by Tami Lund
“Shh. Someone’s coming.”
Both women fell silent, but Olivia couldn’t hear anything over the crashing waves and pouring rain. It seemed there was no warning at all before a great, angry lion suddenly leapt at Finnegan, knocking him to the ground and swiping one of its front paws across his chest. Four red streaks appeared instantly on his white T-shirt, melding together until the entire front of his shirt was dark with blood. He tried to climb to his feet, staggered, and fell onto one knee, before tumbling over onto his side.
Cecilia screamed and dropped to her knees next to his body, instead of running, like Olivia had expected her to do. In the blink of an eye, the lion was a man, a dark-haired man with black eyes, who bore a striking resemblance to the man Olivia loved.
“Quentin,” she said, her voice breathy, as he snagged Cecilia’s arm and hauled her close to his chest. She struggled, but it was to no avail. The man had shifter strength, and Cecilia had never learned how to defend herself in this sort of situation. Olivia watched as Quentin dipped his head and sniffed at her cousin’s neck.
“Such a tantalizing scent,” he murmured. When Cecilia whipped her head to and fro, Quentin grabbed her hair and jerked her head to the side so he could sniff at her without hindrance.
“Why has my son not killed you yet?” he asked, sounding no more than mildly curious.
“Your stupid beliefs aren’t true,” Olivia said bravely. She had no earthly idea what to do at the moment. Finnegan was dying at her feet. Cecilia was completely at Quentin’s mercy. If she ran, Cecilia would surely die, and even if Olivia was willing to sacrifice her cousin—which she wasn’t—she was confident she could not outrun the shifter anyway.
She looked down at Finnegan and noticed that he seemed to be a short distance farther away than he had been a moment ago. Then she noticed that he was slowly, carefully dragging himself across the wet sand toward Quentin. She had no idea of his intentions, but considering she had no other options, she decided to believe that he meant to protect them, not harm them.
She focused on keeping Quentin distracted, so Finnegan could do whatever it was he was trying to do.
“Killing us isn’t how you release our magic,” Olivia called out to Quentin. She took several steps to the side, so that when Quentin looked up from nuzzling Cecilia’s neck, Finnegan was at his back.
Something in her voice clearly piqued Quentin’s interest. He lifted his head and studied her with his glowing, black eyes. Cecilia struggled again and he twisted her hair more tightly in his hand, until she whimpered and stopped moving.
“You sound as if you know how to release your magic,” Quentin finally replied.
“I do,” she announced bravely, and then her mind furiously worked to try to come up with a feasible lie that he would believe.
Quentin watched her for a few more moments. He abruptly flung Cecilia to the side and strode to Olivia. Before she could even turn to run, his hand clamped around her arm and hauled her to him, just as he’d done to Cecilia. He dipped his head and breathed deeply of her scent. Her stomach roiled in protest at the intimate gesture.
Quentin’s head snapped up as if on a spring. His black eyes were glowing as brightly as the lightning that flashed across the sky. “You carry my son’s scent. Not only is it all over you, it is in you. Have you been fucking my son?” The look on his face was incredulous, although it slowly turned calculating, however, as his mind processed this new bit of information.
“You are fucking my son,” he said, a statement now, rather than a question. “That is how I inherit your magic,” he said, far too quickly drawing a conclusion that Olivia knew did not bode well for her. Not at all.
“That’s not true,” she protested, but he laughed, a maniacal, gleeful laugh that sounded like a hyena. Olivia shied away from him, but she had nowhere to go. His hand around her arm was like an iron manacle. When he wrapped his other arm around her waist and pulled her tightly against him, she felt the ridge of what she knew was his erection, pressed against her backside.
Not all shifters are alike. She fought back the urge to succumb to panic.
“Leave it to my son to figure it out,” Quentin said, a grudging note of pride in his voice. “How fucking brilliant. Do I inherit more of your magic each time I fuck you?” he mused, sounding almost thoughtful.
Olivia shook her head. Quentin laughed again.
