Leap of the Lion

by Cherise Sinclair

  She looked at the group surrounding her. “Listen. We’ll go to the ground floor, out the back door, and hide behind the building.” It would be better if she could take them through the trees and off the grounds, but they were weak with captivity and lack of food. Despite her practice climbing ivy and doing exercises, she’d almost fallen that day she’d escaped.

  Alice tugged on her arm and whispered, “What about the alarms? The floodlights? The guards? We’ll—”

  “The lights will be gone, trust me. I’ll handle the guards.” I hope. She firmed her grip on the mop handle, carefully ignoring the dark stain on one end.

  Spotting Margery, she said, “Can you bring up the rear and make sure everyone stays together?”

  Margery’s face still carried scars from the beating she’d gotten because of Darcy’s mistake. She still limped. But her answer was calm and sure. “I can.”

  Idelle, also older than Darcy, stepped out. “Can I help?”

  Oh, she did adore these females. “Stay in front with me. If we run into a guard, I’ll attack. You get everyone out.”

  Lips pressed together with determination, Idelle nodded. “I will.”

  Darcy led them down the stairs.

  *

  Not bothering to shift to human, Owen padded down the stairs in the zoo. The air drifting from the third floor held the fear-filled scents of females, and the concrete beneath his paws carried the stench of pain. With every inhalation, more rage filled his heart.

  He didn’t smell Alec, though. Had the cahir taken the stairs at the other end of the building?

  The first-floor door handle rattled.

  Above on the steps, Owen went immobile, only the tip of his tail lashing.

  Two guards entered the stairwell, chatting about the capture of a freak who had cried, screamed, and babbled information. They laughed.

  Were they talking about the Cosantir’s mate? About Vicki?

  With a snarl, Owen sprang. A slash through one’s trachea silenced him, so Owen could bite through the other’s spine. Turning back, he finished the first.

  As he looked at the mess, his ears flattened against his skull. Not good. The next human on the stairs would run into the gore and dead bodies. The lights better go out soon.

  He turned and trotted down the stairs.

  The basement had a guard station, but the guards obviously didn’t expect trouble. He killed them both.

  After shifting to human, he grabbed a key ring and tried to open the metal door behind the desk. There was no keyhole. What the fuck was the key ring for, then?

  Wait. Before dropping him and Gawain off, Shay had run through the information Darcy’d provided about the compound. He’d mentioned a button on the desk.

  There was a green button beside the monitors. He punched it, and the door lock snicked. When he pushed the door open, he flinched at the stink of loosened bowels and terror and blood.

  The basement was where the Scythe did their experiments, Darcy had said.

  A snarl lifted his upper lip.

  He took a step and scowled at the door. The lock. What happened when the power went out—or if someone entered? He tossed a body into the doorway to hold the door open and then punched the red desk button. When the door lock extended out, Owen slammed a metal chair down on the deadbolt. Metal rang on metal—far too loudly—but the newly bent deadbolt would never fit into the strike plate box again.

  No one was going to lock him in this fucking place.

  A sniff of the corridor air told him that Vicki was nearby. He stiffened when he caught another familiar scent—one that belonged to someone who couldn’t possibly be here.

  Stretching before him, the long corridor was studded with doorways and intersecting halls. The first door stood open. Empty. The next three were the same.

  Finding a closed door, he unlocked it and stepped inside. No guard. No Vicki. Only an aging blonde female lying on a blood-soaked bed that was bolted to the floor.

  Burn marks, fingernails gone, blood—everywhere. If not for the scent, he wasn’t sure he’d have known her. Her hands held her stomach, holding in her intestines. She’d been cut open—and the smell of death was in the room.

  Her blackened eyes were swollen to mere slits, and she looked at him without recognition. “Don’ hurt meeee.”

  As he crossed the room, pity swamped his lingering bitterness. He went down on a knee beside the bed. “Mother.”

  “O-Owen?” Her pale skin took on a blue cast as her spirit prepared to return to the Goddess. “They hur’ me.” She tried to focus. “I tol’ them…”

  “Told them what?” But he knew. “About Calum and his mate?”

