Southern Shifters: Werelock (Kindle Worlds Novella) (6 page)

She swung the now-empty pan at the nearest lion. The smell of burning skin and hair filled the air. It smelt like barbeque chicken. Damn, there went her appetite. Grabbing the bowl of pancake batter she threw that at her assailants, screaming at the top of her lungs.

“Hale, they’re here! Hale!”

The fight turned into an all-out comedy sketch. There wasn’t a door, drawer or pan she didn’t use, ramming them into guts, or slamming them into faces as she danced around the kitchen trying to stay out of reach. The lions were still in human form simply because they couldn’t all fit in here in their other forms. That, and putting so many males in such a small space was a real bad idea. They’d forget what they were supposed to do and start fighting each other.

Lance might be the most powerful alpha in the pride, but that didn’t mean he maintained discipline correctly. As long as they obeyed him without question, that was all he cared about.

She waited for the tug in the center of her chest to indicate Hale had called his magic, but it didn’t come. Shit. They were making enough noise down here to wake up a city block. Something was wrong.

“
Hale
!
Wake up
!”

She carried on yelling. The floor was slippery with batter and one lion lost his footing, sliding toward her. Opening the fridge door just in time, she slammed it shut on his head. It bounced back so she did it again. He jerked, unconscious. Wouldn’t stay that way for long though, more was the pity.

Shit. There were too many of them for her to take down on her own. She lashed out with claws and the knives from the block by the stove, but it was only a matter of time. They were bigger and stronger, sooner or later she was going to slip up and get pinned.

Looking up, she saw a couple more men behind the lions who surrounded her. A sharp stink made her nose wrinkle. Magic. Shit. Roaring, she hurled plates at them, making them duck as they tried to get to the stairs.

“
HALE! Warlocks!”

Her attention divided between the warlocks and the lions, she missed one sneaking behind her. A hard arm snaked around her neck, and she was yanked backward, her air almost cut off.

“Hey there, pretty.” A familiar voice leered in her ear. Dom, Lance’s brutish second in command and the bane of her life for years. “Lance wants you back, bitch.”

She snarled and bit his arm, dropping fangs into her mouth before sinking them deep.

“Arrrgh, fucking bitch bit me!”

Blows rained down over her head and shoulders but she growled and held on, shaking from side to side. Her teeth slid into his flesh, tearing through skin and muscle, scraping bone. Blood filled her mouth, dripping from the seal of her lips around his arm.

A punch to her stomach made her gasp and let go. She doubled over in agony and Dom slammed her over the kitchen counter, his hand hard in her hair. “You little fucker, you’ll pay for that. After Lance has had his fun with you, I get you… and believe me, bitch, I’ll make you scream and beg for death.”

“You’re an asshole just like him,” she spat, lifting her leg and driving her heel into the front of his kneecap. With a grunt of pain, his grip on her hair eased so she slammed her head back. A satisfying crunch told her she’d connected with his nose. He let go and she was free.

For all of a second before she fell prey to her own trap and slipped over on the batter-covered floor. Crying out, she flung her arms out to try to get to her feet as quickly as possible. Her fingertips brushed something hard and she grabbed onto it. A shard of one of the plates. Leaping upright, she spun and sliced through the air at Dom.

He stopped dead, a look of shock on his face. A thin red line was drawn across his throat. One that widened and deepened as each second passed. She’d cut his throat. Shifters were hard to damage, but they weren’t immortal. A wound like that would be fatal unless he shifted, and she wasn’t hanging around for that. His lion would tear her to shreds.

Dropping the shard, she turned and ran. Too many lions between her and the door so she turned the other way. Only one way out. The window. Closing her eyes, she ran at it and leapt. Glass shattered around her and for a moment she felt like she was in her own action movie.

This wasn’t a film though. She wouldn’t get to walk off the set after filming finished. As soon as her feet touched the ground, she was off and running again. Her feet were cut and bleeding from the broken glass, but she didn’t have a choice. It was run or die.

Ignoring the garden and forest beyond, she darted around the side of the house. She had no chance of outrunning them in the forest. Once they went furry, she was done for. No, she needed to get where people could see her, and call for help.

