And with it, her brother’s.

  And the hunter’s.

  And…fear.

  Whose?

  The red mist returned. The air burned in his lungs.

  His body thrummed.

  Trap, Nim’s voice whispered in his head.

  “Trap,” he muttered, rolling his shoulders.

  Eyes narrowing, he pulled another deep breath and scanned the building’s perimeter.

  Any number of spots could be used to gain access, all obvious. All easy to reach.

  Too obvious. Any of them could be under surveillance.

  “Trap,” he muttered again.

  Releasing his breath, he narrowed his focus to the darkening shadows climbing up the building’s walls.

  Shadows dark enough to hide anything or anyone slipping into them from normal human vision.

  There.

  “Okay.” Pulling Amber’s phone from his pocket, he dialed a number.

  “Christen North,” a smooth male voice said on the other end. “Who’s this?”

  “Rover,” Kitt growled, using James’s nickname for himself. “I need a favor, Christen. Now.”

  A dry snort filled the connection. “Of course you do. What is it and how much is it going to cost me?”

  Kitt ran his eyes over the lengthening shadows. “I’m going to text you a location. I need the power cut to the building. I suspect the place has an emergency generator, but I only need the power down for a few seconds.”

  “Sure.” The sound of computer keys tapping in the background accompanied Christen’s response. “I can do that. What’s the address?”

  Smiling, Kitt let out a chuckle and dropped his location into a text message. It still amazed him Guarded Souls’ resident tech expert and hacker was an ageless, ancient Norse nature spirit who looked like he’d just stepped out of Woodstock.

  “Got it?” he asked. “The building’s a warehouse. I need to get in there undetected.”

  “Got it,” Christen mumbled back, keys tapping. “Give me a few seconds…”

  Kitt’s skin prickled. His wolf growled, impatient.

  “A few more seconds…” Christen drawled. “Just a few more… And done. Have fun.”

  “Thanks. I owe you one.” Kitt killed the call, shoved Amber’s phone back in his pocket and, with a last check of the sun, sitting low in the western sky, fat and blinding yellow…he moved.

  Fast.

  The need to shift surged through him, but he resisted. Until he saw Amber, until he knew she was safe, alive, he needed to keep control, however tenuous.

  If she wasn’t…

  His croi flared hot, a wave of transformative force burning every molecule in his body.

  No. Control it.

  The glaring sun at his back, he vaulted over the fence, ran to the side of the building with inhuman speed, and, tapping into his wolf’s raw power, leaped onto the small awning leaning at a precarious angle over what was once an entryway but was now a boarded-up wall, covered in graffiti.

  Unless someone was physically watching this very spot, or the back-up generators had already booted up and the hunter had motion detectors set up around the warehouse, it was unlikely he’d been seen.

  Feet quiet, he moved over to the far edge of the rusted-iron awning, calculated the distance to the broken window above it, and leaped.

  Shards of glass sank into his fingers as he grabbed the windowsill.

  He bit back a hiss, lifted his body upward, and, with a scan of the murky interior, climbed through the opening.

  The stench of old decay, blood, and metal bit into his senses. Death hung heavy in the air. What had this place been?

  Doesn’t matter. All that matters is Amber.

  Preparing himself for the impact, he dropped to the floor some twenty feet below.

  Somewhere deep in the bowels of the building, voices rumbled, the sounds low and agitated.

  Crouching close to the ground, ready to throw himself forward, ready to shift if needed, he strained to hear what was being said.

  Nope. Too faint. Too soft. Whoever was arguing, he couldn’t make out their words.

  A thin ribbon of unease threaded through his rage. A building this size, he should be able to hear—

  His wolf let out an agitated yip. Focus. Find Amber.

  Dragging in another rot-tainted breath, he sought out her scent.

  There.

  Maybe?

  To the right.

  He squinted into the darkness, trying to discern the shapes lurking in the thin, filtered beams of pre-dusk penetrating the building’s filthy skylight.

  Another ribbon of disquiet unfurled through him.

  Something wasn’t right.

  It’s what Nim said. It’s a trap.

  He ground his teeth. No, that wasn’t it.

  He couldn’t see as well as he normally did. Couldn’t hear. His heightened nonhuman senses felt dampened. As if smothered.

