by Lauren Dawes
Turning his head in her direction, he replied, “She can see how people will die.”
32
Neve watched the sign for the California border pass by her window. They’d been driving for nearly ten hours. She should be exhausted. She’d been awake for almost twenty-two hours straight, but she kept turning things over in her mind. She had a lot to think about too—her cousin, her parents…and then everything Drake had told her. All of it had been told in confidence, an exclusive sneak peek behind the curtain of mystery the Revenant kept around them.
She hadn’t even heard a whisper about special abilities among the group of jaguars who were the most feared and revered members of their society. After getting to know some of them a little better, she could see how each of their abilities molded their personalities.
“You should sleep.”
She looked over at Drake, at his strong hands gripping the wheel. “Why didn’t you let me drive?”
He shrugged, the movement gracefully rolling through the muscles beneath the fabric of his T-shirt. He’d taken off the duster at their last stop, revealing the weapons holster across his shoulders and back. The leather was black and well-worn, but his guns looked brand-new.
“I’m not tired,” he replied, eyeing her with interest.
“Me neither,” she whispered. Aside from everything else that her gray matter was chewing on, there was also the discussion they’d had about their relationship—if that’s what they could call it. She had to know whether a mating between them would be like her parents and every other shifter couple she knew of. Would they be on equal footing, or would the balance of power tip to him?
“What are you thinking about?” he asked.
“You said before that our mate bond needs to be sealed.” She noticed the subtle tightening in his jaw. “Can you explain that to me?”
“You sound like you’re actually considering it.”
She caught the surge of hope that welled in him. “I’m making an informed decision. My father taught me to get all the facts first.”
He was quiet for a moment. “The mate bond is sealed with an exchange of blood.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Once that’s done, the bond grows and strengthens. The only thing that will break it is death. And you should know that forming a mate bond with a Shadow holds very little risk for the arnasa.”
“Arnasa?”
“What you are to me. It means breath. Our arnasa breathes new life into us.” He shrugged as if his words embarrassed him, and she sensed it in him too. “At least that’s what I’ve been told.”
It was going to take her a while to get used to this. “Are there many Shadows who’ve found their mates?”
“No.” Sucking in a breath, he repositioned his hands on the steering wheel. His eyes shifted to the rearview mirror briefly, and she glanced over her shoulder to see the black Sprinter four car-lengths behind.
“You have to understand that we aren’t like regular shifters, Neve. We’re something else—something more.”
“Believe me, I’ve noticed,” she muttered dryly.
He glanced at her, holding her gaze for a long minute before a small smile curled up his mouth.
“Okay, so if you bond with…me, you get faster and stronger?”
He bobbed his head. “Yes, but it’s not that simple. It’s very risky—bonding ourselves to one female—and a lot of Shadows aren’t willing to accept it.”
“What do they risk?”
His eyes darted to the rearview mirror again. “In order to gain our powers, we have to concede a part of ourselves to our mate.” She frowned, but he continued, “Regular mate bonds and relationships give the power to the male, but for Shadows, it’s tipped the other way. You would hold the power in the relationship, and for a lot of males, especially dominant males like Shadows, they aren’t willing to give up their control. Our bond sparked the moment I saw you in your cat’s form. Whether you accept it or not, I’ll always be yours. Always.”
Drake wished he hadn’t spoken his last words aloud. Neve had closed herself off to him, and he let her. Clearly, she needed time to digest everything. The fact that she’d listened without denial was a good sign, but it was still early.
As they closed in on the Yellow Eye pride house, his cat began to shift and stir beneath the cage of his skull. Neve’s anxiety levels, which had been cruising along at a steady simmer, had spiked to a roar when he told her they were only about twenty minutes out from their destination. He took her hand, trying to calm her, to prepare her for what they might find.
“You need to know—”
“I know,” she replied sharply, cutting him off. “It could be body recovery.” She peered at him with her luminescent green eyes. “I overheard your talk to Mateo before we left. I know…” She swallowed. “I know we could find something very bad here.”
Drake pulled out his phone and called Mateo.
“Boss,” Mateo said. “Did you know that Sasha has never watched Die Hard? Like ever—Oww.”
“I hope she used one of her blades to shut you up,” he growled.
“She did,” he muttered. “What’s up?”
“We’re closing in on the pride house. There’s a fork in the road in about a mile. It cuts behind the property on a fire trail. I want you two to come in from the rear. Stay out of sight until you rendezvous with us at the front. Come in from the west. Stick to the trees. I don’t know what to expect, but I’m counting on a shit storm.”
“Roger, boss.”
He hung up and gripped the steering wheel tightly. When they passed the split in the road, he watched Mateo peel off to the left in the rearview mirror. A few minutes later, Drake made the turn up the long drive of the Yellow Eye pride house. A huge colonial style home emerged from between the trees, its white siding offset by dark green shutters. A low box hedge trimmed to within an inch of its life ran below the windows. The large parking lot was filled with cars—at least a dozen—all parked in neat, orderly rows like some bellhop from a ritzy Hollywood hotel had been getting his Tetris on.