  Her infinitesimal nod held agreement. And guilt. “Shouldn’t have…”

  They’d tortured her for the information. “I think the Mother will find forgiveness for you.” Odd how he could now find his own forgiveness.

  She reached out blindly, and he took her hand. “Didn’ tell them.”

  “Tell them what?”

  “About my cubs. ’Bout you or Gaw—” Her breath wafted out, and her spirit went with it.

  For a long, long moment, he couldn’t move. Mother. His mother.

  “Peace to you on your journey back to the Mother,” he whispered finally. As he rose, sorrow was a heavy stone in his chest. In her final moments, she’d stood strong for her children.

  The thought of leaving her body in this foul hole frayed his control.

  He had to. He let anger bury the grief and turned toward the door. The Cosantir had entrusted him with this hunt—he would not fail.

  Where was Vicki?

  He tracked her scent to the far end of the hallway. Another locked cell. When he opened the door, he saw a bed lacking sheet or blanket. The room was empty except for the overwhelming stench of fresh blood.

  No. By the God, he couldn’t have come too late. Despair ripped at him, and he groaned.

  Dark hair hanging over her face, someone sat up from behind the bed. “Get lost, asshole. If you come near me, I’ll rip out your eyes and stuff them up your nose.” Her voice was tight.

  Vicki. Pride in his Cosantir’s mate choked him until his voice came out hoarse. “Bloodthirsty female, I think I’m feeling sorry for Calum.”

  She pushed the hair out of her face, and her eyes widened. A bruise darkened one swollen cheek, and blood had dribbled down her chin from a split lip—but her smile was beautiful. “Damn, it’s good to see you.”

  “Right back at you.” He stalked over to help her up and froze at the sight of blood smearing the floor. Beside her, blood and tissue soaked a ripped-up sheet. She wore only a white button-up shirt. Also bloodstained. “How badly are you hurt?”

  Her laugh held no humor. “I’m fine. This shit is supposed to be normal, although I think whoever said that was a sick fuck.” Rather than giving him her hand, she slid a blanket out from under the bed and handed him…a baby.

  “Hunter’s hairy balls.” He froze, holding the tiny mite, wrinkled and red and covered in white stuff. “You gave b-birth?”

  “Dude, I hate to tell you, but the storks don’t really deliver babies.”

  “Storks?” What did birds have to do with birthing? Was she hallucinating? He frowned at her in concern.

  “Give me your hand. I need help to stand up.”

  Without thinking, he did as she said—and realized she had another baby tucked into a sling made from the rest of the sheet. A third was cradled in her free arm.

  “Three?”

  “A litter.” She actually growled at him. “My men actually gave me a litter. Multiple babies. Jesus, I didn’t think the labor bullshit would ever stop.”

  When she released his hand, she stood for all of a second before her legs gave out. He grabbed her and held her up with an arm around her waist.

  She snarled. “Yeah, I’m going to kill Alec. And Calum. More than once.”

  Who knew that a person could find a smile in such a Gods-benighted hell? Owen grinned. />
  Resettling the cubs, she looked down at them. “You timed it well. I just managed to feed them all—talk about a clusterfuck. I thought they were supposed to just latch on, you know? But they might sleep for a while. Maybe.” Her expression turned grim. “Have you got a plan to get out of here?”

  “Aye. Darcy led shifters in to handle the machine guns. When your spymaster shuts down the power to the neighborhood, more shifters will attack.”

  “Places like this have generators.”

  “Darcy will kill it.”

  Her expression filled with concern. “Owen, she was a captive here. Coming back might be more than she can take.”

  He smiled at the certainty filling him. “That little female will get the job done or die trying.”

  “I guess you would know.” A smiled tilted a corner of her mouth. “You’ve changed, cahir.”

  Ignoring her comment, he frowned. “We’ve got to get you to the rear of the building and then to the garage.” Only how? Her legs wouldn’t hold her. He couldn’t carry the female and the cubs. “If you shift, you’ll have four legs—and animal strength.”