  His wolf stirred, restless. Eager for release. Hungry for blood. And yet…

  Drawing motionless, he let the animal’s existence seep into his own, releasing a little of his strangling grip, ready for the prickling heat that proceeded the transformation into wolf form.

  Nothing.

  A cold line traced up his spine. His scalp crawled.

  Nothing.

  The ability to shift. It wasn’t there. It was gone.

  Again.

  His gut clenched, and he ground his teeth, furious.

  Confused.

  What the fuck? Why couldn’t he shift? He was healed. Why couldn’t he—

  White light destroyed the darkness. Flooded the large room.

  Hissing, he threw up his hand to shield his eyes. Eyes that took forever to adjust to the sudden change in light.

  “Look who’s finally here.” The Monstrum Venator’s shout bounced around the glaring space, elation dancing through the words. “You snuck right on in without me knowing. Very clever of you.”

  Pulse pounding, adrenaline surging through him, Kitt squinted into the harsh light. Where was the asshole? He couldn’t attack him until he pinpointed where he—

  Kitt’s blood ran to ice. His breath choked him.

  Walking toward him, hand locked around Amber’s elbow, thick dagger pointed to the side of her throat, the hunter smiled at him.

  “Amber,” Kitt growled, taking a step.

  “Uh-uh.” The hunter twisted his wrist, turning the glistening tip of the blade against her skin. “Do you really want me to kill this feisty little monster-fucker?”

  “I really don’t like this guy, Kitt,” Amber complained, and then winced as the hunter pressed the knife harder to her neck.

  Kitt stared at her. Impotent once more, his wolf snarled. Fought against the barrier imprisoning it in human form. “He’s not my favorite person either, Am.”

  Chapter 14

  Manson’s grip on Amber’s arm turned painful. She tugged against him, trying not to obsess about the freaking knife jabbed into her neck.

  “You two make an adorable couple.” He sniggered, the smug sound making her want to break the old man’s teeth. She shot him a sideways look. Were they false?

  He dropped her a sly wink, and her stomach lurched. “Shame I’m going to kill…well, both of you,” he said.

  “What?” she snapped.

  “I will fucking tear you apart, hunter,” Kitt growled.

  “No.” Manson shook his head, driving the tip of his dagger harder against her skin. How soon before her epidermal layer broke and the steel penetrated her flesh? “I will gut you with this very blade, and while you’re bleeding out on the filthy floor—it’s not very clean, is it—I will perform a wonderful little procedure that will transform your bitch here into a vampire. And then I’ll hunt her, and kill her, and add her to my kill count.”

  Amber jerked her stare back to the hunter. “I’m sorry, what?”

  Another wink. “Don’t worry. It won’t hurt. The procedure, I mean. When I kill you, that’s going to hurt. A lot.”

  “Fuck this,” she muttered.

  Ah, crap, this was going to hurt.

  Clenching her teeth, she swung her fist around in the fastest haymaker Mick had ever taught her and smashed her fist into Manson’s windpipe.

  The tip of the blade pierced her skin, sliced it as she jerked around, and then it was gone.

  Slapping her hand to her neck, warm liquid oozing through her fingers, she reeled back, locked her sights on Manson—now staggering backward, eyes bulging—and smashed her bare foot into his gut.

  Just as Kitt threw himself forward.

  He slammed into the old man. Drove him to the floor.

  Manson cried out, swinging the blade at Kitt. Slicing at his biceps, his shoulder.

  Kitt roared, the sound ripped with pain, and, fisting his hands in Manson’s shirt, hauled him up off the floor and smashed him back down.

  The solid clunk of Manson’s skull smacking against the concrete reverberated through Amber.

  Hand still pressed to her neck, palm and fingers growing wetter with blood, she staggered forward. Excruciating pain radiated from the gash in her neck. Her vision blurred. What the hell was on that blade?

  And how did she save Mick and Kitt?

  Mick been in the small partitioned room with her and Manson before Kitt appeared. Manson had handcuffed him to one of the metal chairs, warning him not to do anything stupid, when Mick had calmly informed him he’d heard someone moving around on the main floor.

