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Before Wes could say anything, Eleanor said, “It’s fine. It’s all good. Wes’s house is, uh, on the way to your destination, so I’ll just drop him off first. Easy squeezy, lemon peasy.” Her voice nearly broke on the last syllable, but she tossed a large and false smile at the man. “It won’t take any extra time, I promise.”
The man glanced at his hidden right hand before studying the crowds of people walking past them on the sidewalk. The building that housed the Shadow Security office was downtown. While Wes and his lion usually hated the large number of people that crowded the downtown core, right now, he could have fucking kissed every single one of them.
“Fine,” the man said. “Just drive.”
Eleanor pulled out into traffic. Her usual smooth and effortless driving had morphed into a jittery, tension-filled ball of anxiety. Twice she nearly slammed into the back of the car in front of them, and she came dangerously close to sideswiping a parked car as she took the turn leading out of downtown.
Wes hadn’t buckled his seatbelt like he usually did, and he seriously reconsidered his decision when Eleanor sped down the freeway like a driver in a bank heist B movie.
“Slow down, Eleanor,” he said in a low voice. The last thing they needed was to be pulled over by the cops. The human in the backseat would likely kill all of them if that happened.
Still white-knuckling the steering wheel, Eleanor eased back on the gas. They rode the twenty minutes to his house in silence. Eleanor’s fear increased with each passing mile, and his lion’s anger soared right along with it. By the time she parked in front of his house, he could barely hear anything over his lion’s growling.
He reached for the door handle, and his lion roared so loudly, Wes thought his eardrums might shatter from the pressure.
We are not leaving her!
No, we’re saving her. Trust me.
His lion stopped pushing for control, and Wes said, “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Eleanor.”
“Yes.” Her bottom lip trembled, but she smiled gamely at him. He could smell her shock and confusion that he was leaving her, but under that was an undercurrent of relief. Later, when he wasn’t focused on saving Eleanor’s life, he’d make it clear to her that she never needed to worry about him.
Every part of him screamed to stay in the car. His body stiff with tension, he got out of the vehicle and slammed the door shut.
* * *
She was shocked when Wes left her. Shocked because she knew he smelled her fear, and he didn’t seem like the kind of guy to abandon a terrified woman.
But under that shock, there was relief. Deep, intense relief that left her weak and shaky. The idea of Wes dying because of her – the idea of Wes dying at all – was almost as terrifying as knowing she was about to die.
“Let’s go, Eleanor,” the man said.
“Listen,” she said as Wes passed by her peripheral vision. “You don’t have to -”
She screamed when the back window shattered. Wes, his body swelling, his eyes glowing bright yellow, and vicious snarls falling from his mouth, reached inside and grabbed the man by the upper arms.
Covered in broken glass, the man squealed with ear-piercing panic. Wes roared, his mouth opening impossibly wide to reveal thick, sharp fangs. Eleanor clapped her hands over her ears, watching in wide-eyed disbelief in the rear-view mirror as Wes dragged the man out through the broken window.
She sat in stunned bewilderment for nearly fifteen seconds before ripping open the glovebox and fumbling out the can of Mace. She opened the door and fell out of the car, landing on her knees with a hard thud.
She scrambled to her feet, holding the Mace as she stared at Wes and the man. Wes hadn’t entirely shifted, but his body still swelled, and golden hair covered most of his face and exposed skin. He shook the man like a ragdoll. The man screamed again, and Eleanor panicked when he pulled the gun out from under his jacket.
“Wes! Gun!” she shouted and charged forward, fumbling to get the lid off the Mace as Wes made another angry roar. The gunshot was shockingly loud on Wes’s quiet neighbourhood street.
She felt an immediate burn in her arm, so intense and painful that the Mace tumbled from her suddenly nerveless fingers. She stared at the blood sliding down her arm from beneath her t-shirt sleeve.
“Wes?” she said. “Wes, I’m bleeding.”
The man screamed again. Eleanor watched as Wes tore the gun from his hand and threw it into the street. He let out a third roar, he was more lion than human now, and the man shrieked in terror as all along the street, front doors opened, and neighbours ran out of their houses.
“Wes,” Eleanor said. “I think I’ve been shot.”
She barely spoke above a whisper, but Wes’s head twisted to look at her, his dark yellow eyes glowing with harsh light, his skin completely hidden under a thick layer of golden fur.
“Eleanor.” The voice was Wes’s voice, but not Wes’s voice. Thicker, deeper. More animal than human.
He tossed the man aside like a broken toy and strode toward her. He pulled her into his embrace, his body returning to normal and the fur fading from his face. “You’re all right. I have you. You’re safe, Butterfly.”