  That left the cubs. “Maybe we can rig up a harness for you to—”

  “You carry my babies. I’ll fight in animal form.”

  He started to shake his head.

  “I can.” Her expression turned deadly. “Nothing and no one will hurt my babies. Cahir, you get them out, no matter what happens to me.”

  Owen stared at her, and his eyes stung. This was the mother love of which bards would sing. “All right.”

  *

  The metal melted, and Gawain pulled open the door to the third and last machine gun enclosure.

  Still in panther form, Ryder streaked past him into the room. A scream was cut off abruptly.

  The scent of death wafted out.

  Wearily, Gawain leaned against the concrete wall in the dark stairwell as the remnants of the used-up magic stuttered through his body. Using his powers here, far from forests and the Mother, was like pushing water upstream.

  “You okay?” Ryder had shifted to human and stood in the doorway.

  “Tired.” Gawain motioned to the room. “Did you disable all the guns? We don’t want—”

  “It’s done, my friend.” A white flash was Ryder’s smile. “That spymaster guy told me what to do.”

  “Good enough.” Despite his exhaustion, Gawain felt impatience flooding through him. His job was complete. Now he needed to find his brother and Darcy. Find them and guard them, the two people he loved most in the world.

  He started up the stairs.

  Ryder’s hand clamped on his shoulder. “Gawain, I know what you’re feeling. Nonetheless, we wait for Ben’s signal.”

  Ryder and his brother ran a building company, Gawain knew. With Wells’ help, the big grizzly cahir and his shifter crew were stealing heavy equipment from a nearby construction site to dozer down the nearest utility poles. If successful, the same dozer would bash through the front gate, providing a way in for Shay and the other volunteers.

  Another minute ticked by.

  Boom!

  The sound was somewhere between a gunshot and an explosion. The floodlights flickered. Off. On. Off. Darkness filled the area.

  “By the God, that was a transformer blowing. They did it.” Ryder slapped his arm. “Let’s go, mage.”

  Gawain trawsfurred and leaped out of the stairwell. Almost to new moon, the skies were dark. Although the humans would be blind, the ambient light from the surrounding city gave ample light to a shifter.

  Hunting time.

  *

  Outside the shifter-soldiers’ forest camp, Tynan had spent a fair amount of time up in a tree.

  Thanks to Owen’s warning, he’d studied the motion detectors that monitored a ten-foot area inside the fence wall, calculated the probable blind spots, then cautiously slow-motioned his way in. Pissed him off, too. Maybe werecats enjoyed creeping an inch at a time, but he was a fecking wolf.

  Once past the motion detectors, he ghosted to the barracks building, killed off a poor excuse for a guard, and stepped up to the door. The interior was dark; evidently, shifters had a lights-out time.

  The door was locked. Wasn’t it nice he’d learned to pick locks in his early days as a cop?

  A minute later, he slid into the room.

  The sound of the door—and his scent—alerted the males inside. Thuds sounded as they jumped from their bunks in the dark.

  “Dogwood villagers,” Tynan said in a voice only another shifter would hear. “Darcy sent me to get you out. We’re freeing your females in Seattle—right now. We need your help to finish at the prison.”

  “Darcy is out?” One male moved forward.

  The next voice was harsh. “Bullshit. It’s a trap, Patrin.”

  “We can’t—” A third voice held frustration and anguish. “They’ll kill our females if we escape. How can we trust what you’re saying?”

  Aye and Darcy’d figured they’d have this reaction. “Now that Darcy is out of the city and off the pills, she’s the shifter she was meant to be.” He pulled a shirt from the tiny pack he’d carried around his neck. “Smell.”

  The one named Patrin snatched it. Inhaled. “By Herne, she’s shifted. She’s a cat, Fell.”

  In the shadows, a male joined Patrin and sniffed the shirt. “Darcy. She’s healthy. Healthy.” The male choked on the last word.

  Another asked, “The females are being rescued?”

  “The Seattle attack has been launched. We need you to destroy this camp—and then we go to help free the females.”

  Patrin said quietly, “You don’t get it, wolf. We all have trackers in our arms. They’ll know if anyone leaves this area.”

