That scary part inside of me chuckles—it’s glad that piece-of-shit Daniel is coming for me. I am not the same scared girl I was when we had last met. I am now a different creature, and my magic is stronger. I am a fucking warrior, and this time I have my dragon at my back.
Urm...or not. As soon as those thoughts clear my head, my warrior mark tingles, indicating I have unwelcome company. Whoever it is has just passed my warning ward. For fuck's sake!
I dress quickly, putting on various layers consisting of my thermals and my dark combat clothing. The snow has gone—it doesn’t last long in Sligo, and according to the weather reports, the temperature is going to be milder for the next few days. I plan on hunting these fuckers, and I need to be comfortable while doing so. I pull my hair into a tight plait and secure the end by threading it through the base of the plait and securing it with grips so it can’t be grabbed.
I methodically go through my kit, putting different spells in different areas of my combat gear. I attach various blades in their holders, and my black Wakizashi Japanese short sword I secure on my left hip. My disassembled bow and a dozen potion-tipped arrows I carry in a padded bag on my back. My scent masker is on my ankle. Unfortunately, my fire magic isn’t sneaky enough, so traditional weapons and potions are my go-to alternatives. Hopefully I won’t need to use them, as I have enough sleeping spells to knock out half of my local town.
As I leave, I send a quick text to Madán out of courtesy. I leave the phone that will not shift with me behind. Daniel has that much front and so much false confidence in his abilities; it beggars belief that he thinks he can bring a bunch of mercenaries into Ireland with no reprisals, no repercussions, ignoring a thousand-year-old treaty that bans shifters from coming into the country—unless you are a dragon given lifetime amnesty or a member of a Fae court. He can’t pop into Ireland and kidnap a serving Fae warrior. Madán will be furious.
Daniel’s strange obsession with me, his creepy instalove, has never made much sense. He must be coming for revenge—that’s the only logical explanation I can think of.
I step outside into the winter night. The cold wind whips my hair and bites at my face. I pull my balaclava over my head. Lucifer snuffles underneath the door, not liking that I’ve left him locked in the house. “I’m sorry, Luca. Be a good boy. I will be back soon.”
I have a plan that isn’t motivated by the need to run. An offensive plan. I silently turn; let's see what these idiots are up to.
I shift into my wolf, and as I do, I pull on the power of my warrior mark. When my paws land onto the stone driveway, I’m wisps of shadow. I have to fight the urge to lift my head and howl.
In this shadow form, I can cover the distance required in a fraction of time. I follow the sound of intruders. My proximity to danger sharpens my senses, and the closer I get, the more often I pause. Listening. I’m the hunter, they’re the prey. About four kilometres from the cottage, I find six vehicles and a group of twenty-eight men.
I settle against a hedge to watch. Angry. My eyes flick to each man, calculating and assessing. A few of the men, a dozen or so, move like they’re trained. Professionally they check their gear and murmur to each other. The rest are messing about, laughing and joking.
Daniel is nowhere to be seen.
A bald guy steps up and claps his hands to gain everyone's attention.
“Fall in on me,” he yells. Oh hello, look who it is: Meathead One, with his shiny bald head, sans goatee. I growl in my mind. “You nine with me—we go right. You nine take the left, and you nine take the rear. We’re here as a support team. Back-up only. The boss is taking the front at dawn. Rules of engagement—this is capture, not kill. That doesn’t mean it has to be a clean capture.”
“We fuck her up then, yeah?” says a grinning fool. Meathead One smirks at the guy.
“Keep out of sight. If she rabbits, restrain her. Do not let this bitch escape. This will be easy money. Observe radio silence. Any questions?” A few shake their heads. “Don’t fuck up. Let's go.”
Meathead’s group has all the best mercenaries. I want to smack my forehead in disgust as they move off with deadly grace, disappearing into the night. What is he thinking, putting all the best-trained guys in his group—why not use them to direct the other teams? I watch the others bumble about as they shrug, point, and argue with each other. One of them drags his gear behind him on the floor.
I might as well take out Meathead’s group of ten first. I know with slight trepidation that I’ll have to shift back to use my sleep potions.
I move ahead and find a place to wait.
