A Shifter's Bodyguard (Pale Moonlight Book 5)

by Marie Johnston

  He still didn’t move. “Can you put the gun down?” A gut shot wouldn’t help the night.

  “I hate this gun.”

  He made the connection without asking more questions. She’d shot her mate and she’d kept the gun. The former Lycan Council might’ve been corrupt, but they would’ve held on to the gun with the rest of her belongings. When they’d been overthrown and she’d been released, she must have gotten it back.

  “Want me to take it?” he offered.

  She lifted her gaze from his knees to his eyes. No, this wasn’t the same Sylva that ruled shifters and vampires alike. This was the Sylva from the prison cell. He’d been there, when the Lycan Council had been dismantled. He’d helped free their prisoners. It was where he’d first seen Sylva and learned of her story, imprisoned for shooting silver into her mate. She’d been timid, but defiant, speaking out against the Lycan Council and how they’d failed their people.

  But no, this was the Sylva from before the prison cell.

  Holding her gaze, he lowered to a squat and held a hand out. She didn’t fight him, but she didn’t aid his effort as he lifted the pistol from her grip. Instead of heaving a sigh of relief or standing up, she hugged herself tighter. He set the pistol on a shelf to his right, next to jars of food. Rows of pickled vegetables lined the shelves. That explained the tangy scent.

  He looked back at her. Naked and defenseless. “Do you want my shirt?”

  Startled, she dropped her gaze to his black T-shirt. “Y-yes.”

  He shrugged out of his shoulder holster and lifted his shirt over his head. After handing it to her, he turned around.

  The level of fear diminished as she rose and put his shirt on. “You can turn around.”

  Her voice had regained strength. She was transforming before his eyes. The scared-spitless female was being replaced by the Synod leader. For a second, she looked like an avenging angel. But the fear in her eyes and the obvious effort to keep herself calm dulled the effect.

  She feathered her fingers over her forehead and grimaced when her hair pulled and tugged against the dried blood. “Is he…?”

  “No. Malcolm’s out there watching him.” He didn’t have to talk to his twin to know. They’d worked together too long for that kind of communication to be necessary anymore. “Do you know who he is?”

  Her eyes misted over and she nodded. He waited, but she didn’t elaborate.

  “Do you think there are others?”

  “I’m sure of it.” She pulled at the hem of his shirt. It swamped her, but he refused to leer at her bare legs at a time like this. He didn’t drop his gaze below her violet eyes.

  She continued to fiddle with the hem of the shirt while looking at the pistol. He’d never seen that expression. It never mattered what sort of person stood in front of the Synod—an unbathed male with little more than two quarters to rub together, starving children stricken with body lice, or uninhibited females who smelled like both a brewery and a brothel. Sylva never shied away from them. But from her expression, she’d rather jump off the nearest bridge than touch the gun’s metal.

  She jerked her hands from the shirt and forced them to her sides. “I’ll go get changed. I need to meet with the rest of the Synod.” She walked out without looking back.

  That was it. He hadn’t been expecting profuse thanks, but something more than a dismissal. He gave his head a little shake and followed her. Upstairs, Malcolm’s voice drifted in from where he stood over the body on the porch. His brother was on the phone.

  Harrison moved to the window by the door and rested one shoulder against the wall, crossing his arms. Hopefully, Sylva knew that she wasn’t going to the Synod alone. He didn’t put in the energy to argue with anyone, and that extended to her—for tonight. And for tonight, he didn’t want to play the bad guy when she only wanted to be left alone.

  The minutes ticked by. Malcolm tapped on the window and lifted his chin toward the pickup. It was the only communication he needed. They’d be leaving in the same vehicle whenever Sylva was ready. As twins, they didn’t have to talk or, thankfully, mind-speak. He and Malcolm could communicate more in a look than most siblings could say in an hour.

  A soft rustle moving through the house caught his attention. Sylva was stepping into some sensible black flats. She was dressed in a black turtleneck that was much too warm for the middle of July and black slacks. Her midnight hair had much of the blood brushed out and was twisted into a bun. The ensemble made her look like a stern ballet teacher, but the outfit was more her style of defense than that pistol.

  Her gaze swept the little cottage, touching on everything but him. She folded her hands together in front of her and finally settled her cool gaze on him. “Do you mind taking care of…of him…while I meet with the Synod?”

  “We’re all driving together. You aren’t going anywhere alone.”

  Displeasure rippled through her expression, but there was something else there. She was still scared. “I don’t want to drive in the same vehicle as him.”

  “Who is he?”

  “I will wait and discuss the situation with the others.” She was back to no-nonsense. Her voice was steady, but her eyes were haunted.

  She was scared—and ashamed. “Both Malcolm and I will be with you. You can sit in front, and I’ll sit in back. The male will be loaded into the pickup’s box. That way you’ll have one of us in between you and the attacker at all times.”

  Her gaze softened as the rest of her stiffened with resolve. “Right. Let’s go do this.”