  “I do get it. And by the way, you each have two trackers, not one.”

  The male’s curse was low and foul.

  Tynan continued, “Once the guards are down, we’ll cut the trackers out and leave them in this building to keep the Scythe content. You’ll get patched up on the way.”

  In the dim light, Patrin held up his hand, stopping the others. “The staff holes up in their own house. Locked and bolted. You have a plan?”

  “I’ve got more shifters to create a diversion at the north edge.” Tynan smiled slightly. “Darcy assured us that if we got the guards to open their doors, you’d deal with them.”

  Fell’s laugh was low and deadly. “Our sister is correct.”

  *

  As Owen carried his armload of tiny cubs out of the cell, the power went out—and the corridor turned pitch black. Well, fuck. Even a feline couldn’t see where there was no light at all.

  Vicki didn’t slow, just kept going, following the scent trail Owen had left on the way in. Owen followed her.

  Lights appeared at the end of the corridor as several humans with flashlights dashed into the guard station. The lights paused at the desk area. “Jesus Christ, the bastards got Jones and Morris.”

  “The door’s o-open.” That human sounded ready to flee.

  “Yeah, and if they’re still in there, I’m gonna fill them with lead.” A pistol trigger clicked.

  The lights moved toward the corridor.

  Vicki broke into a run toward them.

  She couldn’t take them on alone. He’d have to leave the cubs in a room. Owen shoved open a door—and a huge tawny shape shot past him.

  Alec had arrived.

  As Vicki reached the men, a man yelled in pain. A flashlight danced wildly before falling.

  Cubs in his arms, Owen hastily stepped into a side cell as gunfire and shouting filled the air.

  The cub in his right arm squirmed, not liking the noise. “I don’t like the noise either, youngling,” Owen murmured. By the God, he wanted to fight, not stand here, helpless.

  A feline mrow reverberated down the corridor. All clear.

  Owen jogged toward the sound. At the guard station, the floor under his bare feet was wet and slick. Ignoring it, he ran up the stairs, following th
e scent of Alec and Vicki.

  *

  In the back of Z Hall, Darcy had gotten the females hidden behind the privet bushes before the lights went out. Once everyone was safe, she’d stripped and returned to cat form—hearing the gasps, then delighted murmurs of the females.

  The grounds were dark, and angry shouts came from the front. “Someone fucked with the machine guns, killed the guards.”

  “Get those lights on!”

  With heavy footsteps, two guards pounded between the two manor houses toward the generator. Thank you, Wells. The spymaster’s “gift” was designed to fry every circuit in the board.

  Tonight…darkness would reign.

  Crouching low, Darcy crept out of the bushes far enough to monitor all approaches. Her tail twitched nervously as she scented the cool night air.

  From the front came the sound of a roaring vehicle, then a horrendous crash. Metal whined and clanked. The engine stopped abruptly.

  As planned, Ben and his construction crew had rammed the front gates with a bulldozer.

  Shots rang out. Individual shots—not the rat-tat-tat of machine guns. But still…bullets. Oh, Mother of All, keep our shifters safe.

  The back door of Z Hall opened.

  Darcy dug her claws into the earth, bracing to spring.

  A cougar female ran out the door. Vicki? Alec, also a cougar, was right behind her. Both were drenched in blood. Ignoring her mate, Vicki looked right and left. On guard.

  Alec shifted to human and bent to stroke his mate, rubbing his face against hers. “By the God, are you all right?” he whispered.

  Her purr was a soft sound under the yelling and shooting coming from in front.

  In human form, Owen appeared in the door, moving funny, as if walking on eggshells. His arms were filled with…babies.

  Darcy stared.

  All his attention on his mate, Alec frowned. “You’re…thin, cariad. What—”

  “Hey, Alec. I think these cubs belong to you.” Spotting the females in the bushes, Owen motioned them over and handed off the cubs to Margery and Idelle.

  Staring, Alec straightened. “Mother’s blessing, Vixen. We have cubs?”

  The wonder in his choked voice sent a surging joy through Darcy.