by Celia Kyle
Voices came tumbling over one another.
“No.”
“It’s not happening.”
“We don’t need someone else.”
“Take your shit and leave, monkey.” That was said with a sneer, pure rage on the speaker’s features, and Tess had to bite her lip to keep quiet. Jackie was an all-around bitch and had been talking crap from day one. Even now, after hours upon hours of therapy, she was as hateful as ever.
Stone brushed all of the comments aside, even managing to ignore Jackie’s “monkey” dig. “Harding Grange comes to us from Ridgeville, North Carolina. He has been assigned as one of the guards to the pride’s Prima. I’ve worked with him, and I’ve trained with him. You ladies won’t find a better man to keep you safe while you heal.”
Some of the animosity drained from the room with his words. They all liked Stone, even if Jackie dug at him a lot. He’d been there from the start. As Freedom members filed out, he rushed in, ready to help them battle their demons. He’d been scratched, kicked, and punched by them all at some point or another, their emotions overcoming sense when faced with a new male.
But he’d persevered.
“What if we don’t want someone else?” The voice was whisper soft, almost lower than the voices in Tess’s head, but there was no mistaking the source. Maria Mastin.
Stone slowly stepped toward the sisters and carefully eased onto the coffee table. Of them all, these two women were in the worst shape, still locked inside their own minds, barely surfacing to speak to anyone.
“He’s a good man, Maria.”
The other sister, Lauren, shook her head. “No. He’s so scarred. He fights…”
How many brawls had they witnessed? How many nights did they wait to see who would come to their bed, bloody and torn, yet victorious?
The scars were something Tess had noticed as well. In that split second their gazes had clashed, she’d spied the web of white scars that decorated his face and arms. With their abundance, she imagined there were more hidden beneath his clothing. They hadn’t appeared to be random either. No, they looked to be carefully sculpted lines, smooth and thin, not jagged and uneven. Someone had gone through a lot of trouble to ruin the man’s face.
He let his gaze travel over them all, landing on one woman for a heartbeat before moving on to the next. “Those aren’t from fighting. He’s a survivor.”
No details were handed over, but the meaning was clear. Yes, Harding was a man covered in scars, but those weren’t from challenges or fights. Just like the five of them, he’d survived.
* * *
Harding didn’t remember getting drunk. At all. Plus, it would have been hard considering he was a lean, male shifter who burned off alcohol almost as quickly as he drank the stuff.
But fuck, his head hurt. The steady thump pulsed through him, overriding his other senses. It felt as if a sledgehammer pounded on his skull, fighting to crack it in two.
God, had someone given him a main line of vodka?
He shifted and groaned. Then groaned again as the sound rattled around his brain. Even his lion cowered in the back of his mind, whimpering and covering his face with his paws. The beast wasn’t even pretending to try and help him.
Bastard.
His body ached from head to toe, every muscle tight and tense, the pain merely adding to the pounding of his head.
Another shift, another bolt of agony, and then a gentle hand stroked his forehead. With that first whisper-soft brush, the pain receded, easing from his arms and legs in a slow wave. Another touch and it left his joints.
He sighed, relaxing into the plush surface beneath him. Stroke by stroke, the agony lowered to a dull, pulsing throb.
Harding struggled against the last remnants of pain, fighting through the snippets that remained and encircled his head.
“Easy.” An angel spoke to him. Lame, but true. Her voice was like a gentle tinkling of bells, sweet and seductive at the same time. He grunted and tensed, fighting to open his eyes and look at the woman soothing him. “No, you need to stay down. Millie is small but packs a punch.”
Millie. So he’d had his ass handed to him by a woman. Fuck, he didn’t remember that. He retraced what’d happened to him since receiving his orders to get to Georgia. He’d packed (as ordered), he’d gotten on a plane (as ordered), rented a car (as ordered), and the drive from the small, private airport hadn’t been bad.