“He’s only fucking one of you,” Quentin said. “I didn’t smell his scent on that other one at all. So he must get enough of your magic to sustain himself. Unfortunately for your friend over there, I’m a greedy son of a bitch. I’m going to keep you both, and fuck you both. As far as I’m concerned, there can never be enough magic in one’s system.”
He laughed the hyena laugh again, and turned, as if to grab for Cecilia with his free hand. When he did so, a booted foot connected with his face. He screamed and released his hold on Olivia so that he could cover his face with both hands. Blood poured from between his fingers.
Olivia skirted around him and ran to Cecilia. As she tried to drag Cecilia to her feet, her cousin said, “Finnegan. We have to take him, too.”
The kick to Quentin’s face had taken whatever strength Finnegan had left, though. He lay on his back in the sand, his breath coming in short spurts. His eyes were closed and his hands clutched at the wounds on his stomach. Blood poured freely from the gashes and dribbled down his sides to pool in the wet sand.
Olivia pulled Cecilia with her as she rushed to Finnegan’s side. “I will heal him enough for him to be able to gain his footing. Any more and I will be rendered helpless as well,” she warned her cousin. Cecilia nodded her understanding, and Olivia reached out both hands and placed them on Finnegan’s blood-soaked stomach. He feebly pushed her away.
“Stop fighting me,” she admonished. “I am going to help you.”
He cracked one eye and regarded her warily, but he stopped trying to push her away. She immediately sent the healing magic into his system. His eyes widened briefly, and then they rolled into the back of his head as he slumped against the wet sand.
“Oh dear,” Olivia murmured.
“What?” Cecilia asked.
She waved at the unconscious shifter. “I think I gave him too much too quickly.”
Cecilia peered down into Finnegan’s slack face. “He’s quite handsome, isn’t he?”
“Cici, this really isn’t the time or the— ” Her words were cut off by a great roar, and Olivia turned in time to see Quentin charging toward them. His face was covered in blood, his nose was obviously broken. Blood ran down his neck, intermingled with the pouring rain as it soaked into his black shirt. His eyes were glowing with unrestrained fury.
“You bitch,” he snarled, clearly determining that Cecilia had been the one to kick him in the face. Cecilia let out a cry of distress and scrambled to her feet and began to run.
“No!” Olivia called out when Quentin adjusted his stance, preparing to chase after her. She took a flying leap, spurred by strength and magic she recognized was not entirely her own, and landed on Quentin’s back. She reached around and dug her fingers into the wounded flesh of his face. He howled in pain and began bucking, trying to dislodge her from his back. She felt the tingling of magic, felt the brush of wet fur against her arms and knew he was trying to shift into an animal.
She continued to cling to his back, even as his body distorted and grew, until he was a ten-foot tall black bear, an angry, ten-foot tall black bear. Her fingers fisted into course hair and she shielded her face, knowing she would not survive if she let go.
Then his powerful front paws lifted, one reached around, and she arched her back and screamed in pain as sharp claws sliced through her back and one arm. She lost her grip and fell to the ground, landing on her back and crying out again as sand ground into her gaping wounds.
As she fought to remain conscious, she heard another great roar, felt a moment of strange calm, and she turned her head to see the most magnificent, most beautiful
lion fairly flying across the sand, its eyes focused on its prey.
Not me, she thought dully, just before the lion collided with the bear, sending it staggering a few feet before it fell to its side. The two animals fought, a vicious battle that had Olivia holding her breath, for fear that the bear would win. When she felt arms sliding beneath her, she turned her focus and her eyes widened when she realized it was a shifter who was trying to lift her from the sand.
“No,” she said feebly.
“It’s okay,” the younger man said. “I’m Tanner’s friend. My name’s Andy. We’re here to help.”
Olivia was hardly in a position to fight him, so the only thing she could do was hope he spoke the truth. He carried her to a small alcove, where the cliff jutted from the sand. There was an overhang, so the small area beneath was fairly dry. Cecilia and Finnegan were already there, and a man and a woman, both shifters, stood over them as if they were guards.
