My Feline Protector (Middlemarch Shifters Book 6)

by Shelley Munro

  Gerard gave his friend a curt nod, and Henry jumped from the top. The air whooshed from the landing pad as Henry’s bulk hit. London whimpered, and Gerard climbed the webbing, arms and legs pulling, pushing. In ten seconds he reached the top and discovered London descending at the pace of a sick snail. He slid his legs over the top and maneuvered to her side. The webbing swung with his weight and she moaned, her limbs trembling.

  “London, do you trust me?”

  She trembled.

  “London.” He spoke sternly to pierce her panic. “Do you trust me?”

  She gave a jerky nod.

  Pleasure suffused him at her response. Not the time. “Good.” And he turned her head to kiss her, really kiss her as he’d been longing to since he first spied her across the pub. The second she relaxed, he threw himself backward, wrenching her off the webbing.

  She screamed against his mouth, but he didn’t release his grip. Curvy. Perfect. He couldn’t wait to investigate more of her luscious body. An instant later, he hit the landing pad, and grunted when London’s flailing hand almost gelded him.

  “That will teach you,” Benjamin Urquart, one of the Feline council commented. The slight-built man wrinkled his pixie nose while his piercing green gaze brimmed with silent laughter and approval. “You have both completed this obstacle. You’d better get up before the next competitors arrive.”

  “Stop moving, English,” Gerard whispered. “We’re safe and alive, but if you keep thrashing around, I won’t be able to perform once you succumb to my charm.”

  “That might work with other women but it won’t with me,” she snapped as she rolled clear.

  “I’d believe you if you hadn’t kissed me back.”

  “I-I never!” An intense wave of pink bloomed in her cheeks.

  “Yeah, English. You did. We will share a bed, eventually.”

  Her mouth dropped open, and he stood, offering a hand to help her up. She accepted his aid and once they were both upright, he started running. “Come on. Henry and Jenny expect us to put in a good time. We can discuss this later.”

  “You are impossible.”

  “I’m charming and sexy, and I want to share my good traits with you.”

  “Good traits?” She snorted but broke into a run at his side.

  “Sounds as if there is another zombie territory up ahead.”

  They ran past two mature pine trees, the sharp scent of the foliage clearing his lust. One kiss hadn’t put a dent in his craving for her. He was feeling a sneaking sympathy for his friend Sam, who had waited for years to claim his mate. Gerard’s human mind hadn’t accepted this soul mate thing but his feline was leading him around by the dick. His feline side wanted London Allbright with her cool English accent, rounded curves, fear of heights and indifference to sports. Not the woman he’d pictured but the instant he touched her nothing else seemed to matter.

  “Not another hill. My legs are wobbling like a strawberry jelly.”

  “You’re doing great.” The truth. She was trying and keeping whining to a minimum. “Have I told you I’m great with massage?”

  “Yes.” She started up the slope, the moans and shouts from the zombie field becoming louder. “Where did you learn massage again?”

  “One of my girlfriends worked in sports medicine, and she taught me the correct way to massage.”

  “How many girlfriends have you had?”

  Gerard considered the question and gave up counting once he reached ten. Those were the more serious ones that had lasted at least two weeks and longer. He didn’t count the casual pickups or one-night stands. What guy hadn’t had those? “A few.”

  “Over five?”

  “Eight,” he said, picking his favorite number. “I’m older than you.”

  “I’m twenty-three. Twenty-four next month.”

  “Twenty-nine,” Gerard said. “So it stands to reason I’d have more relationships.”

  They crested the hill and halted to stare at the flat clearing below. Grassy with a stream running through, which split the area along the quarter mark. The zombies had trampled the grass and the stony ground near the banks of the stream appeared muddy. A plan formed.

  “We should run through the stream. The other runners are going through the larger portion and the zombies are picking them off. We can take them by surprise if we slog through the water. It’s not deep.”

  “How do you know?”

  “It’s ankle depth and, at worse, cold. We’ll need to take care on rocks but once we’re past the zombies then we can run along the bank.”

  “Couldn’t we creep through the trees around the clearing?”

