Panthers' Pleasure [Impulse 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (21 page)

Mikael came up to them and offered Max his hand.

“I’m Mikael,” he said. “Come on, get in the truck. You, too, Chantal,” he added, wrapping a blanket round her sopping-wet shoulders. “You don’t need to see this.”

She shook off his arm. “Yes, I do.”

“Look, I know he’s your mate, but—”

“Her mate?” Max shook his head, seeming totally perplexed. “Who are these people, Chantal? Give me your cell. I’m calling the cops.”

“This is my fault, Mikael,” Chantal sobbed. “I thought I was helping. I wanted to protect them, but I’ve just made matters worse. They weren’t supposed to follow me.”

“Did you really think they wouldn’t?”

“I got lost. If I’d gotten here earlier, I might have been able to—”

“What’s all that growling and roaring about?” Max asked, walking backward, straining his eyes to see what was going on in the pitch dark.

“It’s nothing,” she said, remembering her duty toward her brother. At least she could keep him safe—or try to.

“Shit!” Max tripped over something and fell heavily. “I think I’ve opened my leg up again.”

Chantal and Mikael between them picked him up and got him back into the truck. One leg of his pants was covered in fresh blood.

“Let Mikael look at it,” Chantal said. “He’s a doctor.”

“It’s not too bad,” Mikael said after a swift examination aided by the interior light in the truck. He produced bandages from his medical bag and re-dressed the leg. “Here, drink this,” he said, pouring liquid into a tiny glass. “It’ll help with the pain.”

Max hesitated and then downed the medication in one swallow. Thirty seconds later he was sound asleep.

“Better if he doesn’t see what’s going on,” Mikael said quietly.

“It’s not possible to see anything, anyway.”

Anxiety coursed through Chantal, along with a feeling of overriding guilt. Boscombe would kill Rafe, she just knew it. Rafe hadn’t properly recovered from having his stomach ripped open by a bear. He shouldn’t be doing this. He wouldn’t be, had it not been for her. How could she have messed up so comprehensively? She slumped in her seat beside Max, leaning her arms on the open window and staring into the darkness, oblivious to the rain. All she could do was wait for Vilas to come and tell her it was all over, that Rafe was dead and that he blamed her for everything.

So he should because it was entirely her fault.

* * * *

Rafe knew Boscombe was stronger than he was physically. Rafe’s powers were returning rapidly since mating with Chantal, but Boscombe still outweighed him and seemed disconcertingly confident in his ability to win. He’d wanted to square off against Rafe for months and Rafe had always known the day would come when he got his wish.

All right, he thought, as the two circled one another warily, sizing each other up, the heavy rain barely penetrating Rafe’s thick pelt. He knew he couldn’t beat Boscombe with brawn, but he could sure as hell outsmart a bastard lion. He was faster and lighter on his paws than Boscombe, and more cunning, too. He had one other major advantage over Boscombe in that he had something worth fighting for. Chantal—the light in his darkness, the love of his life. A life he would gladly sacrifice to keep her safe. But he couldn’t think about her now, couldn’t afford to wonder why she’d tried to run out on them. If he lost concentration, even for a moment, it would be fatal.

Boscombe, trying to take him by surprise, launched an attack. He reared up on his hind legs, attempting to gouge Rafe’s eyes out with vicious claws. Shit, he caught Rafe on the cheek. Rafe felt blood oozing down his face, but ignored the stinging pain. He evaded the worst of the attack by spinning away, only just managing to swish his tail clear of those killer claws at the very last second when Boscombe launched himself at his haunches. Rafe was proud of his tail and didn’t intend to have it ripped from his body by this loutish shifter.

“Better luck next time.”

“I don’t need luck.”
Rafe could hear the sneer in Boscombe’s thoughts.
“I’m a lion and lions are king.”

You arrogant asshole, Rafe almost said. He banished the thought before it could take hold, worried that Boscombe would pick up on it.

They stalked one another again, Boscombe roaring his head off, presumably because he thought the sound would intimidate Rafe.
Think again, shit face!
Rafe needed to find a way to trick Boscombe into showing his throat so Rafe could rip it out. Boscombe would be thinking the same thing about him, Rafe was aware. Who would crack first?