Opportunity comes when they fan out away from each other. Dropping into mostly prone positions, they settle, chests to the ground, eyes on my dark cottage. With no one watching their backs, it’s apparent that they aren’t expecting company. I grin and shift back. With a handful of sleeping potion balls, I set to work.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
I never thought I’d be at home, hunting bad guys in my woods. I feel a little like John Rambo; this is kind of surreal.
I’m in the forest that sits at the bottom of our house. Tall pine trees surround me, and I am currently hiding up in an old sycamore tree nestled within the pines. With the snow and the heavy rain, the ground is saturated. The pines were initially planted on bogland, and no matter how you enter the woods, there’s only one clear access trail through. The way of going naturally herds people underneath the tree that I’m currently hiding in. If they don’t come through this way, someone will have to fish them out of the deadly bog later.
I wait for the chance to pick off my last quota of the bad guys. Nineteen guys are already tucked away in bushes and dykes, sleeping. I haven’t even broken a sweat. I’m after the last group of nine that have planned to reach the house from the woods, then come up through the field to gain access to the back of the cottage. Unfortunately for them, that isn’t going to happen.
Once this is completed, I can check on Aragon and Madán while waiting for Daniel to arrive. With their strict radio-silence, Daniel will never suspect his backup is snoozing.
There’s movement. The group has split further, and it looks like they’re now in groups of three. The three guys heading my way are not stealthy. I’m a little embarrassed on their behalf. These men are supposed to be shifters, yet here they are, crashing through the forest. They are not ninjas.
Noisy creatures.
Now if there’s a smart person in the group of nine, I’d presume that they had sent the three noisy ones out as bait and then follow stealthily to sniff out any traps. I doubt it, but I’m not going to give away my position by being silly.
I wait for them to move on, and when they’re almost out of my line of sight, I use my bow. The arrows strike each guy quietly in quick succession. The arrows land cleanly, and I aim for their legs in case they’re wearing any body armour. Thanks to countless hours of practice, I am a good shot, even in the darkness of the woods. I smirk as two of the guys get an arrow to the bottom. All three of them go down quickly, within seconds, the sleeping potion doing its job and working immediately.
I appear from behind the pines like a ghost and grab hold of two of the guys’ legs and pull both of them into the undergrowth, followed swiftly by the third. Within seconds all three men have entirely disappeared. I am feeling a little smug.
I swing back into my tree and quietly wait for the next guys. It doesn’t take long until another three thugs trample past. These shifters are quieter, but not by much. I shoot them quickly. Unfortunately, one of them lets out a small cry before he goes unconscious.
For fuck’s sake. I sit and wait for sixty seconds to make sure that I won’t have any further company. I need to move the bodies; everything seems clear. I drop lightly onto my feet. I listen, and I hear nothing. I make my way to the three sleeping thugs and drag them into the trees.
Luckily there’s a handy trench behind a row of pines. It’s wet, but still a perfect area for storing the bodies out of sight. I sno
rt as I see my growing bad-guy pile. I arrange my guys carefully—I don’t want them to drown—and just as I am about to make my way back to my tree, there’s a slight movement to my right. I freeze. I bring my prepared bow up in preparation to loose an arrow.
There’s a sound behind me, and before I can check it out, I’m grabbed from behind. The guy pulls me into his body. His hand goes up between my breasts and wraps around my throat, pinning me to his chest. His other hand pulls the balaclava from my head, pulling out some of my hair in the process.
I keep my hands slightly out by my sides. I am still holding my bow. My other hand surreptitiously reaches for a blade strapped to my thigh; I cup the small knife in my palm.
The movement that I spotted? A decoy. I feel stupid that I fell for it, but what’s done is done. The guy behind me stinks. I wrinkle my nose; I think he’s a hyena shifter. He squeezes my throat and runs his other hand down my body. He spends way too much time on my boobs; he has neglected to notice the weapons in my hands. I barely refrain from rolling my eyes.
“What have we got here, lads—look at this tasty morsel. I’m up for a bit—she’s fucking tiny.” He breathes me in. “Can’t smell your fear—fucking magic.” His breath smells of beer, garlic, and lust. He whispers in my ear the filthy things he wants to do to me and grinds himself against my back.