  “They’re roped off. Can you see the red barrier on each side?”

  “Now you’ve told me. You have good eyesight.”

  “There will be a scrutineer making sure we navigate the clearing. Come on. I can see Henry.”

  “Jenny?”

  Gerard scanned the runners and spotted her number as she dodged a big zombie. “Yeah, she just lost a life. Let’s go. Clear on the plan?”

  “Yes. I will get wet and muddy.”

  Gerard chuckled at her forlorn tone. “I hear they have photographers at the finish line.”

  “Say it isn’t so,” she muttered as she followed him.

  She tripped and fell into him, almost knocking him off his feet. The proximity, her scent beneath the mud and the hint of blood from the scratch on her cheek drove him crazy. He held her until she regained her balance then a fraction longer to soothe his feline. “Okay?” His voice emerged rough and raw, the sound pushed past his protruding canines. Bloody hell. Sam had informed him of the loss of control, and Sam’s cousins, Felix and Leo, had backed him up, yet Gerard hadn’t believed them, not a word.

  “Sorry. My feet didn’t go the way my brain told them to.”

  As the path widened, he grasped her hand, his feline appreciating the physical contact while it kept his English lady from falling. His feline genes gifted him with a good sense of balance and surefootedness. “Faster,” he said, increasing his pace.

  “There are more zombies here.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll get past them.” He scanned the clearing and noted a zombie climbing over the red tape and rejoining the pack. Blood coated his white shirt and faded jeans while his hair lay in dusty dreads against his head. Whoever had done the makeup had done a brilliant job. These zombies looked like the real deal.

  “Through this entrance,” the scrutineer ordered, straightening from his lean against the trunk of a tree.

  Gerard yanked London through and sprinted for the stream, dragging her behind him. The water came to knee height, and it was bloody freezing. London moaned as the frigid water seeped through her leggings.

  “Come on, English. We need to move before they come after us.”

  A whistle blew without warning. “You!” the scrutineer hollered. “You’re going out of bounds.”

  Then a mournful howl filled the air, raising the small hairs at his scruff. Gerard’s head snapped around to search for Henry. “Fuck. That doesn’t sound good.”

  London tensed, the howl containing so much pain that tears sprang to her eyes. A second howl followed before the echoes of the first died.

  “Come on,” Gerard shouted and dragged her from the stream.

  He plunged through the mass of zombies, clearing a path with his determined bulk and sharp curses. Most of the zombies were staring in the direction of the howl, which was coming from the trees.

  “What is it? What’s going on?” London demanded.

  “Henry needs us,” Gerard snapped. “Faster.”

  The zombies recovered from their trance and hands grabbed at their ribbons.

  Another howl, louder and full of anguish, echoed through the clearing, and Gerard tossed zombies out of his way.

  When she couldn’t keep up, he dragged her with determination and she lost her footing.

  “Get the fuck out of my way.” Gerard growled and the circle of zombies too
k a collective step back.

  With their way clear, Gerard yanked her to the red tape surrounding the clearing. He stepped over, forging a path in the long grass. The howls were softer now, and it was easier to pinpoint their location.

  London dug in her heels, not sure she wanted to approach this creature—whatever it was. It sounded in so much agony.

  “London.” Gerard’s tone held demand, and she obeyed before she stopped again.

  Another howl rang out and Gerard released her hand with a curse, plunging through the tangle of undergrowth.

  “Henry.”

  London frowned. He’d mentioned Henry before, but he wouldn’t make this hair-raising noise. Goose bumps formed on her arms and legs, and she glanced over her shoulder, scanning the gnarled trunks of the trees, the profusion of green ferns and the dead leaves underfoot. It was darker under the trees. Creepy.

  “Fuck,” Gerard said, and it was the shock in his voice that got her feet moving again in his direction.

  “What is it?”

  “Stay there, London.”

  Something in the way he said her name instead of his teasing English made her disobey. Something was wrong, and she—

  London gasped and rushed forward.

  Jenny lay on the ground, a knife protruding from her chest and bright red blood covering her pale blue T-shirt.