Then he remembered. Life went to hell the moment he’d entered the compound. He’d traveled down through fifty feet of soil and rock. The mountain had been a good hiding place for Alistair. Easily defensible and fairly close to town.
The elevator dinged and he’d taken a handful of steps into the compound. He remembered getting a glimpse of a comfortable looking room filled with women. A couple looked at him with stark fear, terror freezing their features, while one other simply snarled. Damaged or not, those were expressions he was familiar with. He wasn’t exactly a guy that got smiles of welcome from women.
The heavy thump of booted feet on concrete drew his attention from the scowling ladies and he turned to look at the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his life. His lion even perked up in interest, curious and urging him to go to her.
Stone had been at her side, but Harding had been too focused on the woman to care about his friend. He needed to get closer. Touch her. Smell her. Wrap his body around her and protect her with everything inside him.
His gaze had flicked back to Stone, and he had the sudden urge to throw the man across the room and away from the woman. He took a step forward, intent on doing just that, but agony had enveloped him. A fierce bolt of bone-crushing pain had wrapped around him from head to toe, strangling him with its intensity. Then, thankfully, blessed darkness swept him away from the hurt.
Until now.
Harding pushed through the last remnants of pain and forced his lids to open, demanding that his eyes obey his command. They fluttered wide, unfocused for a moment, and then they responded to his order. As his vision cleared, he was met with a glimpse of heaven.
She was there. At his side. Sitting on the bed beside him. His lion perked up once again, paws sliding from his face to peer at the woman in interest. The cat rose to its feet and padded closer, intent on nudging Harding along. The cat didn’t have to push hard. Nope. Harding was as interested as his beast.
Then she smiled. God help him, she smiled. The gesture illuminated her face, brightening her features and beckoning him with her allure. Her hair sparkled in the room’s low light, strands catching the dim rays and glittering. The deep red tresses looked like spun silk, and he couldn’t wait to run his fingers through them. Freckles decorated her pert nose, dancing over the bridge and just above the feathery sprinkling. Her emerald green eyes were intent on him. He didn’t bother pausing his inventory. Her lips were plump and full, topping off her sweet, heart-shaped face.
The long line of her neck led to her shoulders and further south to her lush breasts. More than a handful. He couldn’t see much more of her body, her sitting position blocking him from tracing her waist and the flare of her hips with his gaze. She looked so damned fragile. But he sensed a hidden strength in her. A faded scar on her throat called to him, and then he found another. And another. His cat growled at the idea that she’d been harmed, but it also told him that she was like him in some ways.
A survivor. Pain was easy. It was living that was hard.
Harding’s lungs burned, reminding him that he was holding his breath, and he relaxed, inhaling deep. Then he froze.
Oh, God. Honey, sticky sweet honey, bathed his senses and called to his lion. The cat wanted to lap up every drop of those flavors and then hunt up even more. His beast, typically content to lurk at the back of Harding’s mind, rushed forward with a fierce roar and slammed into his mental walls. It pushed, scratched, and bit at the internal confines and snarled his displeasure.
There was one reason, and one reason only, for the lion’s behavior.
Mate.
Fuck. Here, now, in a place meant to provide the woman a haven while she recovered from her past, he’d found his mate. Another look into her eyes showed him the pain that lingered and the unease caused by his intense scrutiny. He begged a little help from his cat and the lion leapt to his aid, adding a hint of his shifter abilities to his human half. Another deep inhale gave him further clues about her.
She was human, but not. Shifter, but not. Sensitive, but not.
She was all of the above and then some.
Most importantly, she was his.
Harding needed to be closer. Touching her. Feeling her skin beneath his palm. He shifted, easing his hand closer to her bare leg, and moaned with the effort.
“Hey, stay still. It’s gonna hurt for a little longer, but now that you’re away from Millie, you’ll heal better.” Those tinkling words soothed his cat.
“Wh—” He licked his dry lips. “What happened?” His voice was hoarse and scratchy. “Who are you?”