Deal’s Gap was a sanctuary and many here knew what it was like to be persecuted, in fear for their lives.
Someone
would help her, surely?

The shadows at the side of the house were deep and cool, the paving smooth underfoot as she raced for the front drive and the road beyond. She could see freedom, but she didn’t make it. A shadow detached itself from the rest and blocked her path. Skidding to a halt, she looked up… and up. A man mountain stood in front of her. She started to back up, recognizing the creature in front of her. They were rare, but that didn’t seem to stop Lance from finding them.

“You have to be kidding me!” she blurted out. “A dragon and now a gargoyle? Give me a fucking break!”

The stone man grinned and pulled his fist back. She had no chance of avoiding the blow, lightning fast as it was. Agony exploded over the side of her face and she dropped to her knees, swaying as she tried to hold onto consciousness.

The world swayed around Renae as she was thrown over the gargoyle’s cliff-like shoulder and carried around to the front of the house. The drive was filled with cars. The stone-man yanked open the door of the nearest, a big, red SUV, and threw her onto the back seat.

It smelt pine-fresh and clean, no lingering tobacco smoke or other smells a “lived-in” car got. She lifted her head. Her face had swelled from the blow to her cheek, her eye almost shut. Her vision swam in and out like some funky film special effect. She squinted to bring the front seats into focus. Hanging on the rear view mirror was an air freshener with a logo and writing on it.

“Maple Rentals. For your perfect drive…”

Crap tagline.

She closed her eyes, her face against the seat. The fabric was rough, the raised stitching like barbed wire against her damaged skin but she didn’t have the energy to move. At least, until her stomach rebelled.

Rolling over, she dry-heaved into the foot well until her ribs hurt. There was nothing to come up, but her stomach was determined to evacuate anything and everything that might still be there.

She was bloody and bruised, something was broken in her face and now she was sick to boot. Surely whoever got to clean this car would report it to the authorities? Blood in a rental… she sure would. With Lance’s lot though, it wasn’t likely they’d return it with any sort of evidence. They were far more likely to burn it out and report it stolen.

Finished heaving, she flopped back onto the seat, ignoring the chuckle from the driver and tried to catch her breath through the pain. She needed to shift but she daren’t. Even damaged and in pain, her human form was far stronger than her cat. And really, she couldn’t put her animal in this kind of danger, it had already saved her life once. She couldn’t repay it like that.

She fought to stay conscious as the car pulled away, struggling to a sitting position to peer through the back window. Her house was on fire. Flames curled around the door, and as she watched, the bedroom window exploded outward in a shower of glass and flame.

“Hale…” she whispered, a tear sliding down her cheek as blackness rose.

She accepted it gratefully. If she was lucky, her injuries would kill her before she could wake.

Hours later they were back on Brogan land. Renae whimpered in pain as she was dragged out of the car and thrown to the ground in front of a crowd. Lifting her head, she realized that the entire pride was assembled in the square. When she was a child it had been a place of companionship and gathering, but under Lance’s rule it had become a place of punishment.

As she’d expected, the stocks were occupied. A bruised and bloody man slumped unconscious in the middle, the seats either side of him empty. Recognition filled her. He and his wife had been new to the pride, arriving a little more than six months ago. She’d wondered how long it would take before Lance used some trumped-up misdeed to seize his property and money… and his wife, a pretty little brunette. She turned her head. Sure enough, the wife was with one of Lance’s cronies, her head bowed and bruises over her face and neck.

Boots appeared in her line of sight.

“My darling wife has returned to me, isn’t that sweet?” Lance’s voice, triumphant and crowing sickened her. She struggled to her knees, not wanting to give any hint of weakness in front of him. As always he was impeccably dressed, designer clothing head to toe while some of the pride starved.

“I can assure you it wasn’t willingly.” She spat blood from her injured cheek over his shiny boots.

He laughed, but his eyes, a deep brown she’d once considered warm, narrowed dangerously. She’d pay for messing up his boots, but considering he was going to kill her anyway, that was the least of her worries.