  Manson had grabbed her arm and pointed his blade at Mick. “Don’t move. We’ve got unfinished business.”

  And then he’d dragged her out of the small room, and she’d seen Kitt, and Kitt had seen her, and all hell broke loose and holy crap—where was Mick?

  Another solid clunk vibrated through the floor, the sound accompanied by Manson’s wails and Kitt’s growls.

  She swung her gaze over to them, blinking away the sweat in her eyes. The room swam, the burning in her neck growing hotter.

  “Kitt…” she called, although it came out a slur. “I think…the knife’s poisoned…”

  He didn’t respond.

  Too busy dealing with Manson.

  Good.

  She let out a grunt, staggering sideways. “Go get ’im, Kitt,” she shouted. Or maybe she mumbled. “Let him have it.”

  Now, for Mick.

  “Mick?” she yelled, turning around on the spot. “Mick?”

  Was he still handcuffed to the chair in the small room? Like a good scout, her brother always seemed to have a paper clip in his back pocket for some weird reason, and he knew how to get out of handcuffs. So where was he?

  Fuzzy gaze sliding toward the little side room, she swallowed.

  “Mick?” she called. While Kitt was dealing with the Manson…with the hunter, with Manson…she’d save Mick. She’d save her brother. Maybe then he’d stop treating her like a little kid.

  Blood continuing to seep through her fingers, she peered at the partitioned area. “Maybe there’s a Band-Aid in there?” she mumbled. “Whoa, my head feels woozy.”

  Behind her, Manson screamed. The sound of steel clattering against concrete scraped at her senses, and she swung back around, peering through the foggy haze.

  Knife. Manson had lost his knife.

  “I’ll get it,” she shouted—nope, yelled. Nope…called. Was she talking? Her throat felt thick. Dry. “I’ll get…”

  She lurched forward, looking for the knife. If she had the knife, Manson didn’t. Then it’d be a fair fight.

  “Going to kill—” Manson wailed, a second before another solid, meaty thud reverberated through the room, followed by a wet gurgle.

  And then silence.

  No, not silence.

  Breathing. Harsh, ragged breathing.

  “Am…”

  Lifting her head, she found Kitt rising to his feet.

  He swayed. No. She swayed. They both swayed? Or did the world sway? Who was swaying the world?

  “Kitt,” she whispered. “I think the knife is pois…”

  She staggered sideways, vision blurring again.

  “Amber,” Kitt roared, running toward her.

  “Stop right there, freak!” Ray snarled.

  Amber blinked. Ray?

  Turning toward the voice, she let out a relieved groan. Not Ray. Mick.

  He strode out of the partition, the handcuffs dangling from one wrist and clinking against his leg. He raised his other hand to point it at Kitt.

  Amber frowned, rubbed at her eyes, and shook her head. “Mick, put the gun down.”

  Oh crap, she didn’t feel good.

  Mick shook his head, bearing down on her. “Shut up, Amber.”

  She glared at him. “Don’t tell me to shut up!”

  Her neck burned. She mashed her palm to it harder. “I need some ice,” she mumbled. “And a Band-Aid.”

  “It’s okay, Mick,” Kitt said behind her, guarded tension in his voice. “It’s not what it looks like. Trust me, I can explain, but you need to put the gun down.”

  Mick laughed, the sound as cold as his snarl. “I know exactly what it is. You’re the one completely clueless to the situation. And you’re not going anywhere near my little sister, ever again.”

  “You moron, I love your little sister,” Kitt growled.

  Mouth falling open, she gaped at him. “You what?”

  He loves you?

  Gaze flicking to her, Kitt lifted his shoulder in a small shrug, a smile tugging at his lips. “I love you.”

  She swallowed. Blinked. Frowned.

  He loves you?

  “Sorry,” he said, voice husky. “And you’re more than welcome to laugh at me and roll your eyes and tell me I’m insane and be angry at me, because I know it’s too soon, but hopefully…you might one day feel the same. Or at least still like me enough to go for coffee with me.”

  She blinked again, and let out a shaky breath. “You idiot. Of course I—”

  “Shut the fuck up!” Mick screamed. “Amber, get out of the way. I have to take care of this monster.”