A teasing smile spread across her lips with his first question, but her expression closed down with the second. He saw the shutters descend and blanket her features as a cool mask replaced the happiness he’d glimpsed.
“Amelia—Millie—doesn’t take surprises well, and Stone hadn’t given the others any warning that you’d be arriving any minute.” She shook her head. “A local Sensitive has been working with her on control, but now that she’s stronger, she tends to lash out at strange men. Disable first, ask questions never.”
Harding nodded. Almost. At least until a shard of pain shot through his skull. “And you are?”
He wanted to say “his.” His mate. His life. His everything. He didn’t deserve her. Hell, she didn’t deserve to be saddled with a man as damaged as him, but that didn’t matter to the cat.
Tension wracked her body, muscles vibrating beneath the surface of her skin. All he wanted to do was reach out and soothe her, stroke her soft skin and tell her he’d fix whatever was wrong. But he knew she’d bolt. Fear floated on the air, sliding into his nose, and his beast responded with a roar. Their mate should never be afraid. Never. Not of him or anything else in the world.
The woman rose, stepping away from the bed, and his entire body burned to snatch her back to him. As if sensing his intent, she skittered to the open door, lingering in the doorway. She moved into the hall, no longer standing within the small, sparsely furnished room.
Her gaze met his for a moment, a fleeting look as she uttered two words that stilled his heart.
“Tess McCain.”
* * *
Tess decided that it didn’t matter that Harding was gorgeous. It didn’t matter that some part of her demanded she remain in his presence. Nor did it matter that everything quieted when she stood beside him.
Okay, that part mattered.
The voices, along with the stress of holding them at bay, eased when she was around him. The reaction had been hinted at when she’d first glimpsed him, but it’d been confirmed when she padded into his small room within the infirmary. The closer she got to him, the quieter things became. Then everyone’s words disappeared when mere inches separated them.
What would it be like to touch him? Touch his bulging muscles, slide her fingers through the pale blond strands and trace his lips with her fingers? She wanted to discover every scar that decorated his body, learn the stories behind them, and pour out her soul into his care.
That idea was what scared her most. She craved to be bare, physically and emotionally, to this man. Stone had said he was a lion, a massive cat even larger than the Prime of his pride, but he had never felt the need to lead.
Harding Grange.
The name sent a shiver down her spine. Of fear? No, of something else she didn’t want to identify. Something she hadn’t felt…ever.
With a shake of her head, she continued her journey, intent on returning to the kitchen to snag a bite to eat. The morning’s fun had torn her from breakfast, and her stomach was grumbling in response.
Through twists and turns she traveled, pushing thoughts of Harding further and further from her mind with each step. As the distance between them grew, so did the rumbles of other voices. One by one they ventured into her, the whispers growing and swirling inside her.
Tess wanted to return to Harding, risk the disgust that was sure to coat his features now that he knew who she was. His scorn was nothing in the face of quiet.
Who was she kidding? She couldn’t deal with his hatred. She got enough from Jackie and wasn’t sure how she’d react if he also felt that way.
Striding past the living room, she ignored the hate emanating from the space. Jackie’s loathing was out in full force as she screeched at Stone about Harding.
“What the hell can a fucking pussy do for us? Send his ugly ass back!” It was the last few words screamed by Jackie that broke Tess’s hard-won control. The rage swept over her, primal and feral in its intensity.
Tess’s heartbeat sped to double-time, pumping blood and adrenaline through her body. She sensed the anger, but an unfamiliar rage crept into her chest. The tendrils slithered through her and filled her arms. Her hands ached, fingers throbbing and stretching as if something fought to burst through the tips.
She flew across the room, shoving a placating Stone aside, and launched herself at the bitch. Hands curved into human claws, she struck out, reaching for Jackie’s face. The first hit landed, leaving four furrows of bleeding torn flesh in her wake. She swung with the other hand, ready to give the woman a matching wound on the other cheek only to have Jackie duck out of the way.