“Do you mind? I can feel the tip,” I say with poorly veiled disgust. I breathe through my nose and out through my mouth. I force myself to remain calm and relaxed in his grip; I’m going to kill this rapist fucker.
He is going to die horribly.
He hasn’t worked it out yet.
I’m no one’s prey.
Surprisingly one of the guys looks incredibly uncomfortable. He is younger than the other two, and he glances about with fright, his scent distressed. The other guy is smirking, nodding and rubbing his hands together as if he’s a kid on Christmas morning, about to open a present.
Nodding Smirking Guy glares at the younger guy when he starts to beg, “Barry, mate, come on, let the girl go—that kind of shit isn’t right. We’re here to do a job, not hurt girls. I won’t let you do it—just let her go.” The young guy steps forward as if to intervene.
“You’re just going to have to watch then, aren’t you, lad. Not my fault you’re gay and you don’t want to get your dick wet.” The hyena shifter undoes the button of my combats, his focus entirely on unzipping my pants. His lack of focus means I can now react.
I bury my knife in his inner thigh. I pull out the blade, twist around on my toes, and put the blade through the side of his neck. It effectively keeps him quiet. I step to the side to make sure none of his blood spray gets onto my clothing.
The rapist bastard gurgles, and I smile as he falls to the floor. This is all done in a matter of seconds. I re-button my combats.
“Stay,” I say as I step towards the smirking guy. I keep the young guy in my peripheral vision. He gives me a nod and then opens his arms wide, puts them behind his head, and kneels. Without overthinking and without breaking my stride, I loose an arrow into his chest. I drop the bow on the floor as the young guy falls unconscious.
My total focus is now on the smirking guy. My wakizashi short sword comes out of the saya with a hiss. Smirking Guy pulls his shocked eyes from the other two men on the floor and meets my cold gaze. His breath catches and he shudders and vomits. He holds up his shaking hands in a placating gesture.
“I wasn’t gonna do anything, lass,” he pleads. I have zero sympathy; if given a chance, he was going to rape me.
I prowl towards him. I grip the sword in my right hand and keep it pointed in the shifter’s direction. At the last moment, I jump to the side but forward, dealing a swinging cut that makes the air sing. I step and half-turn, the blade drawing a fan of black blood droplets in its wake. The shifter’s head topples to the floor.
I turn back to the rapist hyena shifter. I tilt my head to the side as I listen to him gurgle. Black blood seeps through his lips. “Are you not going to scream for me, Barry?” I say, kicking him in the ribs so he is flat on his back. “What a pity. Oh, look at that—least you managed to get your dick wet,” I whisper, pointing out unnecessarily that he has pissed himself. I grind my boot between his legs. “Guess what, Barry lad, you smell of piss, blood, and fear.” His eyes are wide and rolling. “I was going to cut your cock off and feed it to you. But you’re not going to live long enough, I’m afraid, which is a real shame.” I draw my short sword over my shoulder and bring it down, severing his head. I kick the head into the hole where the other bad guys are sleeping.
I stand in the darkness of the wood, forcing myself to take a few slow, deep breaths. My white breath fills the air, announcing my presence and frantic state. My body is singing with the need for more violence. My mind is more than on board with that. I’m twice as deadly when my back is against the wall.
If I’ve learned one thing, I do not want to be the judge and executioner of others—that path only leads to bad decisions and self-destruction. But today with these two guys I’m willing to make an exception. I will take the hit on my soul, knowing that other women are safer.
I clear up the two dead bodies and put the unconscious young guy in the hole with the others. I’m still feeling a tad homicidal.
Aragon appears in front of me silently. A muscle twitches in his jaw as he stares at me intently; for once, he’s unable to conceal his rage. Even in the darkness of the pines with almost zero light, he spots the redness on my neck. His nostrils flare as he also scents the hyena shifter and blood.
“Are you hurt?” I shake my head no. Aragon growls and pulls me towards him. I squeak as he lifts me into his arms. I instinctively wrap my legs around him as he looks deep into my eyes as if trying to read the truth on my very soul. Aragon grunts, then smashes his lips on mine. Oh my. The kiss is rough, passionate, full of anger, fear, and relief.
