by Fel Fern
“Morgan Weiss must have been planning this for a while,” Abram kept using sign language. His former commander probably knew he was out of his mind, too furious to be logical.
His human half did concede that Abram’s words made plenty of sense. He’d known Morgan would be trouble. Thinking back, had the cunning human been responsible for Fluffy’s poisoning? The vet mentioned if they’d arrived any later, it would have been too late to save Fluffy. Without a powerful witch like Mrs. Irwin in the way, as well as him, it would be too easy for Morgan to slip in and grab Trace.
Mike gripped Abram’s shoulder and signed to him as well. It took all of his self-control not to snap his teeth at Mike. He couldn’t blame Mike fully either though, because he should have seen Fluffy’s poisoning as a sign something was wrong.
“Abram’s right. We need to work together to get your mate back,” Mike signed. “I’ve been talking to Mr. Lee. The scent’s fresh. We could track Morgan and Trace, but that would take time.”
“What did Mr. Lee say?” His voice still sounded harsh, edged with anger, but he was beginning to understand Mike wasn’t the enemy.
“He caught a snapshot of Morgan’s license plate and my friend at the police station is running the number right now and seeing what recent activities Morgan is up to. He’ll call me back as soon as possible.”
Appeased for now, he examined the blood trail while trying his best not to imagine the fear that must have taken hold of Trace. This human snake had broken his mate so badly once that Trace had even considered suicide as a better alternative than living. Morgan Weiss didn’t deserve to live, especially given how creative Morgan was to escape from prison. A thorough investigation over the past few days led to the conclusion Morgan had been behind the main riot, which he used as distraction so he and his fellow prisoners could escape.
Scum like Morgan didn’t know when to give up. Even if they somehow managed to save his mate, Morgan would keep pursuing his mate. That was unacceptable. No matter the outcome, Morgan Weiss had made one vital error—the human took the mate who was Dusty’s to protect and love. Morgan wasn’t going to come out of this alive.
Chapter Ten
Dusty tried to think past his anger because a mindless leopard wouldn’t be any help to anyone. He studied the evidence left behind with cold and ruthless logic. Dusty climbed the stairs, careful not to mess with the blood trail, and went into the studio. He checked the doorknob, which had been forced open. Inside, Trace’s studio was a mess.
It saddened him to see canvases and paint spilled on the ground, but pride filled him at the thought Trace hadn’t surrendered. His mate put up quite a fight. The blood worried him though. How injured was Trace?
Dusty found the bullet embedded on the floorboards a moment later. So, Morgan had a gun. Did the bastard shoot Trace so Trace had a hard time fighting back? No use lingering in this room. He headed back down just as Mike got off the phone.
“The car’s registered to a Ted Boons, the fake driver’s license picture doesn’t match Morgan’s description, however, Ted Boons was one of the prison escapees. Coincidentally, he also has property by the woods. I have the address and am sending it to both of you,” Mike finished.
“In my car,” Abram said.
He nodded, getting in, glancing at the studio again.
“I called the local authorities but they won’t be able to get to where Morgan is on time,” Abram said, the meaning in his former commander’s words clear as day.
Even back in the army, their unit had been known to deal their own brand of justice, to intervene in cases where the law failed the victims. It felt a little like the old times again, except Grover was still on his extended honeymoon and Wayne, the only submissive shifter of their unit, was dead.
It wasn’t the same at all, Dusty decided, because back then, they had nothing to lose except each other, no family or friends waiting back home. Now, though, Mike and Abram had mates of their own, but they both risked it all to save his.
“I appreciate the help,” he said quietly.
Abram, at the wheel, nodded. Mike did the same. Blaming Mike wasn’t the solution, because none of them could predict Morgan striking now, but maybe, Dusty could mend that fence later, after they rescued Trace.
Dusty turned on the GPS on his phone and inputted the address of the property Morgan’s pal owned. There was no doubt in his mind Morgan had taken Trace there. If he was wrong—no. Dusty refused to think about that. Gut instinct told him a man like Morgan would be impatient enough not to wait, or transport Trace to a faraway location.