  Gerard grabbed London before she could get to her sister. “No,” he ordered, his tone sharp. “We can’t help her now.” His tone gentled. “We’ll call the cops and they will help her.”

  Tears blurred her vision, and even though her heart railed against his instructions, her mind forced her to accept the truth. She and Jenny would never have another argument because someone had stabbed her sister in the chest. Someone had murdered Jenny.

  Isabella Mitchell appeared behind them. “What is it? What’s wrong? I smell blood.”

  Gerard glanced at Henry, saw the glassy-eyed shock on his friend’s face as he knelt by Jenny, then looked past a pale London to Isabella. “Do you have a phone?”

  “Yeah.” Blonde Isabella, Leo Mitchell’s mate, pulled a satellite phone from her jacket.

  “You’d better call the cops.” He shifted aside a fraction so she could see Jenny Weaver and the knife protruding from her chest.

  She nodded and made the call.

  Gerard appreciated a calm woman who didn’t rattle easy. He turned to London. “Stay right there, London. We don’t want to destroy the scene.”

  “Is-is she d-dead?”

  “I’m sorry, English.”

  Henry lifted his head and another one of those eerie howls filled the air. Crap. Too many humans around for Henry to lose control.

  Isabella edged closer, taking care where she stepped. “Saber and Leo are on their way. They’ll take care of Henry,” she said. “Did he do it?”

  “No,” Gerard snapped, glancing at his friend again. “They’d only just met, but he was halfway in love with her.” Henry didn’t react to his words, which worried Gerard. He’d never seen Henry act like this, not even after the bad times they’d faced together in the army.

  “Who is this?” Isabella jerked her chin in London’s direction.

  “London Allbright,” London said in a tight voice.

  Gerard heard the tight-held emotion in her, the hovering tears and wanted to hold her. He couldn’t though, not when Henry needed him.

  “Isabella?”

  Gerard recognized Saber Mitchell’s voice. Part of the Feline council, he was also the oldest Mitchell brother. Gerard knew he’d do right by Henry, not that Gerard intended to walk away from his best friend.

  Saber and Leo, Isabella’s mate, came to a halt by Isabella.

  “Fuck,” Leo said in vast understatement.

  “The cops are on the way,” Isabella said. “They’re coming from the station, so it will take them at least fifteen minutes.”

  “Good,” Saber said. “That will give us time to check the scene. Isabella, you’re best at this.”

  She nodded and approached the body.

  Gerard heard a whimper and turned his head. He watched London’s face crumple. Tears rolled down her face as she stared at Jenny, at the brown hilt of the knife protruding from her chest. The pool of blood that had settled beside her sister. On shaky feet, she edged closer.

  “Leo,” Isabella said in a sharp tone.

  Leo grabbed London before she could get to her sister. He whispered to her, and Gerard couldn’t hear what he said, but London cried in earnest and Leo wrapped her in a soothing embrace. Gerard shot a glance at Isabella and saw she didn’t appreciate Leo touching another woman. The feeling was mutual. If it wasn’t for Henry, Gerard would have pushed between the pair and taken London in his arms.

  “Henry.” Gerard tugged at his arm. “What happened? Henry!” Gerard stood and wrenched on Henry’s arm.

  His friend gave an anguished howl, and Gerard heard London’s gasp. Crap. Henry needed to get control of himself before the cops arrived. None of them could help Jenny if Henry scared the cops, and they panicked. He slapped Henry over the face. It had the opposite effect.

  Henry shifted farther into his wolf, his features becoming sharper and more canine.

  “The cops are here already.” Isabella’s voice carried. “No, it’s just Hannah. He hasn’t called in cops from Dunedin to help.”

  “Idiot,” Saber muttered. “I’ll meet him. Get Henry under control.”

  Gerard didn’t need the warning. He leaned closer to Henry and spoke in a harsh, clipped voice. “Soldier, I need you to get hold of yourself. Attention!”

  Henry’s entire body jerked. His shoulders straightened, and he climbed to his feet. His big friend trembled, his brown eyes glassy with shock.