“Pity she’s such a slut, isn’t it? She left the safety of the pride…” Grabbing her by the back of the neck, he hauled her to her feet. Spinning them both around, he addressed the crowd like he was a politician making a grand speech. “Rejected
your
friendship to run off with her warlock lover.”

Lance’s supporters in the crowd hissed and booed, but most looked away or down, refusing to see what was going on in front of them. She stared at the few who would look her in the eye, wanting to yell at them. Couldn’t they see that it could just as easily be them in her place? But they didn’t, wouldn’t say anything… they were all too scared of what Lance would do to them. They weren’t a pride, not anymore. They were just a bunch of scared people waiting for the hammer to fall.

She wanted to cry in frustration and anger, but didn’t. Instead, she opened her mouth and laughed, making several in the crowd look up in surprise.

“I didn’t run off with anyone, Lance, but if it makes you feel better, you carry on and tell yourself that. I ran away from
you,
asshole. And I’m glad I did. You’re no fucking alpha. The warlock you sent after me—with your money by the way…” She stabbed a finger toward the group in front of her. “He was more of an alpha than you and your pathetic lion will
ever
be.”

Lance snarled and shoved her away as though she’d burned him. Stumbling, she fell to her knees with her lips clamped shut. She would not cry out and let him know he’d hurt her. She wouldn’t give him the damn satisfaction.

“More of an alpha, really? Well, let’s see how well your ‘alpha’ protects you now, eh? Bring him out.”

The gargoyle stomped to one of the other cars. She held her breath as he dragged something out of the trunk of one, walking over to drop it in front of her. A man, wrapped in a bloody sheet. Her breath hissed out of her lungs in a rush as she recognized the broad shoulders and the blond hair.

Hale.

“He up to fighting me for your life?” Lance jeered, a boot on Hale’s shoulder and shoved. The unconscious man sprawled on his back and a couple of women in the crowd gasped in surprise. His face was battered and bruised, not a sign of consciousness in his limp body.

“No, didn’t think so.” Lance spat on him, and stood. “Get them out of my sight. I don’t want to see them until the party tonight.”

The gargoyle stepped forward and picked Hale up as though he were a sack of potatoes, throwing him over one shoulder.

“Please, don’t hurt him!” she begged as the stone-man grabbed her by the upper arm and began to walk. She hurried to keep up. It was that or have her upper arm pulverized by his grip. She tried to check on Hale as he dragged them down the dirt path to the old pig sheds, Lance’s impromptu “dungeons.” Converted now all the livestock was gone, they were well-made, concrete boxes with steel doors that were as escape-proof as maximum security.

Their brutish captor opened the door and threw them both inside as though they were little more than bags of garbage to be disposed of.

She cried out in pain as she hit the ground hard, all the wind knocked out of her on impact. Any warmth from the summer sun outside was instantly leeched away by the contact with the cold concrete. A pipe in the corner leaked, leaving most of the floor wet, and slimy with algae. She shivered, and scrambled up to reach Hale.

He was still unconscious, his skin pale in the dimness within the shed. Biting her lip, she pressed two fingers against his throat. He had a pulse, but it was weak and thready. Shit, they’d really worked him over.

“Hale? It’s Renae… please, wake up.”

With concerned eyes, she studied his face. It was black and blue, with a cut at the corner of his lips. Gently, she parted them with her fingers to make sure he wasn’t missing any teeth. The last thing he needed was them falling into the back of his throat and choking him while he was unconscious.

There were no gaps, and no blood in his mouth. With a quick sigh of relief, she carried on her examination. Peeling back the sheet they’d wrapped him in, she discovered his ribs and stomach were badly bruised, but his knuckles weren’t. He hadn’t even tried to defend himself.

“Hale? Can you hear me? You just had a little accident. You just need to wake up, okay?”

Anger sizzled through her veins. What the hell had happened? She’d yelled enough to wake the dead in the kitchen so how had they managed to catch him unawares? The memory of her sleepiness in the kitchen resurfaced and she swore. Shit, those warlocks had to have used a sleeping spell on them. How had she been able to shrug it off?