“Address is a little ways off the national park.” He swore. “The property is on the land for shifters. He’s been hiding under our noses all this time.”
They never thought to check the woods, assumed Morgan would be hiding somewhere in town.
Mike leaned over his seat and fiercely signed. “We’ll get Trace back, Dusty.”
He nodded. His leopard was no longer that pissed off at Mike, but had directed his anger to the scum who rightfully deserved it. “A word of warning, Morgan is mine.”
“Fine, we’ll focus on getting Trace out and treating him for injuries,” Mike said.
He nodded, appreciating the honor of killing the fucker. Abram and Mike knew basic first-aid, and he didn’t think Morgan would injure Trace that badly, given Morgan would have wanted to spend some time with his mate.
The thought of that snake touching his mate, making Trace scream, made his leopard more volatile, even more on edge. By the time they neared the woods where Morgan’s place was located, it felt hard to breathe. His entire body burned hot.
Once the car stopped, he peeled off his shirt. Mike turned to him, eyes warning him to reconsider.
“Dusty, don’t lose to your animal. What if you can’t turn back to human?” There was fear in Mike’s eyes, telling Dusty Mike didn’t want to lose a brother, but this time, he was certain his leopard wouldn’t fail him or their mate.
“Trace is my number one priority.”
He chucked the rest of his clothes away, then shoved the door open. Fur covered his chest and shoulders, bones and organs rearranged themselves. When he leapt out of Abram’s car, he landed on all four paws. Not looking back, he ran into the nearest line of trees.
His nose instantly zoned in on Trace and Morgan’s scent. It wasn’t hard to find, especially on a trail this hot. He spied more droplets of blood on the ground, which made him hiss. Such a sloppy human. He couldn’t wait to turn Morgan to shreds so the snake could no longer hurt his mate. If losing control to his animal was the price, then it was one he’d gladly pay.
* * * *
When Trace came to, his leg felt like it was on fire. He jerked his head up, about to see where he was, only to discover he lay on something soft but scratchy—an old mattress that smelled of mildew and…blood. He gulped, tried his hands, but they were bound to the iron headboard behind him.
Cool air brushed against his bare skin. It took him a second to realize he had no clothes. Panic slammed into him and he struggled a little, tugging at the handcuffs on his wrists, but it was no use.
Sinister laughter came from the corner of the room. No, he realized, they were in some kind of cabin, but smaller than that because all four walls seemed to close him in. The cackle came from the door where Morgan stood in the shadows, watching him. A shack?
He heard the distinct call of a wild animal, a wolf perhaps, howling, and a chill went down his spine as he recalled Morgan bragging about taking him to a place no one could find him.
“Trace, I’m so glad you’re awake.” Morgan emerged from his hiding place. He was naked, scrawny, and covered in bad tattoos.
He swallowed. Revulsion filled him at the sight of Morgan’s dick, upright and hard. Morgan held out a kitchen knife and licked its rough edge, making him shudder. Once he’d fallen for the charms of this monster. How foolishly naive could he be?
“Where are we?” he whispered.
“Deep in th
e woods where no one can find us. This sweet place belongs to my friend Ted, but he’s somewhere in Alabama, hiding.”
Morgan traced the blade on the footboard. Trace leaned down and saw Morgan hadn’t left his wounded leg untended. Instead of the bits of fabric he used to wrap around it, it was now covered in thick bandages. Noticing where his attention was at, Morgan snorted. “I didn’t want a stupid broken leg to interfere with our fun.”
“What is wrong with you?” Trace demanded.
His situation unsettled him. Part of his mind couldn’t believe he was back in this horrible, helpless situation, but he knew he had to keep talking, distracting Morgan. Morgan might have started out a patient hunter, but the crazed look in the stalker’s eyes told Trace Morgan had reached the limits of his patience, and maybe his sanity.
Didn’t Morgan realize he was dealing with shifters, or did the psycho really believe he was so superior and smart, that he could outwit Dusty and his friends?