“I need to heal Finnegan,” Olivia said weakly, as Andy placed her as gently as he could onto the sand next to the unconscious shifter.
“You need to conserve your strength,” Cecilia admonished her. “You’re bleeding just as badly as he is.”
The eldest shifter, a male, said to the other two, “Leah, protect them. Andy, with me. Quentin brought a small group of guard dogs with him. We need to contain them.” Leah nodded and Andy and the older shifter left the small covered area.
Olivia blinked at the female shifter, who stood over them, legs a shoulder’s width apart, arms crossed over her chest, a determined look on her face. “Who are you?” she asked.
Leah glanced over her shoulder at Olivia. “Leah Pantera. That was my dad, Rick, and my brother, Andy. My dad’s the pack master of the Iowa pack.”
Olivia frowned. “We were attacked in Iowa.”
Leah frowned as well. “Yeah, that was Chuck’s fault. When we figured out you were in Iowa, he called Quentin Lyons and gave him a head’s up.”
“Chuck?”
Leah’s frown turned into a grimace. “Another shifter from our pack. A complete moron. I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner. He’s been banished, so we never have to deal with him again.”
Olivia heard something in the girl’s voice that made her curious about the relationship between her and Chuck, but she abruptly stopped talking and turned to focus on her position as guard once again. With a groan of pain, Olivia rolled onto her stomach and lay her head against the sand and tried to focus on willing the pain away. She hoped Dane or Alexa or one of the other healers had been summoned, because she knew she was losing far too much blood, as had Finnegan. Someone needed to save them both, and soon.
* * * *
Tanner was battling his own father. It was their first, and would be their last. One of them had to die today. Quentin Lyons would not allow Tanner to live, so long as he was able to take a breath himself.
Which was just fine by Tanner, because Quentin had hurt his mate, and needed to pay. Fresh rage surged through Tanner’s system, caused by the image of Quentin slicing his massive black claws across Olivia’s back. The image kept rolling through his head like a slideshow stuck on repeat.
He leapt away from the bear, landing with catlike grace, and then danced to the side when the bear lunged for him. The action briefly exposed the animal’s neck and Tanner charged forward and clamped his teeth down onto fur and skin. He squeezed his jaw and tasted blood, indicating he’d punctured the flesh.
The bear flung its head to and fro and Tanner lost his grip. He flew a few feet into the air and barely managed to land on his feet again. He tried the exact same trick again, but Quentin was no fool, and his ploy was unsuccessful the second time.
Before Tanner could formulate a new plan, the bear slammed into him, its weight sending him crashing to the ground. He rolled to the side with just enough time to avoid being crushed by the bear’s significantly heavier body.
They continued to fight, neither giving an inch, until Tanner abruptly managed to gain the upper hand. Quentin was growing tired. He may still be strong, but he was nearly thirty years older than Tanner, and his endurance was not what it once had been. Tanner’s powerful lion jaws clamped around one of Quentin’s front paws and squeezed. Magic flared for a moment, magic that was not shifter magic. Quentin roared as the bones shattered. His form shimmered and then Tanner had his jaws clamped around a human hand. He shifted into human form and released his hold.
Quentin dropped to his knees, cradling his broken hand and breathing heavily. He made a rattling noise with each breath, a result of the broken nose someone had given him before Tanner arrived on the scene.
The rain was finally letting up. The steady drizzle mixed with blood and sweat on Quentin’s face.
“You forfeit your rights to the position of pack master,” Tanner growled. He stood over his father, his former pack master, the man who had caused Tanner to second-guess his own intentions at every turn. Hatred bubbled up inside him, hot and thick, and he had a strong urge to break the man’s neck.
A moment ago he’d been so furious he thought he could kill the man, but now that he was faced with the prospect, he couldn’t do it. He wasn’t Quentin.
He’d realized it a long, long time ago, but there had always been that sliver of doubt, right there, in the back of his mind. It was gone now. His gaze shifted to the side, seeking Olivia. He could not see her, but he could feel her, sense her presence.
She was the reason the doubt was gone.