She ignored the pain of the rough concrete against her knees as she tried to make him more comfortable. The aura around him was different, and deep within her, her cat whimpered in distress. He was dying and there was nothing she could do about it.

Tears streamed down her face as she tucked the sheet around his shoulders. She couldn’t live without him. The fact that she’d known him less than a day made no difference. In her heart of hearts she knew, her cat knew, that his man was hers. Her mate, or would have been had she never met Lance.

Cuddling closer, she wrapped herself around him, trying to share her body heat and opened up the connection between them. Her cat purred and tried to push through the tiny gap to reach the part of him that was lion. Trying to share their strength and heal him. The two halves of her, woman and cat, were in perfect accord. They’d save him even if it meant giving themselves to death.

Something clicked and the world around her swam, the shadows in the shed closing in around her. Moving slightly, she brushed her lips against Hale’s temple.

“I love you. I’m sorry.”

Her energy exhausted she let the blackness creep over her. As her eyes fluttered shut, she felt her cat take over, plunging them into the shift to protect them both.

So be it. She had nothing left to give.

***

Hale came to as hard hands dragged him out of blessed coolness and into sunlight. Not sure what was going on, he stayed limp and let them half carry him, half drag him along what looked like a garden path.

What the hell was going on? His throat was drier than a nun’s crotch and his head throbbed like he’d been on a three-day bender. Even worse, his bare feet brushed against grass and a cool breeze around his groin informed him that whatever he was wrapped in, it wasn’t anywhere near actual clothing.

Great, he was near naked with the hangover from hell. And from the pain in his body, someone had worked him over real good. For what? He rarely carried cash on him and his jewelry was all cheap crap or spelled to him so not worth the time to pawn .

Perhaps a rival bounty hunter? Men in his line of work were used to violence and it wouldn’t be the first time a rival had gotten violent when they thought he was treading on their patch.

The fuzziness in his head felt different as well. As soon as he probed it, it gave with the telltale shimmer of magic. Shit. He’d been hit with a spell. He chased the remnants in his system down and studied them before he shook them off. A sleep spell? He almost groaned in disgust at himself. Felled by a simple sleep spell even the most inept witch or warlock could cast. It was damn embarrassing.

But he had bigger fish to fry than worrying about his ego. Letting his head roll with the movement of the men carrying him, he got a look around him.

A garden. Houses. The scent of the country and lion shifters. Lots of lion shifters.

The Brogan property.

Memory returned in an onslaught of images and feelings. The contract with Lance Brogan. The image of a young blonde. The same blonde naked in a bed, her face a mask of pleasure as he moved over her.

Renae Brogan. Fuck that, he didn’t like thinking of her with that asshole’s name. As soon as he got the chance, he planned to change that.

Where was she? If Brogan had hurt her…

He stopped, realizing he loved her. Head over heels, stupid in love with the stubborn lioness.

His lion roared, wanting nothing more than to rip the heads off the two lions who held him and go on a rampage. He could do it as well, manifest claws with magic to replace the ones his lion would have had if he’d been a shifter. Not a spell, just tapping the source of his magic, his lion, in a different way. He’d never been able to do it before, but he could see how as clear as day in his mind.

He reached inside for the source of his power and had to bite back a yelp. Normally he had to dig deep to reach his power, and its lion guardian, but now it felt like the damn thing was right beneath the surface. So close he could feel its fur brushing the inside his skin. It was like touching a live wire.

“And our guests of honor have arrived.”

All Hale’s hackles went up at the sound of Brogan’s voice. His lion went still, watching. Waiting. Before it had always followed his lead but seemed stronger now, a more defined personality, and it had its own plans for Brogan. Like a slow and lingering death for what the son of a bitch had done to their mate.

“Someone wake up that bitch. I want her fully aware. What about that one… is he awake?”

Hale let his head drop back. The lion shifter who held him grunted. “Nah, still out for the count.”

He cracked an eyelid as the shifter let go of his hair, letting his head drop back instead of forward, allowing him to see what was going on. They were in the middle of what looked like a village green with two fire pits set in front of them. Renae was off to the side, her captors having dropped her unconscious form on the ground.