Myka looked around. “And you think Nate took Jordan to her to hide?”
“It's worth a shot. Another possibility is a cabin where Fergus and the three trackers used to go to hunt and run. It's more remote, but I'm betting Gavan will figure that's the first place Spike would think of.”
Liam stopped the truck and killed the engine. Around them pulsed the sounds of the night—crickets, frogs, and the coyotes in the distance. Myka shivered. Coyotes usually didn't bother people, but they did steal cats and dogs, and a small cub like Jordan might be all the same to them.
A house crouched in the darkness about twenty yards ahead on the other side of a ditch. No lights shone in the windows, and all was silent.
Liam opened the door with the faintest click. “I want you to stay here and keep out of sight.” No more charming Irish brogue, just quiet seriousness. “Nate obviously has a gun. Connor and I can sneak up on him, but he might come out the front.”
Myka nodded her understanding. She slid down on the seat, so she could still see but blend into the darkness.
Liam vanished. Myka tried to keep him in her focus, but he walked away into the night and was gone. The faintest rustle of grass told her he was moving toward the house.
Another rustle sounded, not as subtle. Myka saw the grass stir, caught starlight on a moving patch of fur. Connor, slinking along as a lionlike wildcat.
It was hell to sit there and wait, but Myka knew she'd be foolish to rush up to the door and bang on it, much as she wanted to. If Nate was in there, he'd either answer the door ready to shoot, or have his girlfriend hustle Jordan and Ella out the back, or both.
Myka clenched her hands. She imagined Liam and Connor circling the house, slinking low like lions stalking prey on the veldt. They'd make it to the house... and then what?
Would Liam sneak inside, grab Jordan, and run? Maybe have Nate shoot him in the back for his pains? And what if the bullet missed Liam and hit Jordan or Connor?
Myka waited until Liam and Connor had plenty of time to get into position. Then she slid across the bench seat to Liam's side of the truck and turned the key one click in the ignition.
She drew a long breath, then started pounding on the horn. The truck might be an old model and small, but it was loud. Myka flashed the lights too, pumping the brights, doing her best to make it look like a car alarm had gone off.
The door to the house burst open. No light came on, but the tall form of Nate ran outside. Myka heard the blam of a pistol, a tinkle of glass, and a thump as something hit the seat beside her as she dove for cover.
Another gunshot, and then sprinting footsteps and the truck listing as someone jumped into its bed. “Go!” Connor yelled, his voice muffled. “Go!”
Myka started up the truck, spun it around on the road, then stomped on the accelerator. She drove, skidding, back down the dirt road, pulling up to a stop before she reached the highway. No one was coming, no one chasing them.
When she halted, Connor jumped from the back and, naked, climbed into the cab, holding a wadded-up pair of jeans in one hand and a crying Jordan in the other.
Myka hauled Jordan into her arms and held him close. “It's okay, sweetie. I'm here. It's okay.”
“Daddy,” Jordan wailed.
“We're taking you to him,” Myka said. “He's waiting for you.”
Connor was jamming on his jeans. “Floor it. We need to get back to Shiftertown.”
Myka peeled Jordan away from her and set him on the seat beside her, locking a seatbelt around him. “What about Liam? And Ella? We can't leave them.”
“Liam is busy tearing Nate apart. Ella's there and all right, but Hannah ran off, scared to death. Liam told me to go, and also that he was going to rip you a new one.”
“Diversion,” Myka said. “If Nate's attention was fixed on the truck, it wouldn't be on you and Liam.”
“Yeah, but you nearly scared the piss out of me. Never do that again. I'm calling Sean.”
Connor had his cell phone out, and Myka pulled onto the highway. Another car was coming toward her, its headlights on high beam. Myka signaled it to switch off its brights, but the big pickup roared on toward her, not dimming the lights.
“Asshole,” Myka said, squinting against the glare.
The truck neared her, its fog lights on as well, and then it swerved into her lane. Myka yelped and hit the brakes, trying to steer the pickup onto the road's tiny shoulder.