  Turning back to his brother, Amber shook her head. The burn was going away, but whoa, did her neck feel numb. And her lips. And her arm. “Stop it.”

  “Just put the gun down, Mick,” Kitt said again, closer behind her.

  “Don’t take another step, freak,” Mick ordered. “Amber, get behind me.”

  Amber shook her head again. “No. Listen to me—”

  “Get behind me,” Mick roared.

  “Enough!” Kitt growled back.

  She heard him move. Heard his feet on the concrete floor.

  And then the air shattered as Mick pulled the trigger.

  “No!” she screamed, spinning around.

  Kitt stumbled backward, blood spurting from his shoulder, eyes burning gold.

  She ran for him, and snapped to a halt, joints jolting, when Mick grabbed her upper arm in a steel grip. “I said get behind me, Amber.”

  “You’ve got it all wrong, you idiot!” She clawed at his fingers, stare fixed on Kitt.

  Kitt lurched to a halt, shoulders hunched, hand rammed to the bullet hole in his shoulder. His breath burst from him in choppy pants. His nostrils flared.

  “You’ve got it wrong,” she cried again, swinging back to Mick. “He’s not the bad guy!”

  Mick’s jaw bunched. “I can’t believe you.” His Adam’s apple jerked up and down his throat, his stare—and his gun—locked on Kitt. “Tell me you didn’t fuck him, sis. Please.”

  “Oh my God, Mick.” She pulled at his grip on her arm again, dug at his brutal fingers. “Enough already!” Blood trickled down over her collarbone. Its metallic twang filled her every breath. “Stop it, so you can take us both to a hospit—”

  “This monster’s not going to a hospital.” Mick slid her a glance, and her stomach rolled at the icy hate in his eyes.

  “He’s not a monster.” She shook her head. Yeah, she seriously did not feel well. “He’s—”

  “A kill,” Kitt said, the words low and calm, glowing eyes locked on Mick. “The end result of a hunt gone well. Am I right?”

  Mick sucked in a slow breath, and released it on an even slower laugh. “And finally, he gets it.”

  “Gets…” Amber blinked. “Gets what?”

  Mick didn’t answer, his focus still on Kitt.

  “Gets what?” she repeated, frowning at Kitt.

  He stood a little straighter, sweat beading on his forehead, eyes human again, blood leaking from the hole in his shoulder. “Do you want to tell her, Mick? Or shall I?”

  “Mick?” Lips tingling, blood drying on her skin, she frowned at her brother. “What? Tell me what?”

  “The old bastard rubbed my nose in every kill he made, y’know,” Mick said, glaring at Kitt. “Every one. When I found out he’d caught—and then lost—a dire wolf?” He grunted. “Of course I was going to make my move.”

  “Are you…” She swallowed. “Oh my God, Mick. Are you a…”

  She couldn’t say it. The words refused to form on her lips. From the blade’s poison? Or because it wasn’t true. It couldn’t be.

  “Monstrum Venator, sis.” He bestowed a smile on her. Pride oozed from him. And arrogance. “Yes, I am. Have been since our parents died.”

  “What?” How many more times could she say that word today?

  His smile turned into a twisted slash, and he narrowed his eyes on Kitt. “They were killed by one of his kind, you know. A shifter.”

  “What?” There it was again. Did it have any meaning anymore? “I don’t—”

  “Bear shifter,” he snarled.

  “No. They died in a car accident! For Pete’s sake, you were in the car with them. You were there. You were lucky to survive. Why are you lying about this?”

  He barked out a cold laugh, never tearing his stare from Kitt. “The car rolled after slamming into a bear. The bear was a shifter. It turned into a human just as Dad hit it. I saw it. I saw him.”

  Her stomach clenched. The world swam. “How do you… I don’t… Does Ray know?”

  Another short laugh. “Ray knows shit.” He flicked her a sneer. “Ray saved this fucking shifter freak’s life! Golden-boy Ray probably would have tried to save the bear shifter’s life as well.”

  “I don’t think Ray knows what I am, Amber,” Kitt murmured.

  Mick’s fingers dug deeper into Amber’s arm, eyes narrowing again. “And he never will.” He smirked. “It’s not like he’s ever going to see you again, is he?”

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17