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Nightmare scenarios cartwheeled through my mind as I wondered what Henric would do to Mosa after hearing proof from my own mouth that she wasn’t his. I had tried to sell him in the early hours of my captivity that it was a lie I told her so she would leave and stop feeling the shame of being Henric’s blood.
But I had long known the truth. Her first shift as a small child, the timing precociously early, had not been as a panther, but as a wolf. I had taken measures to prevent it from happening again after the old lore in dusty books long neglected in my father’s library provided me the recipes I needed.
It hurt to hide the little black wolf cub, the sight of her in that form making me feel like I had a real piece of Mallory with me. As she grew older, her attitude reminded me of him in other ways.
“You get a look at this?” Tyson asked the other, older guard.
Slowly, I moved my head until I could see Anjou.
“More pictures of that little bitch?” Anjou said, patting around his pockets in search of his phone, his rifle hanging from its strap across his back. “The first one didn’t have enough blood for my taste. Could have used some pussy shots, too.”
“I don’t care how much she bleeds, I want to know if Henric will finally let us all up in her pussy after the shit she pulled.”
“Blood either way,” Anjou grinned before he smacked his lips. “My cock’s so hard it could rip some new holes in that snobby little bitch.”
Ignoring his partner, Tyson approached my cage wearing an ugly smile. “Looks like you’ll be out of your prison for a little while, queen bitch. That old wolf Kalchik has your bastard daughter and it looks like having his cock rip into you is part of the reward Henric's paying him.”
Anjou elbowed his way between Tyson and the cage in an attempt to get the younger cat’s phone from him. “Let me see, damn it. My reception in these woods is as shitty as your shooting.”
Tyson, a good six inches taller, dug his fingers into Anjou’s skull and forced him back. “It’s just words. He wants us to get this cold fish of his tied to the tree…legs spread.”
Anjou jerked his head free then fastened a hungry gaze on where I curled around myself in the cage, the nightshade interfering with my ability to shift as well as heal. I needed my teeth and claws, needed my alpha power.
“Oh, Kitty,” Anjou leered. “Time for you to finally be tamed.”
Tyson’s attention snapped to his left, the direction opposite that of the path I would expect Henric to take in bringing Kalchik to me. Calming my racing thoughts, I scraped through the dredges of my powers for what the nightshade had not yet suppressed.
At first, I felt nothing beyond the two guarding me. I could hear, see, and smell no better than a human. But I could feel the lust rolling off Anjou and the craving for my blood that still possessed Tyson.
And then I felt something else…
Someone else.
Someone I had never expected to feel again.
CHAPTER26
MALLORY
Henric only hadtwo guards on Justine, one heavily muscled but clearly inexperienced judging from the way he wore his gear. The other was a good deal older but twitchy. Of course, there was little chance their prisoner could escape on her own, caged as she was in a metal box riddled with holes.
With so much of her blood having spilled on the ground from the earlier torture, I had scented it more than a mile out. The bitter stench of deadly nightshade pinched my nose at the same time. The gathered members of the leap had stabbed Justine over and over and over, and then Henric made it impossible for her to fully heal by dousing her wounds with one of the few toxic chemicals effective against the innate healing property of shifters.
Nightshade or not, the sadistic fucks guarding her were going to find it impossible to heal after I ripped their hearts from their chests.
Walking lead, Taron turned and glared at me.
Yeah, I guess my alpha was pulsing a little too hard with murderous rage.
One of the guards seemed to sense it. He stiffened and slightly lifted his nose. I unsheathed my Bowie knife, the long fixed blade and heavy bone handle promising to sink deep wherever I decided to throw it.
“Gotta be Kalchick,” the younger guard said, slightly gagging. “I can smell the Aqua Velva from here.”
“Kalchik won’t be coming from that direct—” Words turned to the sound of blood gurgling, followed by the thud of the guard falling to the ground.
I had hit him from behind with the throw of my Bowie knife, burying the blade’s tip deep into the spinal cord where the faint white of his neck was visible in the moonlight. Taron leapt forward at the same time as my throw, his massive and deadly claws slicing into the other guard’s neck. Blood spurted, the head hanging to one side. With a mighty twist, Taron separated the head from the body and tossed it into the underbrush.
My target clawed at the back of his neck in a wild attempt to remove the knife. The blade’s placement completely immobilized him mid-torso and lower. Only one arm was vaguely functional, the other flopped in panic as I prowled toward him.