The pickup's driver also hit his brakes, and the larger truck skidded sideways right at Myka. Connor ripped the seatbelt from Jordan and hauled himself and Jordan out the door. Myka fought with her seatbelt as the large black truck came right at her.
She dove for the passenger door at the same time the other truck finally halted, inches from the door behind which Myka had been sitting.
Myka crawled out the other side of the truck, her legs watery, her stomach roiling. Connor held on to the squirming Jordan, blending into the darkness on the other side of a ditch.
Before Myka could ask if everyone inside the truck was all right, the door slammed open, and out climbed Gavan himself. He'd brought backup—three Shifters all as big as Nate and Spike, and one had a shotgun.
“You'll want to stop right there, bitch.”
Great. Here Myka was, standing on the side of the highway, all alone, facing down four towering, hard-bodied, enraged Shifters. Gavan pinned her with his white-hot glare, the other three thugs ready to do violence on his behalf. What had happened to Sean and Glory sitting on him at the fight club?
“I've changed my mind,” Gavan said. “Spike's dead. I thought I could trust him, that we were friends. I guess not.”
“You can't kill anyone,” Myka said, planting her booted feet firmly and lifting her chin. “Humans won't go for Shifters killing each other, or hurting humans. You know that.”
Sounded great in theory. The human bureaus that dealt with Shifters constantly reassured the public that Shifters were contained, controlled, peaceful beings that wanted nothing more than to live in harmony with the world.
In practice, here was Gavan and his three henchmen in a half-circle around her, filling her with terror. Myka had watched Shifters fight each other, ignoring their sparking Collars or at least not letting the Collars slow them down much. Nate had shot Ronan, who'd be dead if he were human, and now Liam was somewhere teaching Nate a lesson.
At least Connor had run off with Jordan.
Gavan was sniffing the darkness. He nudged the nearest thug and pointed the direction Connor had gone. “Go get them.”
Connor was much younger than these guys, and maybe he could outrun them, or get to Liam in time.
Carrying a four-year-old child through open fields? Myka shivered. Go on, Connor.
“Get in the truck,” Gavan said to Myka.
“Don't think so,” Myka said.
“Put her in,” Gavan said to his second henchman.
The Shifter came for Myka. She whirled and ran a few steps before the thug grabbed her by the arms, dragging her back to the black pickup. She didn't go meekly—she kicked, bit, and punched until Gavan grabbed her around the neck.
His Collar sparked, but he didn't ease the pressure. “You give us trouble, I'll kill you. You sit still until Spike comes to find you, and I'll let you go home in one piece. You're right—I don't want trouble with humans. But I'll do what I have to do. Got it?”
“You're a fucking dickhead.”
“Hey, I've been called worse by females who like me, sweetie. Don't write me off. Now that you're used to Shifters, you'll be begging for more.”
Myka kicked him. Pain flashed through Gavan's eyes followed by rage.
Shit-kickers, indeed. Myka's boots had caps on the ends to protect her toes from horses who liked to put their feet down on hers.
“You little...”
Gavan grabbed her and hauled off her feet so easily it made Myka sick with fear. Humans were right to be afraid of Shifters. They were strong, bred to fight. Shifters who di
dn't care, like Gavan, could wreak havoc.
Myka struggled against him, but she knew she'd never win a battle of strength. Her only hope was Liam, and Connor finding him to tell him what had happened.
That hope died when she heard Connor yell, and Jordan cry out. Found. Damn it.
Jordan, in his wildcat form, was snarling and yowling as Gavan's thug carried him across the ditch to the road.
“Where's Connor?” Myka cried.
“I put him down,” the Shifter growled.
Fear sliced through her belly. “You killed him?”
“Dunno. Let me break this one's neck. He's a little shit.”
“Nope,” Gavan said. “Need him intact.”
Gavan carried Myka to the pickup and threw her into its empty bed. Myka's breath whooshed out of her as she landed, and before she could scramble up, Gavan had slapped a pair of handcuffs around her wrists. The cuffs had been looped around a metal hook in the bottom of the truck bed, locking Myka in place.