  “We’ll find who did this, Henry. I promise,” Gerard whispered. “I promise.”

  The local cop was nearing retirement, and his mind wasn’t on the job these days. According to local gossip gathered since he and Henry arrived in Middlemarch, finding two bodies had been the final straw. PC Tom Hannah scowled at the third body, then huffed as he pulled up his trousers and settled them into position on his well-padded hips.

  “Who found her?” the policeman asked.

  “Henry,” Saber said.

  Hannah surveyed Henry and scowled again.

  “This is my fault,” Henry whispered, loud enough for Hannah to hear and jump to conclusions.

  “I have backup coming. I want you to return to the clearing,” Hannah ordered. “You’ve trampled the scene enough. Go!” He threw up his hands. “I don’t know what is wrong with the people around here.”

  Gerard looked to Saber, and he gave a curt nod.

  “We’ll take London,” Isabella said. “You get Henry.”

  Gerard took Henry’s arm. “Come on, mate. Let’s move and let the cops take care of Jenny.”

  When Henry didn’t budge, Gerard exerted pressure around his shoulders. Hell, his friend was going the stubborn route.

  “This is all my fault,” he repeated.

  “How? You didn’t do it.” Aware of the cop’s ears flapping, Gerard stopped asking questions. “Henry.” He forced an order into his tone, and to his relief, Henry allowed Gerard to lead him into the zombie clearing.

  They joined Saber and the others. More runners kept coming and Gerard saw that Leo and the scrutineer were directing the arriving competitors around the clearing toward the next obstacle. He scanned the zombies and runners still present.

  “I saw a zombie come out of the trees as London and I entered the zombie territory. I thought he’d gone to relieve himself.”

  Saber’s look was sharp. “Recognize him?”

  “He looked like a zombie.” Gerard scowled, trying to remember. “Hell, it could have been a female. He or she was big.”

  “See them in the crowd?”

  Gerard studied the loitering zombies. They chatted to one another and sipped from water bottles, their faces garish with makeup. Their grins displayed blackened teet
h. One had bloody teeth. They kept moving, shifting positions within the knots of groups, and with their costumes and makeup, none of them stood out as individuals. The guy he’d seen had been tall. Most of these zombies were shorter, teenagers and kids. He had seen no one leave, but maybe one of the other zombies had noticed.

  “I can’t see the zombie, but they are similar. We could question the zombies and ask how many were here.” Gerard wanted to go to London, but stayed put. He’d met London last night. His feline wanted her. He was sure she was the one for him, but Henry needed him more. If he were in the same position, Henry wouldn’t hesitate to offer his help—whether he asked for it or not—and he could do nothing less.

  “The other cops might not be here for half an hour or longer,” Saber said. “Henry.” His tone was stern alpha leader, and Henry’s shoulders straightened from their slump. “Did you do this?”

  “No.” Henry’s voice was gruff, his eyes narrowed at the accusation. “She was my mate. I wanted to keep her.”

  “Did you argue about it? Her staying?” Saber demanded.

  “No, she wanted to stay in Middlemarch. I told her she could live with me if she wanted, but she said she’d rent a house. She was just out of a bad marriage, and she wanted to take things slow. I was fine with that. I knew my mind.” The grief in his words made Gerard’s throat tighten. He’d never seen Henry like this over a woman.

  “Why was she in the bush?” Gerard asked.

  “I don’t know for sure. A toilet break? One minute she was with me, and the next she disappeared. There was so much noise. I didn’t see where she went. I dodged the zombies and caught her scent. And then, I found her.”

  “Did you see anyone?” Saber demanded.

  Gerard frowned. “Get a whiff of a foreign scent?” He had detected nothing out of the ordinary, but then he hadn’t thought to check for other scents. There was the blood and greenery, a hint of mud and water. “Footprints? Hell, we tromped through there to get to Henry.” He answered his own question. “Anyone else notice anything?”

  “Just the blood,” Saber said. “Leo and Isabella mentioned nothing unusual.”

  “We need to split up, question the zombies and the competitors who are still here,” Gerard said. “Before the rest of the cops get here.”