“How dare you?” Rage filled Tess’s words.
Midnight hair slid from Jackie’s pores, bursting through her skin and coating her face, chest, and arms in her animal’s fur. The crack and snap of bones overrode the screeches and screams of the other women. With every heartbeat that passed, Jackie took on more of her beast, changing in the middle of the living room. Tess knew she wouldn’t last long against her, but she wasn’t about to back down either.
She tensed, ready to take on the woman, but never got the chance. Stone stepped between them, easily catching Jackie and shoving the bitch back before her claws could even touch Tess. He grunted and roared, releasing his gorilla’s warning and silencing everyone.
More of the change rolled through the other woman, and Tess’s body tried to respond. Her gums ached, and fingers throbbed as if she truly held an inner beast that fought to burst free. Except that’d never happen, but not for lack of trying.
Tess bared her teeth, snarling as she pushed against Stone’s restraining hand. Jackie growled low until the gorilla gripped her arm, shaking her like a rag doll.
“Enough!” The deep baritone crowding his voice revealed that the man’s beast was near the surface.
Jackie threw off Stone’s grip and stepped back, but not before hissing at Tess. “Fine. Stupid bitch isn’t worth it. We all know that she’ll be put down like her daddy. Blood’ll run true, won’t it Tess? Crazy bitch.”
Rage burned hotter than before, and she pushed against Stone, fighting to shove him aside so she could get at the shifter woman. She wasn’t like that man. She wasn’t even his true daughter, not really. She’d never be like Alistair. Never. It wouldn’t happen, couldn’t happen.
No, no, no, no…
“I said enough!” The roar shook the walls and the vibrations traveled through the ground.
Stone glared at Jackie one last time and then grabbed Tess, holding her by her bicep as he led her from the room. Jackie’s hateful stare bored into her with every step until they turned the corner. No words were spoken as they navigated the halls, but they weren’t necessary. She knew what was happening, where they’d end up.
Before long, they were standing outside her room, her haven of sorts.
“You shouldn’t have done that, Tess.” Stone’s voice was back to normal, at least.
Tess sighed. “I know. She just… Harding isn’t…” How could she exp
lain the unexplainable? “Damn it.”
“Go ahead inside. You haven’t had breakfast, right?” She shook her head. “Okay, chill out. I’ll have something sent to you while I go deal with Jackie and the rest of them.” Stone stared at her door and she couldn’t help but read his thoughts.
I’m putting her back in a fucking prison. God damned prison.
She reached for him and gave him a gentle stroke of his forearm. “It’s okay, Stone. Them’s da rules, right? We can scream and yell, but we can’t get physical.” That had been drummed into them by therapists and guards alike.
Fists and claws wouldn’t fix them. Sometimes Tess wondered if anything ever would. Oh, the others might get past the rapes and beatings, but could she ever get over her very existence? She didn’t think so.
“Can you ask Ben if there are any pancakes left? Maybe some bacon?” She pushed a grin to her lips, praying that he’d believe her forced smile. She didn’t want him to feel guilty about confining her to her room.
“Nice try.” Stone rolled his eyes. Okay, he didn’t fall for it. “Go inside. I’ll smooth things over and send someone back with breakfast.”
With that final promise, he retraced their path, moving along the hallway until he came to the end. Before he made the turn, he stopped and looked back at her, eyebrow raised.
Tess grumbled. “All right already. I’m going, I’m going.”
She stepped into her room, her cell, and let the door swing shut with a soft click.
Back to prison it was.
Chapter Two
“I know there are times when you wake up and are all ‘shit this is crazy’ and then you’re all ‘boo hoo for me’. Lemme tell ya, there’s always someone crazier than you. Always. Take my children for example… Really, take them before I turn them into homicidal maniacs. I think it’d be surprisingly easy, and that’s a temptation no woman should have.” — Maya O’Connell, Prima of the Ridgeville Pride and woman who has decided that nothing is worse than twins. Nothing.