She struggled and swore at him, but she could only hunker there, sore and breathless. Jordan fought his captor like a crazed thing, drawing blood with teeth and claws. Good for him.
“He's going to shred me!” the thug complained.
Gavan chuckled. “He's a good little fighter. When I raise him, he'll be my good little fighter. Hit him with the tranq and let's go.”
The thug carried Jordan, who sank his teeth hard into the man's arm, to the pickup. The one who'd caught Myka rifled for something behind the seat. A syringe glittered in the lights from the truck, and the second thug punched the needle into the struggling Jordan.
Jordan stopped snarling and went limp. The four Shifters piled into the truck with Jordan, leaving Myka chained in the back, and started up the highway the way they'd come.
CHAPTER 16
Three motorcycles hurtled out of the darkness of the highway, heading straight for the truck. Three headlights fixed on it like the eyes of a monster.
Myka, in her half-sitting position, saw them through the truck's front window, and watched Gavan's driver tense as they came on.
“Run them down,” Gavan snapped. “What are they going to do?”
The driver stepped on the gas. In an eerie repeat of what had happened with Myka in the smaller pickup, the motorcycle headlights came straight on. The driver hit the accelerator. The motorcycles came faster.
At the last minute, the three bikes split around the truck, and the truck shot past them at high speed. The motorcycles spun around with a squealing of tires and a gunning of engines, and rode hard and fast after the pickup again.
The truck's back window opened and the barrel of the shotgun came out. Myka hit the bottom of the truck bed, trying to cover her ears as the gun roared.
“Got one!” the shooter announced.
Myka popped up again, craning to see. The bike closest to the back of the truck wobbled around, as though the rider had lost control. The glare of lights showed tatts all over that rider's bare torso, blood dripping down his chest and arms.
“Spike!” Myka screamed.
Spike shot toward the pickup in a burst of speed, then launched himself from the bike to the back of the truck. His skin changed to the jaguar's as he made the jump, powerful back legs propelling him. The bike spun out on the road, the other two bikers swerving to miss it.
The gun came out again. Myka rocked onto her back and kicked up with her legs, her feet catching the barrel of the shotgun and knocking it aside.
The shooter didn't drop the gun, but the waver gave Spike enough time to grab the barrel with his half-shifted hands and haul it out of the pickup's cab. The shooter came with it, his big body breaking the window.
Spike dragged the Shifter rest of the way out by the neck, his hands right around the man's Collar. Spike banged the thug's head hard against the cab then threw him out of the moving truck.
At the same time, Gavan's driver hit the brakes. Spike dropped to the bed of the truck, landing on Myka, keeping her from being slammed forward as the truck went from ninety to zero in a matter of seconds.
Spike's hot blood dripped all over Myka as he closed one huge hand around the cuffs and broke the chain from the hook. Then he was gone, leaping over the side of the truck to meet Gavan and his remaining two fighters.
Myka scrambled up, her wrists still encased in the cuffs, but at least they were free of the chain. She climbed over the truck's tailgate, landing on shaking legs. The other two motorcycles roared up, the bikers ditching their bikes and running to help.
Myka recognized Ellison, minus his cowboy hat, and Dylan, clad only in a pair of jeans, his feet bare. They both joined the fight against Gavan and his two thugs.
Myka ran past them all to the open door of the pickup. Jordan lay curled in the middle of the seat as a jaguar, sleeping soundly, his little body limp. Myka lifted him as gently as she could and cradled him against her shoulder.
She turned back to the struggle. Spike was fighting harder than he ever had in the ring, his Collar sparking wildly in the darkness. So much blood streamed down him, black in the gloom, that it looked as though his tattoos were running together and raining down his body.
Gavan fought him, the two men changing back and forth from man to beast, dust and grass flying as they hit the ground.
“You killed my cub,” she heard Spike saying in a guttural voice. “You killed my cub.”
“No!” Myka shouted. “Spike, he's okay.”