  Chapter 2

  Sylva and three of the Synod members were waiting on Demetrius to flash here. As a vampire, he had that ability. Bastian, the other vampire member, had made it here first, but punctuality concerned him more than it did Demetrius. Her fellow shifter Demke was quiet next to her, as if he sensed she would only explain herself once. Demke had been on the Lycan Council, the one member who hadn’t used it for his own benefit, the lone shifter who’d cared about bettering his people’s future. Jonathon, the Synod’s vampire/shifter hybrid and their party of five’s unofficial leader, had stumbled in a few minutes ago, no doubt having been called from his mate’s warm bed.

  Waiting like this allowed her adrenaline to wind down and her dread at explaining the situation to pile up. Headquarters was quiet. Only a few Guardians discreetly roamed the manicured acres surrounding the long, rectangular building.

  One end housed the prison, the apartments, and the spattering of departments that served the Synod’s needs: financial offices, Guardian offices, and a small medic office for any major injuries that could use a hand in healing. The one-story portion where the Synod met and conducted business had been dark when they pulled up.

  How much longer? The chamber was quiet. There’d be no speakers tonight, just her, and she’d do it sitting in her chair at the table on the dais others normally stood before.

  Why had she put on the turtleneck? It was hot and clingy. Add in how she usually felt when Harrison was around and she was really freaking uncomfortable. She couldn’t stand the helpless way her body flushed when he was nearby.

  Yet when she’d heard his voice on the other side of the cellar door, she’d wanted nothing more than to fling herself into his arms and let him shelter her from the rest of the world.

  Following through would’ve been humiliating. First, she’d had to call for help. And second, she was the beaten-down female who had risen to the most powerful position of her kind. She felt weak around him. Another reason she was annoyed at herself for feeling hot and clingy when he was around.

  Harrison was waiting outside the chamber in the receiving area with Malcolm. He’d seen her in a state she’d sworn she’d never let herself be in again. Vulnerable, frightened, and hiding. She despised herself for her reaction. It didn’t matter if John Todd was secure in the prison cell she’d once spent months in. But at least dwelling on that irony took her mind off Harrison more than anything else could.

  A few years ago, she’d
been imprisoned for killing her mate. His family had thought she would burn for it—they would’ve killed her if they could’ve caught her—but instead she’d risen to rule her people. Now she was all too happy to let that family waste away up there, wondering if anyone in the world was ever going to support them. Except John Todd had two more brothers, and she had no doubt they were coming for her.

  Demetrius entered on a swirl of dewy night air. He closed the chamber doors and rushed to the table. “Apologies.”

  Sylva couldn’t summon her standard dour attitude toward the male. He was charming, like Malcolm, and he seemed to be sincerely sorry that he’d held up the proceedings.

  When he was settled, she began recounting her night. “As you know, I was once convicted of killing my mate. He was an insecure, abusive ass. As are his three brothers, one of whom is now in our prison.”

  Once she’d described the attack, Demke asked, “Why now? You’ve been on the Synod since the beginning.”

  “I would guess that the policies I champion are hitting too close to home, threatening their family’s totalitarian rule.” The Raymores were a perfect example of why their old government had sucked. Packs who ruled their colonies like that should be squashed. “Also, their grandma was ancient when I left. Perhaps she’s getting weaker.”

  “And others might take advantage of the change in power to inform us of their living conditions.” Jonathon spoke with the confidence that it’d been confirmed already.

  By now, Sylva didn’t have to explain. They’d dealt with enough colonies that had tried to ignore the Synod’s existence and keep their politics to themselves. A change in leadership could be brutal if the pack heir wasn’t liked or respected or strong enough to hold on to the position.

  Some packs created conditions to keep their choice in place, packs like her former mate’s, the deep-in-the-woods Four Claws. One of those choices was to be situated across the border. The extra effort to drive that far north and get past border security kept the colony isolated.

  There were more out there like her old colony and more shifters like her, males and females shackled by old ideals and victims of the seclusion that shifters often sought for themselves. Her purpose in life had become gathering the power necessary to change the circumstances for those shifters, not to dissolve as soon as she was faced with a big, scary male.

  She’d faced John Todd and she was still standing. He’d been injured badly and the reward for defending herself would be two more like John Todd coming after her. She was in grave danger despite being surrounded by the Synod’s Guardians. Trepidation made her jittery. Desperation, anxiety, and sheer terror dogged her until it was all she could do to keep her hands from trembling. She clasped them together in front of her and adopted a cool, refined expression.

  “What are the other brothers’ names?” Jonathan asked.

  “Rafe and Clayton Raymore.” So close they could be twins, but unlike the twins outside, when Rafe and Clayton had been around, they’d looked at her like she was a chew toy purchased just for their pleasure.

  Jonathon scratched notes on a little notepad. “We’ll send names and descriptions to the Guardians on duty. If they step foot in town, we’ll know.”

  They wouldn’t. The brothers were bold, having lived a life of entitlement, but they weren’t stupid.

  Demke spoke next. “I’m sure you all know my opinion about what we should do about the Raymore in our prison.”

  Demetrius frowned, the look doing nothing to detract from his handsome features. “Attacking one of the Synod is a grievous offense. I have no problem executing him.”