“Why go through so much trouble to kidnap me?” he asked.
“Why? Because in this world there are two kinds of people, the takers and the givers, and I’m about to take everything from you until you’re nothing but a screaming piece of meat. You make pretty art, Trace, but it’s my turn to make a bloody art work of your ugly body.”
Once, any depreciating remarks Morgan shot toward his direction stung, but not anymore because Dusty had shown him through loving actions that Dusty loved him the way he was.
He said nothing and that made Morgan frown.
“What the hell’s wrong with you? That furry made you his submissive little bitch so quickly? I heard they fuck like animals in the sack. Always knew you were a little pervert, so why keep it from me? We’re alike, full of dark things inside, so we need to fill ourselves with some fun.”
“I’m not like you.” The unexpected vehemence shocked him.
That made Morgan angry. He flinched as Morgan waved the knife before throwing it. It landed mercifully between his thighs, inches from his groin.
“Oh yeah? You going to keep holding onto that attitude, Trace? You forget. I obsess about your paintings because I recognized the same blackness in your soul. Mine’s the same.”
He swore he wouldn’t let Morgan’s words affect him, and yet doubt crept into his mind. Was Morgan right? He painted his pain on canvas, shocked the world devoured it so quickly. It was his internal struggles, his loneliness and isolation, that allowed him to make painting a living. Now that he was happy, different, would his art fail to get a similar reaction?
“See? I knew you’d see the truth in my words,” Morgan said, beaming as he plucked up the knife.
Morgan gave his soft prick a squeeze and he tried to shift away but the cuffs locked him in place. Morgan laughed. “I’m going to leave your dick for last. Let’s start here.”
Morgan set the knife over his left nipple. Fear paralyzed him completely but the door banged open, revealing the night sky and stars. He glimpsed a huge golden and black blur slam into Morgan from behind, tackling Morgan to the ground. Morgan’s surprised yelp, was followed by a ferocious roar that filled the space. Claws scratched on the wooden floor. He tried to sit up to see what was going on.
Dusty came for me.
The realization made his heart beat faster. Morgan started screaming but Dusty dragged Morgan outside, so he couldn’t tell what was happening anymore. Another man slid in. He tensed but it was only Mike.
He was embarrassed, seeing he was still naked, but Mike only took off his jacket, placed it over his shivering frame, then cut him loose by partially shifting his hands to claws.
“Abram’s out there,” Mike said, his tone odd, sad even. “He’s there in case—”
“Morgan’s no match for Dusty,” he said. “My mate’s amazing.”
Mike smiled at him, but it was strained, forced. Then it hit him. Dusty had attacked Morgan in leopard form. A year ago, Dusty nearly lost to his animal and it took Dusty twelve months to regain a measure of control.
His chest constricted. Mike had some kind of kit with him and set it on the dirty mattress, about to examine his leg, but he shoved the jacket away and swung his legs off the bed, although it was hard, painful. He nearly fell off the bed but Mike was there, catching him.
“Dusty, I need to see him,” he whispered, terrified he’d lost his mate.
The night was silent. Before, Morgan’s screams and Dusty’s growls had filled the air, but not anymore. Tears trailed down his cheeks but Mike didn’t budge, merely held him.
“Mike, I must go to him,” he practically screamed at the big tiger shifter, not caring about the pain in his leg, or anything else really.
“You have to understand, Trace. When shifter becomes berserk, he’ll attack those closest to him. Dusty will kill you.”
“I refuse to believe that. I love him so much. I can’t let him lose to his animal,” he cried out, stumbling forward, but Mike’s hold was like steel. “Mike, fuck you.”
Mike studied him for a couple of seconds, eyes heavy with emotion. “This isn’t easy for me either.”
“Dusty won’t go rogue if he can see me. I can coax him back to me. Didn’t the same happen with Abram and you? Kane and Bowen helped you return.”
Mike hesitated. “Fine, but lean onto me.”