Spike didn't hear her. He beat Gavan's head into the ground, and Gavan, white-eyed, locked his hands around Spike's throat and started to crush.
“Spike!” Myka yelled. ”Eron! Jordan's all right. I have him.”
*** *** ***
Spike heard her shouting through the haze in his brain. Since Liam's phone call to Ellison that he'd found Jordan, Spike had been running on fear and rage.
Ellison had actually stopped the fight, walking between the two combatants. No one had ever done that before. The refs had started for Ellison, then thought better of it when they found themselves confronting the wall of Dylan instead.
Sean had vanished, no one knew where, and Gavan was no longer in the hay barn. Spike had been out of the ring, grabbing his clothes and running as the refs and spectators complained behind him. Didn't matter. He had to get Jordan.
The follow-up call Dylan got that Connor had been beaten down and Jordan and Myka taken had unleashed a feral rage Spike had never known.
He'd known Myka was in the back of the truck racing toward them on the highway, feeling her presence as palpably as he felt his own skin. Getting buckshot in the chest was nothing to the pain of knowing Gavan had taken her, had hurt her, would hurt her. And the man had dared touch his cub.
He'd caught a glimpse of Jordan lying limply on the seat, fur covered in blood, and he'd ceased to think.
Now he punched Gavan's face again and again. “You killed my cub. You killed my cub.”
“Eron!”
No one called him that but his mate. His beautiful mate.
“Jordan's all right. I have him!”
Spike couldn't look up to make sure this was true. But Myka said it, his mate, and he heard the relief in her voice, smelled it in her scent.
Gavan's hold on Spike loosened. Spike kept pounding, the Shifter in him wanting the death of his enemy. He'd rip off the man's head and drink his blood.
Gavan went limp. Spike went on thumping the man's head against the asphalt, claws digging into his neck. Spike's Collar was arcing, had been continually, biting hot fire down his spine, and he'd never felt it.
“You took my son. You took my son!”
Strong hands jerked him back. Spike fought, wild and crazed. He'd kill them all. They'd dared touch his cub, his son, his mate.
Her fragrance cut through his rage like rain on dry earth. She flowed around him, her warm body, her touch, her voice that wrapped his senses and didn't let go.
“Eron, it's all right. Jordan's fine. I've got him.”
Myka had Jordan. She'd found him, wrapped him in her arms, protected him. The mate of his heart had rescued his cub.
Myka's small, soft hand guided Spike's to the downy fur of Jordan's belly. The connection, the three of them together, cleared Spike's vision. He blinked, finding himself lying on the pavement, one hand on his cub's sleeping body, Myka kneeling beside him.
“Mate,” he whispered. “Don't leave me.”
“I'm here,” Myka said. She leaned to him, bathing him in her warmth, and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “I'm here.”
Pain like Spike had never felt before flooded his body, fire incandescent in his blood and along every nerve. But he kept one hand on his cub, twined his fingers through Myka's, and knew he'd never felt better in his life.
*** *** ***
“Spike's home for battered warriors,” Myka said, opening the door for Liam and Kim, Kim carrying Katriona. “Welcome.”
They lounged about Spike's living room—Connor, Ellison, Ella, and Jordan. Spike was stretched out on the kitchen table while Dylan picked tiny pieces of shot out of Spike's chest and legs. Myka's cry that they should take him to a hospital was met with quiet stares. Arriving at a hospital with a gunshot wound meant alerting the police, Dylan said, and Spike didn't need that.
“Shifters heal fast,” Spike had croaked as he'd staggered into the house, supported by Myka and Ellison. Dylan had at least given him a shot of local anesthetic before he started.
“Where's Andrea?” Ellison asked as Liam, his face bruised and bloody, limped inside. Myka did not want to ask Liam what had happened to Nate. “Andrea and her healing juju? And Sean? What the hell happened to him?”
Liam's face split into a grin. “Andrea's a little busy. Sean's with her.” The sparkle in his eyes was one of joy, and Kim smiled as hard as Liam did.
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