Boscombe let out an earsplitting roar, far louder than his previous efforts, taking Rafe by surprise. Idiot! Even with the storm directly overhead and no one venturing out in such foul weather, surely it would have been heard? The last thing they needed was humans trying to intervene with loaded shotguns.

Boscombe’s ploy distracted Rafe for one vital second. It gave his adversary the chance to move in for the kill, presumably thinking that his speed would compensate for the need to expose his throat as he leapt forward. Rafe recovered quickly and saw his chance, even if it would make him vulnerable as he sank his teeth into the soft flesh beneath Boscombe’s jaw. Boscombe was too slow to realize it and Rafe clenched his jaw tight and clung on, literally for grim death.

Boscombe wouldn’t give in that easily, but how would he retaliate? Rafe discovered the answer when he felt an excruciating pain rip through his entire body like a sharp sabre. It was so acute that he almost released his hold on Boscombe’s jaw. But if he did that it would be the end of him. Stubbornness and thoughts of Chantal helped him to somehow keep his jaw firmly locked in place as the weakening lion thrashed his large body every which way, trying to break Rafe’s hold. Mild elation trickled through his pain-ridden body when he felt Boscombe’s warm blood trickle across his muzzle. He continued to withstand the pain that was ripping him in two, encouraged when he sensed Boscombe’s strength gradually leaving him. His adversary’s posturing roars had become pitifully weak whimpers.

Boscombe’s supporters became increasingly agitated when they saw which way the battle was going. Rafe’s people noticed it, too, and he was conscious of them shifting to square up to the lions. They wouldn’t attack unless the lions did first. Boscombe had told them not to, but Rafe wasn’t sure how disciplined they actually were. This was a matter of honor to be settled between him and Boscombe. Did his underlings understand that? Rafe prayed that they did. He absolutely didn’t want anyone from the colony, especially Vilas, to get hurt. If Rafe didn’t walk away from this, at least Vilas would have Chantal to help him get through his grief. Perhaps Chantal might grieve a little for him, too. Somehow the thought lent renewed strength to his abused body.

“Why?”
Boscombe’s thoughts were as disjointed as Rafe himself felt.
“You’ve just committed suicide, Landon. Is she really worth it?”“Oh yeah. Thanks for sending her. I might be dying, but she’s worth dying for. Besides, I’m taking you with me.”

"Others will take my place.”

“And they won’t get their paws on Impulse, either.”

Rafe finally released his hold on Boscombe’s jaw. He was too weak to hold on any longer. If he hadn’t killed Boscombe then there was nothing more he could do about it. He fell to the ground beside his old enemy, listening to his weakened thoughts as the life left the lion’s body.

Then Rafe, aware of blood pouring from his own body, passed out himself.

Mikael leapt from the truck the moment the fighting stopped. Chantal was right behind him. The lion shifters had disappeared, taking Boscombe’s body with them. Chantal barely noticed. Her gaze was focused on Rafe’s lifeless form, lying in a pool of rainwater and an even bigger pool of his own blood.

“Is he alive?”

She barely got the question past her trembling lips as the others parted, giving Mikael access to Rafe.

“He’s breathing, but he’s lost a lot of blood. His belly wound has opened up again.” Chantal could sense Mikael’s unease. “I feared that might happen.”

Chantal felt her tears merging with the rain that ran down her face. “There must be something you can do.”

Vilas pushed her aside, his expression distraught. “Just stay away from him,” he snapped. “You’ve done enough damage.”

“We need to get him back to Impulse fast. I can’t do anything for him here. He needs our rarefied atmosphere. It’s his only chance.”

Several pairs of hands lifted Rafe into the bed of the truck. Mikael jumped in with him, as did Chantal. Vilas shot her a dirty look, jumped behind the wheel, and fired up the engine.

“Don’t hang about, Vilas,” Mikael said. “It’s touch-and-go.”

Vilas burned rubber on the wet tarmac as he left the lot. Chantal’s tears dripped onto Rafe’s face, mingling with the rainwater.