“What happened?” he asks when he finally pulls away and swipes a gentle finger across my throat. My lips are tingling, and I feel a little dizzy from his kiss. He allows me to drop back to my feet. I wobble a little.
I nibble on my lip and shrug my shoulders. Now isn’t the time. Aragon puffs out a frustrated breath. “How many?” His voice is dark and dangerous.
“Back-up guys, twenty-eight. Twenty-six I took out with sleeping potions. Two fatalities.” My eyes flick to the hole, and he strides over and takes a look at the dead bodies. “Daniel is supposedly on his way.”
He growls and prowls back towards me. Leaning close, he cradles my face in his big hands. “I am sorry I left you. I am sorry you had to do that. Where is your warrior team?” he says, rubbing his thumbs across my cheekbones. I look down, and he growls again.
“I texted Madán.”
“Madán is an old Fae. He doesn’t do text messages.” I was aware of that, that’s why I did it. I shrug.
“I dealt with them. I’m not sorry that I didn't get others involved. It was nothing I couldn’t handle.” He kisses my forehead, and I take hold of one of his hands and squeeze it.
“Daniel is twenty minutes out,” he says quietly. “I flew over the cars.” I nod; we’d better get moving. I planned to meet him at the house. I want Daniel to think he has surprised me and taken me unaware. Aragon pulls me towards him. “I can get us back faster.” He then shocks the shit out of me and does a partial shift. Beautiful silver dragon wings appear on his back.
I gape at him. “When did you… how… I don’t…” Aragon kisses my forehead again and lifts me back into his arms. I wrap my legs around him again. He folds his arms around me, one arm underneath my bottom to support my weight and the other in my hair, holding my head against his shoulder. I put my arms around his neck.
Aragon prowls away from the trees, and as soon as he clears the canopy, we’re flying. He takes off with elegance. I bury my head in his chest and close my eyes tightly. I dare not move in case I throw him off balance and we end up crashing. Which is daft, as in Aragon’s arms I am in t
he safest place I’ll ever be. Within minutes we’re back at the house. We land safely.
Once inside, I stumble when I catch sight of Owen, who is sitting on my sofa. Lucifer is sitting on the floor beside him with a big doggy grin. Owen is running his big hands through his fur. My dog, who doesn’t like anyone, seems to love Owen.
“Owen…” I whisper in a shaky voice, “how did you get here? What are you doing here?” Owen stands and smiles at me. I throw myself at him. Aragon grunts.
“Your dog is amazing. I got a lift.” Owen nods towards a scowling Aragon. He got a lift…but Aragon flew in as a dragon…oh, wow. “Oh, you know. Seeing as you aren't publicly dead anymore, I thought I might come and lend a hand. Chop-chop—Daniel will be here soon. Before I forget, first dibs on Daniel.” Owen waves his hand in the air as if he has asked for the front seat. “I’ve wanted to beat the shit out of him for years.”
I huff out a laugh and give his solid middle an extra squeeze. “Fine by me; I don’t want to touch him. Go for it, Nanny Hound. I better get ready.” I reluctantly let go of Owen, and I’m halfway across the room when he booms, “Oy, you’ve been boasting about your cooking, so you can feed me later as a thank-you.”
I turn back and catch Aragon vigorously shaking his head, his silver eyes wide. I frown. What’s up with him? “Or we can go out for a full Irish breakfast…” Owen’s voice trails off as he smirks knowingly at Aragon.
“That sounds like a splendid idea,” Aragon replies as he gently nudges me towards the bedroom.
I remove my clothes and weapons, shift to remove all traces of forest, the scent of the hyena shifter, and blood. I quickly change into my regular leggings and a jumper.
After we go over the plan, I use my warrior mark to make the ward impenetrable to anyone except us. Aragon and Owen disappear outside into the garden after using a few potions, including one to link our minds.
I make myself a cup of tea while I’m waiting. I’ve just removed the teabag when I hear the cars pull up outside the house and the clunk clunk clunk of the car doors as they open and slam close.
Cursed Wolf: Urban Fantasy Shifter Stand-Alone (Creatures of the otherworld Book 1) Page 25