With painful slowness, they walked out of the cabin only to see a large lion tangling with a leopard. A bloody lump lay by the trees, Morgan, but he didn’t give a fuck about that lump of meat.
At a glance, it was easy to tell they weren’t normal animals, because both were the sizes of horses. Snarls and hisses filled the space. Abram tackled Dusty onto his back.
“Dusty!”
Abram stopped at the sound of his voice. That momentary distraction allowed Dusty to reverse their positions. God, no. He couldn’t head home and tell Kane it was his fault Abram had lost his life, and worse, if Dusty realized he’d killed Abram, Dusty might slide further into his animal half. That couldn’t happen.
He fell to his knees, but Mike was beside him and didn’t stop him. Trace grabbed a small pebble and flung it at Dusty. His aim was off, so he did it again until Dusty’s golden eyes shifted to him, full of fury and lacking any trace of human conscience. Words might not reach his mate, but he had to try.
Dusty jumped off Abram and began padding to where they were. Mike automatically used himself as a shield. Dusty attacked. Mike and he collided and he saw Mike beginning to shift, too. Mike, now a fierce tiger, tried to nip at Dusty’s neck, but Dusty threw him away. Mike hit a tree and crumpled to the ground. Mike wasn’t dead, but unconscious, he realized.
He gulped, realizing it was now the two of them, a puny human against a fierce and dangerous leopard. God. The size of Dusty’s jaws alone could close around his head. Abram was bounding toward them, ready to defend him but he couldn’t stay frozen like this. Dusty dying wasn’t an option.
Instead of running, he held his arms wide. “Dusty, I love you.” He mouthed the words slowly, hoping Dusty still clung to his human mind to be able to read him.
Abram roared, but he yelled at the lion. “Don’t interfere.”
Dusty’s nose touched his now. The huge leopard breathed hard, claws digging into the hard earth, claws capable of ripping him to shreds.
He was scared out of his wits, but if anyone could look Dusty in the eye and bring Dusty back it was him. Holding the leopard’s eyes, he said the words over and over again, hoping they were enough to reach Dusty’s heart and remove the hold Dusty’s leopard held over him.
Chapter Eleven
The human smelled good, that was the leopard’s first thought. Scrumptious, despite being a little on the skinny side. Human meat would taste good, except this supposed prey animal wasn’t running away, but stood his ground. The cobwebs in his mind told the leopard this human wasn’t food, untouchable. Theirs, but how could that be?
The leopard was so tired. It had unfinished business with the lion and the tiger, dominant animals on his tur
f, but his gaze zeroed on the human, whose mouth kept moving, repeating the same thing. Three words, the leopard realized, words his fading human half understood.
That was right. The threat was dead, the cunning snake had been reduced to mere meat so now…what now?
Trembling arms reached forward. The leopard tensed, about to show this human some teeth, but he hesitated, feeling wetness on his whiskers, his jaw. Tears. This human with barely any meat on him had done the unthinkable and was comforting him?
Not any mere human.
Trace. Artist. Mate, who owned part of his heart and soul.
The labels opened up a flood of memories. He remembered seeing Trace at the edge of the cliff for the first time, their first date, the first time they’d made love. Just when Dusty thought he was a broken shifter no one would want, Trace entered his life and proved him wrong.
Over Trace’s shoulder, he hissed, seeing the tiger shifter getting up, recovering, but the tiger wasn’t an enemy either. Mike. Friend. Brother.
Trace cupped his muzzle, wary of his teeth but so brave. Fiery fire lit Trace’s eyes. Trace opened his mouth again but this time, he had no problems understanding the words.
“Come back to me.”
He reached for the human half he’d let go and realized there was no need to constantly fight with his leopard. His animal wasn’t the villain, his leopard was part of him the way Trace was part of him. The change was difficult, painful, but seeing Trace in front of him, touching him, helped immensely.
Back in human form, Dusty fell to his knees and enveloped Trace into a fierce hug. “Thank you,” he whispered in Trace’s ear. “For telling me you loved you, that you hadn’t given up on me.”
