop.
Her inner animal knew it’d fucked up by pushing free, but the deed was done and she hadn’t finished. Fur came next, a golden layer of short strands that slid along her forearms. It led to her hands, fingers coated in her cat’s coloring. Her fingertips burned, and she knew that her human nails were giving way to off-white claws.
“Boss, she’s got claws.” A deep murmur from one of the thugs, and Eric’s attention flicked to her hands before returning to her face once more.
“You still want to tell me you’re not a furry?” More disgust on Eric’s features, and the stench of his hatred filled her nose. He shoved her away and rose from the desk. He stepped back, putting space between them before he spoke once more. “Tie her up. We’ll transport her to—”
“Unfortunately”—another man rounded the corner, dressed in black from head to toe; he looked just as deadly as the others, pure danger etched into every line of his body, but something told her he wasn’t part of this shifter-hating group—“Ms. Carter is otherwise engaged.”
Then he became a blur of motion, whipping into action before the
goons could draw a weapon. The newcomer struck first, punching one attacker before kicking another. Each assault was quicker than her eyes could track and all followed by the snap of bone. She’d heard her own bones break each time she shape-shifted. There was no mistaking that sound for any other.
Grunts and groans filled the air, warring with the thuds of flesh striking flesh.
The newcomer caught someone’s fist mid-punch and twisted his grip, turning until the human’s forearm hung loosely at his side. He followed the action with an elbow to the face that sent his opponent stumbling back into the wall.
“Who the—shoot him!” Eric’s voice joined the sickening echoes of the fight.
One of the remaining three reached into his jacket and withdrew a handgun, pointing it at Abby’s savior.
Abby swept her gaze over the desk, searching for something to…Her eyes landed on the ancient ten-key calculator to the left of her laptop. Five pounds of plastic and metal that had to be more than ten years old.
She wrapped her hands around the device, yanked it until the cord ripped free of the wall, and launched it at the gun-holding goon. The calculator flew, a trail of calculator paper streaming in its wake, and slammed into the side of the human’s head. The adding machine sliced into his flesh and tumbled to the ground, and her target swayed in place. He turned slowly, his dazed eyes locking on to hers for a split second before he collapsed.
Two bad guys down; three to go.
Assuming her savior didn’t want to hurt her after he defeated the others.
“You bitch!” A fist collided with her cheek, knuckles striking flesh with a solid punch that had her head whipping around.
She fell forward and caught her weight on the desk, slumping over the furniture. Pain blossomed in her face and quickly spread, expanding until the ache throbbed through her head. The room spun, reality swaying with a wave of dizziness that had her stomach lurching.
The punch was followed by a kick, Eric’s designer shoe slamming into her leg, and another splash of agony filled her. “You fucking—”
“I’m not a fan of men who hit women.” That dark voice slithered over her, almost emotionless except she thought she heard a soft thread of rage in the syllables.
Abby shoved the pain away and regained control of herself. Yes, she was grateful for this stranger’s interference, but did she want to be around when he had no men left to fight?
She drew air into her lungs, moving beyond the dizziness and pulsating aches, so she could focus on escaping. Her plan hadn’t changed—it had merely been delayed.
She pushed herself upright and swung her gaze to her computer and the tablet still connected to the device. The fight continued behind her, and she spared a quick glance for the battling men. The stranger split his attention between the three remaining humans, aiming more painful blows at Eric than the other two.
The stranger really wasn’t a fan of men who hit women.
That didn’t mean he wouldn’t pick up with Abby where Eric had left off.
Abby snatched the tablet and yanked it free. She crawled over the desk and slipped off the other side, stumbling over the human she’d knocked out. She snapped her gaze to him and met his glassy stare, pupils wide and gaze unfocused.
Mostly.
He recognized her. He narrowed his eyes, hatred surging in his stare, and went into motion. He extended his arm, hand seeking his weapon, and she decided waiting around for him to find it wasn’t the best idea.
She scrambled to her feet, tablet still clutched in one hand, and ran for the door. She gripped the doorjamb and used the hold to swing into the hallway.
But not before the loud pop of a gunshot reached her ears.
Chapter Five
The shot didn’t stop Declan’s attack. Nah, it was the scent of Abby’s blood followed by a sharp cry that was a mixture between cat and woman.
Abby had been shot.
“You about done playing with the humans?” Birch’s drawl reached him through the com in his ear. “Because the cat is escaping.”
Escaping and hurt.
Which meant Declan didn’t have time to play with his opponents any longer. He didn’t have time to kill them either. When these five died, it would be slowly, painfully. He’d settle for broken bones and blood for now. The wolf wanted Declan’s promise that they could hunt them later. They’d scared Abby—hurt her. The beast decided they deserved to die.
Declan allowed the wolf to strengthen him, giving him the power to end the battle with a few more punches. Though he did make sure he broke noses while he was at it.