  She hated the urge sweeping through her to concur. She was not like other Raymores. Being mated into the family hadn’t made her like them, and she couldn’t escape the feeling that killing John Todd while he was imprisoned would nudge her closer to them.

  “The people might have a problem with us executing him,” Bastian replied. “Though I heartily agree he deserves it.”

  Sylva lifted her chin. “I want him to rot in there at least as long as I did.” Poetic justice. More her style.

  “Then he can be our guest for as long as needed.” Demetrius regarded her, concern heavy in his green eyes. “The brothers are our first priority. Rather, Sylva’s safety is our first priority, so we need to deal with the brothers. Tell us everything about them.”

  Sylva took a measured breath and thought back to that period of her life she never let her mind delve into anymore. “The whole family lived in the colony when I lived there and I doubt that’s changed. The brothers were always close, getting away with murder and I’m not exaggerating. I knew… I knew when I did what I did that the wrath of the three of them would bear down on me as one, which is why I fled.”

  Going to prison had been a relief, in a way. At the time, it’d been the only way to save her mother’s life and to keep herself safe. Sylva’s disappearance and incarceration had caused enough of a flurry to keep the blame fully on her and protect Mother from being used against her. It’d been part of the plan, the one she’d convinced Mother was best when they were staring down at her dead mate.

  The Lycan Council at the time had been a lot of things, but letting three bullheaded shifters get to her wasn’t something they would do. It’d look bad for the prison guards and for the council members.

  She’d been safe in prison, which had been almost worth the misery of being left alone with nothing to do but remember. “They might try to get John Todd out before they come after me.”

  Demetrius shrugged. “Why don’t we cut them off at the pass and dangle you in front of them like a ripe little bunny?”

  There was no way Demetrius knew her family nickname, and it chafed that he’d compare her to a rabbit. Tonight should’ve proved she was no timid animal, but she’d hopped away as soon as possible.

  Demke glanced at her before answering Demetrius, and she read his thoughts in his eyes. She didn’t fight, she hadn’t taken self-defense courses, and they wouldn’t be considering a prison break for John Todd if she’d gone ahead and killed him like most other shifters would’ve done. “I think she’s been through enough with that family.”

  Relief mingled with shame. She didn’t want to be bait. But she didn’t want to feel like a burden either.

  Jonathan folded his arms, his brows dropping a little. “We’ll up security at the prison. And you’ll need security.”

  Everything in her rebelled at the idea. Being followed, her movements monitored, her plans questioned. The thought made her want to throw up. Her stomach churned and a hot flush swept through her body. If she didn’t get control of herself, she was going to start sweating, and then they’d all know how much the thought bothered her. She had to be clearheaded.

  This was her life and she wasn’t going to be bullied out of it. “We’re tight on Guardians as it is. I have some ideas about a security detail—”

  Demke gestured toward the door where Harrison and Malcolm waited on the other side. “I think the ones we have here would be the best option. They’re already extra. I can talk to their commander, but I don’t think it’ll be a problem to use them for something critical like this.”

  Her throat constricted so much that when she went to open her mouth, she gaped like a fish.

  Demke was not entirely oblivious to what his suggestion was doing to her. “This would be a twenty-four-hour protection detail. We need at least two guards, and we’re confident in their skills. Not only do they have a long family history in this area, but their entire lives have been dedicated to protecting us in some way, just like they did tonight.”

  “Protecting and sleeping with everything that moves, maybe.” She clenched her teeth together. Of all the moments for her voice to become fully functional, and she’d said that? But the thought of Harrison trailing her everywhere while Malcolm seduced anything with a vagina made her sick. Having a security detail was bad enough, but assigning the twins to it made it feel like a punishment.

  D
emetrius’s lips quirked. “As a male who used to resemble that remark, I can vouch for the fact that sleeping around does not make one less qualified for a job, nor will it make them less proficient at it.”

  Logically, she agreed with him, but they were protecting her. If they’d been talking about anyone else, she wouldn’t bat an eye. No matter her personal feelings about either twin, she would pick them first for any protection detail. But Harrison didn’t need to see that she was just as afraid and alone as she’d been when he opened her cellar door.

  And wasn’t that the rub? That the twins who went out every night and woke up to someone different every morning also excelled at their job. She held their irreverent attitude and flippant behavior against them when she struggled to live her quiet, boring life. Taking solace in the fact that she was good at her job was harder when the twins could do both.

  “I just think that there are other candidates we should consider.” That sounded professional enough. Though it’d sound better if she hadn’t just argued that there weren’t enough bodies to do everything the Synod required.

  Jonathan spoke quietly. “But would you be willing to share your history and what happened with those others? The twins are already involved.”

  He had a damn good point. Her history was already murmured about among their ranks. But since the Synod headquarters was isolated and surrounded by rugged hills, wannabe mountains, and evergreen trees that rivaled skyscrapers, she could ignore the smattering of gossip that didn’t leave city limits.

  The twins were known as much for the quality of their work as for their playboy reputation. If they were tasked with training, it was thorough and comprehensive. If they were sent on an investigation, they got answers in the shortest amount of time possible. They played hard, but it was off the clock.

  Looked like her decision had been made for her.