Drake did a three-point turn, facing down the driveway in case they needed to make a quick escape. Shutting off the engine, he waited for a moment. No shots were being fired at the car yet, which he would take as a good sign. The back of his neck itched, though. They were going in blind, and his need for control was screaming at him.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He saw the way her spine straightened. That’s my girl. Reaching across, he wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and pressed a hard kiss to her mouth. She fisted his shirt in both hands, clinging to him for a moment before releasing him.
He pulled away and reached for one of his SIGs, handing it to her. She didn’t even hesitate, palming the weapon and studying it.
“Do you know how to shoot?”
“I’ve been training with some of the other males in the pride for a few years now. I can take care of myself.”
He let out a breath, relieved that she wasn’t a complete liability. “Only use this if you absolutely have to,” he told her solemnly. “The first shot is the hardest. You have to pull the trigger all the way back to disengage the hammer. After that, the trigger movement is much shorter. I hope you don’t have to use this, but I’d rather you were armed than not.”
There was steel behind her eyes when she replied, “Okay.”
“I’m going to get out first. I want you to stay behind me the whole time.” He waited until she nodded. Taking out his other SIG, he held it against his thigh and popped open his door. He slid from the seat, his eyes jumping from the covered porch to the dozen windows spanning both levels at the front of the house, as well as the three dormers on the roofline. He saw no movement, but the scent of copper was in the air.
Movement from the left side of the house drew his attention, and he raised his weapon only to let his arm fall to his side once more. It was Sasha and Mateo. Sasha had shifted, Mateo was
still on two feet. With his free hand, Drake motioned for them to stay low and make their way around to the back of the building. Mateo nodded and took off, Sasha moving faster than him and disappearing around the building.
He waited for a few moments then opened Neve’s door. “Ready?”
“Yes.”
No hesitation. Pride flowed through him. He realized Neve was a soldier. Sure, she may not have much formal training, but it took more than training to become a soldier. It took balls of steel and determination. It took the ability to make fear your bitch, and Neve had all those qualities in spades.
He stepped back to let her out of the car, using himself as a shield. His shoulder blades tightened as the sensation of being watched brushed against his skin once more. Turning his head, he did another quick scan of the surroundings, focusing more on the trees that lined the long driveway.
Neve held the SIG down near her thigh, her finger resting just outside the trigger guard, her gaze scanning the area.
“Stay close.” His words were just a breath, but she nodded. “If I tell you to run, you run, okay?” Pressing the keys to the Escalade into her hand, he met her gaze. “If I tell you to leave me and get out, get your ass into this car and drive.”
Although he could see she didn’t like his orders, she bobbed her head and he let out a deep breath. He couldn’t forgive himself if she got hurt.
“Do you think anyone is still in there?” she asked.
“I don’t know. If they are, they already know we’re here.”
Drake began walking toward the front door, trying the knob. It was unlocked, and he eased the door open. He waited a beat, then slipped inside with his gun raised. Neve was following at his back, close enough that he could feel the heat of her body. The scent of blood hit him a moment later, a wall of copper and salt that staggered him. Neve gasped, and he had to fight the urge to send her back to the car. If she was even considering becoming his mate, he needed to treat her like the independent female she was.
Following the muzzle of his gun, he took in the entry foyer. There was blood everywhere.
In everything.
On everything.
The more he looked, the more the house revealed its gruesome secrets, a macabre peep show that burned into his brain. There were at least three bodies in the first room to the left. The jaguars who were bleeding out weren’t the only broken things. Every stick of furniture was splintered or destroyed completely. Cushions were eviscerated, the couch frame shattered, the rug soaking up all that blood like a hungry sponge.
“Jesus,” Neve croaked in a hoarse whisper.
Keeping her close, he checked every corner of the room, but there was nothing left that was a threat.
“Do you recognize them?” she asked.
Drake took a knee and rolled over the first male who had died face down. His head canted off to the side with the movement, revealing more than just a broken neck. It looked as if someone had tried to take the head from his shoulders. Tendons and flesh stretched and snapped with the weight of the head, but no fresh blood seeped out. They’d been dead for a number of hours already. Jaguar shifters were tough, but Shadows were tougher, so whoever had done this was strong.
“It’s…” He cleared his throat. “It’s Tavaris, the Red Paw Shadow captain.”
He shook his head. Tavaris was an excellent fighter. He hadn’t even drawn a weapon, so whoever got the drop on him must’ve taken him by surprise. Looking ahead at the next body, he knew who it was already. He would’ve recognized that red hair anywhere. Still, he rolled the male over, coming face-to-face with Elian’s death mask of terror. His throat had been torn out, but there were absolutely no defensive wounds from what Drake could see. The guy didn’t even get the benefit of a warrior’s death.
The remaining body belonged to Van, Shadow captain of the White Fang pride. His stomach had been opened up, his intestines looped around his neck like a necklace. The sick fuck who killed him even dug his heart from his chest and placed it in Van’s slack hands.
The Red Paw, Gray Fur, and White Fang Shadow captains were all dead. He looked across the floor, passing over the broken furniture and bodies, trying to piece together the scene.