He finally turned to the office door and laid eyes on the shooter, the human slumped in the doorway, gun still in hand. This was the one who’d attempted to shoot Declan—stopped by Abby’s insane intervention.
He leaped over the prone body at his feet, eyes not straying from his target. He couldn’t eliminate them all, but he figured this enemy was on his way out the door anyway.
The human turned his gun on Declan, but a quick grab and twist ended with the weapon in Declan’s palm. He quickly tossed it out of reach and continued his forward momentum. His speed didn’t falter as he bent and wrapped his hands around the human’s head. A harsh yank was followed by a ripple of bones snapping in rapid succession, and then he was in the hallway, racing down the long stretch of darkness and back toward the stairwell.
Drops of blood—Abby’s blood—stained the ground, and his wolf urged him to go faster, push harder. She was bleeding and they weren’t with her. The scent of her pain filled the air, and it pushed his wolf to the edge of savagery.
He burst into the stairwell, and the beast lent its assistance once again. He leaped down the steps, following the trail of Abby’s blood. With each new drop, the beast became even more enraged, and it was torn between the chase and returning to finish the human males.
“She’s on the ground. Heading east,” Cole murmured.
“Declan, stand down. We’ll—”
“Mine.”
“Declan.” Birch’s growl was filled with every ounce of dominance the man could exert, and Declan’s wolf…
Didn’t give a fuck. It didn’t encourage him to at least stop and listen to the bear. No, it pushed him onward. He hit the bottom stair and emerged into the cool night. Abby’s scent still filled his nose, and he let his inner animal direct him. Cole said go east, but she wouldn’t remain visible to his team for long.
Declan rounded the corner of the building and took off after Abby, his fury growing with every droplet of blood on the ground. His feet pounded on the concrete, boots thumping in time with his heartbeat. “Cole. Her status.”
“Gunshot wound to the side. Slight limp. Not wearing shoes, so her feet will be torn to hell if her cat doesn’t help.”
“Her cat will help.” Declan didn’t doubt the she-cat’s desire to survive.
“Break it off, Agent.” Birch tried again.
“Fuck off, Agent.” He wasn’t stopping.
“North on Bay Street.” Cole again.
“I’ve got eyes on her—tracking her with street cameras.” Grant annoyed the hell out of him, but it was good to have the rule-breaking asshole on his side.
“Got the van purring and ready to go,” Ethan drawled, the lion looking for any excuse to get behind the wheel.
“I didn’t authorize—”
“Birch, give up. I’m taking her.” Declan couldn’t stop the wolf now. Not after it’d been teased with her scent, the flavors of her fear and blood.
The team alpha just sighed, and Declan could imagine the big bear dropping his head forward with resignation. “Grant, keep eyes on her. Cole, monitor the shit-storm across the street. When the live ones are out of that office, take care of cleanup.”
“I’ve got these new guns I designed that alternate C-4 pellets and detonators that have a timing trigger, so—”
“Cole,” Birch growled, and they all knew what that particular grumble meant. I don’t care. Just get shit done al
ready.
“Yes!” Cole shouted, and he imagined the tiger punching his fist in the air before he bolted.
Birch just sighed. “Ethan and I will rendezvous for a pickup once Declan has her in hand.”
Declan grinned and took a sharp left onto Bay Street, still following the bloody trail. “See how easy that was?”
Birch grunted. “Move out.”
The sounds of his team bursting into action filled his ear, but he focused on one single voice—Grant. The other wolf fed him directions, giving him a play-by-play of Abby’s movements.
“Heading for the pier, Declan.”
The fucking pier. A bullshit tourist attraction and family-friendly hot spot. Crowds filled the area every night, and their stench would overlay Abby’s.
“Crowd won’t hide her,” Declan muttered, and increased his speed. Or rather, the crowd wouldn’t hide her for long. Short-term, though, it could make tracking difficult.
Then she came into sight, those golden curls streaming out behind her and that ass he liked so much jiggling with every pounding step. It was fucked up that he was turned on by her while she ran for her life, but he couldn’t stop himself.
“I have eyes on her,” he told Grant. He’d been distracted when she’d bolted—trying to save his own life tended to do that—but now he noticed she clung to a tablet, grip so tight as if it held the secrets of life. What was so damned important that—
She reached the very end of the pier, bypassing the families and teens who lined the railing. She shoved them aside and climbed the safety rail.
That was when it hit him like a baseball bat to the kneecap: she was pulling a jumper.
Nah, no way. She couldn’t be that dumb. She wasn’t going to jump. More than one stupid-ass kid had lost his life against the maze of a pier’s support beams. Good place to hide a body or two, perhaps, but that wasn’t currently on the agenda.
She balanced atop the eight-inch-wide slab of wood. The one that was supposed to keep people safe, not act as a diving platform. She placed the edge of the tablet in her mouth.
“Abby!” He shouted her name without thought, the word erupting from his lips in a roar. His beast aided him, made his voice boom through the air, and it silenced everyone.
Day of the Dragon Page 27