He wanted to go to her, to pull her into his arms, to tell her what a fool she was to come after him. He wanted to inspect her body for injury and then fix whatever was broken, even though he had no idea how to do so. But he’d done it before, so he figured he could find a way to do it again.
Most of all, he wanted to tell her he loved her, and he wanted to be assured that she loved him, too. He wanted her to tell him she had not really mated with Dane, that the entire thing was a hoax, that she was his, forever and always.
First, however, he had to deal with Quentin.
“Forfeit,” he demanded when Quentin remained silent.
Quentin’s gaze lifted and flared as he spotted something behind Tanner. “Finnegan,” he barked. “Attack. Kill the Lightbearer.”
Finn, who had been limping toward them across the rain-soaked sand, hesitated, clutching his hand to his chest, his gaze darting from man to man. Tanner held his breath, worried that Finn would do as Quentin commanded. He well knew how difficult it was for a shifter to disobey a direct order from his pack master.
“Kill her,” Quentin commanded again.
Tanner saw the red stain on the front of Finn’s shirt. He looked weak, as if he were barely holding on, yet there was the unmistakable shimmer of magic around his person. Lightbearer magic. As Olivia and Cecilia were currently the only Lightbearers in the vicinity, the only conclusion was that Olivia had healed him, at least somewhat. Enough, at any rate.
Tanner wondered about Finn’s allegiance. He was part of Quentin’s pack, and Tanner well knew the rigid hold Quentin had on his people. Finn had obviously convinced Olivia that he was one of the good guys, or else why would she have healed him? But was he really? Had it all been an act, to get her to heal him so he could rejoin the fight? Tanner tensed and waited to see what Finn would do.
Finn’s gaze shifted between Quentin and Tanner. Several moments passed. The only sounds were of the waves crashing into the sand, and of the rain, steadily pouring from the sky. Finn focused on Quentin.
“Kill him then, goddamn it,” Quentin roared, stabbing his finger at Tanner.
Finn very deliberately strode across the sand, walked up to the pack master, grabbed his head with both hands, and twisted. The sound of cracking bones was deafening against the backdrop of pouring rain.
Finn dropped the lifeless body of his pack master and then stood there, next to Tanner, neither looking at him nor moving. For long moments, nothing happened.
Finn finally spoke. “He would not
have forfeit.”
“I know,” Tanner said quietly.
Finn hesitated again and then said, “I’m not a pack master. I don’t want it. I’ll go back and tell them you killed him.”
Tanner understood what he offered. It was a great compliment, in the world of the shifters. Finn was throwing his loyalty fully and completely behind Tanner. The problem was, Tanner didn’t want it.
He shook his head. “I’m not going back to the pack.”
“Why?”
Tanner glanced toward the lake. “My home is elsewhere now.”
Finn watched Tanner for a few moments, and then shifted his gaze to Quentin’s lifeless body. “Your mate healed me.”
“She isn’t my— ” He stopped, didn’t bother to deny it.
“I swear my allegiance,” Finn said as he dropped to one knee. “To you and your mate.”
Tanner blew out a breath. Why was he so reluctant to accept his role as pack master, when everyone around him was so determined that he was their pack master?
“You’re welcome to join me in the coterie,” he said after a moment’s consideration. “I believe you’ve more than proven your loyalty. I have to warn you, though. It’s very different from pack life.”
“How so?”
“Well, first of all, we have to convince the king to let us stay.”
Chapter 30
He’d saved her again. Twice now, he’d saved Olivia’s life, by using her own magic to heal her, because she’d been fading too fast and the Lightbearer healer had not been able to reach them in time. She’d dumped so much of herself into Finn that she hadn’t been able to sustain herself after Quentin wounded her.
Tanner should be relieved for that fact, because if she had not done so, Finn would not have appeared at that crucial moment and killed Quentin. Tanner hated to admit it, even to himself, but he was afraid that he would not have been able to do it. Whatever else the man was, he had still been Tanner’s father, had helped create Tanner, had, in his own twisted way, helped shape Tanner into the man he was.