“What’s that?” Neve asked, pointing. Drake frowned at the upturned plate on the ground. He eased the coffee table out of the way and picked it up, studying the greasy, perfectly formed circles on its surface. Absently, he ran his thumb through the slick patch. Bringing the digit to his nose, he inhaled.
Belladonna. The tang of unripened tomatoes was unmistakable.
“Fuck. They were poisoned—incapacitated with nightshade.”
Neve’s mouth was a grim slash. “They ate them?”
“They can be mistaken for blueberries very easily,” he murmured, looking for more evidence that he was right. “It looks like they’d been baked into muffins.”
“Nightshade is bad, right?”
“It disrupts the nervous system, which would explain why there aren’t any defensive wounds on any of them.”
“They were slaughtered like animals,” Neve breathed.
A familiar sharp, short ascending whistle sounded from their right, and Drake turned. Mateo appeared in the foyer with Sasha. Sasha’s feet and forelegs were slick with blood.
“There was a human, a cook or something, who was still alive,” Mateo reported.
“Were they able to tell you anything?”
“He just kept muttering ‘they forced me.’”
Drake looked back down at the dead Shadows. All their clothing was intact, so they couldn’t have shifted in a rush, and the injuries weren’t consistent with claws and teeth. The cuts to Van’s stomach were surgical-neat, and no jaguar in cat form had the kind of dexterity needed to break someone’s neck and nearly decapitate them.
“Where else have you been?”
“Just the kitchen. The back door opened into it. We came here through a hallway that led to the foyer.”
“We have to clear this floor, then we can go upstairs.” He looked at Sasha. Was this what she’d seen? Did she know they were going to be too late?
Mateo said, “We’ll check the east side of the house. Rendezvous in two in the foyer?” The pair slipped from the room, and Drake turned to Neve.
“How are you doing?”
She swallowed before saying, “I’ll be fine.”
Giving her a firm nod, he led her through the archway that connected the living and dining rooms. The large table was unmarred by blood and had been set for about two dozen people. Everything was perfect from the highly polished flatware, the pristine china plates, and the creamy white candles that were lit and throwing off a cheerful glow in the center of the table.
“Two chairs are missing,” Neve said softly, pointing to the spaces at the far end. She walked around to the other side of the table and looked around. “Why is there no blood or bodies in this room?”
Drake shook his head. “I have no idea.” Staring at the white door on the opposite wall, he said, “Come on.”
Stepping around the table, he pushed it open and did a visual sweep. The kitchen looked worse than the living room did. There was a pile of bodies that had been stacked against the back door, but Mateo had obviously moved them when he and Sasha had entered. On the other side of the room, propped up against the bottom cabinets, was a dead man dressed in chef whites that were soaked through with blood from the stomach wound.
One of his own knives lay abandoned beside him.
He must’ve been suffering for hours.
To his left, there was another door. He was about to push through it when the sound of gunfire exploded through the house. Shoving Neve behind him, he brought up his gun and nudged open the door. This was the secondary entrance into the kitchen that was linked by a hallway. There was a feline hiss, and then the sound of bones breaking. A jaguar screamed, the sound vibrating through Drake and hitting him square in the chest, making him stumble back a step. Neve gasped, and her hand—which
had been on his shoulder—suddenly fell away, and he spun around and caught her before she hit the ground.
Her face was screwed up in pain. “Sasha?” she rasped. “I think I felt…”
He frowned. She shouldn’t have been able to feel that. It was him who had the connection to his cats…
The bond.
It was growing stronger.
He eased her down onto the ground and pressed the gun firmly back into her hand. He could feel Sasha suffering, and it was tearing at his cat. “I need to check on her,” he told her softly. “I’ll be back in two minutes.”
Her hand shot out and gripped his arm. For the first time, he saw true terror in her eyes. “Don’t leave me.”
Cradling her face in his hands, he kissed her mouth softly. “Do you trust me?”
She nodded.
“Trust that I will be back then.”
“If you’re not back in two minutes, I’m coming out to beat your ass for lying to me.”
He smiled at her fiercely, then stepped from the kitchen. As quietly as he could, he crept down the hallway, keeping the wall at his back. Another shot rang out, followed by a very human grunt. He came up behind the staircase that took up two-thirds of the foyer, using it for cover.
The sound of a hand-to-hand fight echoed around him, and he peered around the edge of the staircase to find Mateo fighting with another male. Drake recognized him as a Yellow Eye Shadow and tried to recall his name. He raised his gun, the muzzle following the action, but he couldn’t get a clean shot.
The Yellow Eye cat threw a punch, and although Mateo dodged it at the last second, it still caught him on the shoulder and spun him around like a top. He fell to the ground in a jangle of limbs, blood from multiple cuts on his face making him almost unrecognizable.
The other cat moved with preternatural speed, straddling Mateo’s hips and throwing punch after punch, his arms pistoning faster and faster, until they were nothing more than a blur. It was almost as if…
Mateo’s head kicked back into the tile each time, his skull making a dull thump with every strike. There was bloodlust in the other male’s eyes, his intention to kill Mateo like a neon sign for anyone who wanted to see it.