“Why doesn’t he shift back?” she asked Mikael, resting his adorable panther head in her lap and stroking ears matted with blood.

“He can’t. He doesn’t have the strength. Besides, he needs to be in panther form for me to treat him.” Mikael’s words were terse as he bound Rafe’s gaping wound together as best he could. “He’d never withstand the pain in human form.”

“The pain of your treatment?” Chantal frowned. “It hurts.”

“Like hell, apparently. He’s been through it once.” Mikael shook his head. “God alone knows if he has the strength to stand it again. If we get him there in time, that is.” He found a pouch of fresh blood, slipped a needle into Rafe’s paw and set up a makeshift drip. “Hold this up high,” he said to Chantal. “I need to find a way to keep him warm.”

Chantal nodded, watching as Mikael covered Rafe with a blanket. He furrowed his brow as he continued to monitor his vital signs.

“He’ll make it,” Chantal said, desperately trying to convince herself that it was true. “I couldn’t live with myself if he doesn’t.”

“He’s got an hour, no more than that, and the journey ought to take longer in these conditions.”

Thanks to Vilas’s determination to save the man he loved, it didn’t. He drove like a man possessed and they reached Impulse with five minutes to spare. Chantal wondered what would have happened if he’d been stopped for speeding and the cops found an injured panther in the bed of the truck. Fortunately that didn’t happen. Even the traffic police seemed reluctant to venture out in such conditions.

Everyone in the colony already seemed to know what had happened, and the mood was somber when the truck pulled up outside the clinic. More hands reached in to lift Rafe down.

“Is he still alive?” Vilas asked, addressing the question to Mikael and ignoring Chantal completely.

“Just.”

The Impulse atmosphere appeared to revive Rafe. He opened one eye, groaned, and closed it again.

“Bring him in here,” Mikael said, leading the way into what appeared to be an operating theatre.

“He doesn’t need you,” Vilas said, barring the door to Chantal.

“Let her in,” Mikael said in a tone that brooked no argument. “She kept him calm in the truck.”

Vilas scowled and stood aside, letting her pass through the door. Mikael and his partner Philo set up a more efficient intravenous drip than the makeshift affair in the back of the truck. Rafe opened both eyes after a few moments and roared with pain.

“That’s a good sign,” Philo said to Chantal.

“Rafe, buddy,” Mikael said. “You know what we have to do, right?”

Presumably Rafe pheromoned a response, but Chantal didn’t pick up on it. The room crackled with tension. Whatever it was they were about to do, it was clearly risky. For the first time, Chantal noticed that Rochelle was there. Mikael turned to her.

“Chantal’s brother’s in the truck,” he said. “Can you take care of him until we have more time?”

Sure.”

Rochelle flashed a reassuring smile at Chantal and left the room. Chantal didn’t think she deserved to be reassured. Vilas’s cold treatment cut her to the quick, but she didn’t blame him for the way he felt. Rafe would probably die, thanks to her.

Philo boiled something over what looked like a Bunsen burner. It filled the room with a vile odor that made Chantal’s eyes water.

“Okay, buddy,” Mikael said to Rafe. “Here we go.”

He exposed Rafe’s wound and half his insides appeared to tumble out. Chantal gasped. It would be impossible for him to survive. She was surprised he’d lasted this long. Mikael calmly held the two sides of his torn gut together, and Philo ladled the liquid he’d boiled directly onto it. Rafe’s body jerked, his agonized growl gut-wrenching. Vilas smoothed Rafe’s head and almost keeled over, like he shared the pain. Chantal was on emotional overload and didn’t feel anything at all.

Mikael waited for the steam coming from Rafe’s wound to subside and then peered at it, shaking his head.

“It hasn’t completely sealed. We’ll have to do it again.”

“He can’t stand that a second time,” Vilas said, shooting a look of pure vitriol at Chantal.

“If he doesn’t, he’ll die,” Mikael said starkly.

“Shit! Let me see if I can help him.”

As Chantal watched, Vilas shifted. She’d never seen him in panther mode before and had to admit that he was beautiful. Sleek, black, and lethally exotic.