Chapter Fourteen
“But you weren’t.” Bree’s hand tightened on his. “You didn’t kill those men. You made it to find me. I helped you, and you helped me. You came back from it.”
Seamus dragged in a long breath, finding the cool sweetness of the night beyond the blood. “Yes. I came back. But the other hunters thought the killer was me. I thought I was.”
And so they’d chased him, shooting, ready to bring him down.
“Well, that’s a relief,” Ronan broke in, cutting through Seamus’s horror. “Won’t have to kill you then. I kind of like you, Feline.”
Seamus reached for grim humor. “Good thing. I’m sleeping in your house tonight.”
“Bree,” Dylan said abruptly. “How long were you were in the roadhouse?”
“Um.” Bree pursed her lips as she thought. Red, sweet-tasting lips. Now that Seamus knew—or mostly knew—what had happened, his thoughts were turning to his other pull. The need for Bree.
“I’d say a little over an hour.” Bree said. “I ordered one drink and looked for someone to talk to. Shifters were standoffish there.”
Ronan nodded. “They don’t much like strangers. Come to Liam’s bar. We’re much more friendly. I’m the bouncer—I make sure everyone’s more friendly.”
Seamus pictured Bree in the small bar they’d passed on the way to Shiftertown, swaying to music in her tight skirt, while Shifters vied to get next to her. He growled and tightened his hold on her.
Bree didn’t seem to mind. She answered Dylan, “If you’re asking me if I saw any Shifters in the bar who might have killed the hunters, I don’t think so. None of the Shifters there looked insane—well, not obviously, anyway. They were all Collared and comfortable with each other, as much as Shifters of different species from different Shiftertowns can be. If one was feral, I’m sure they would have noticed.”
Dylan only grunted and gave her a nod of thanks.
“Which leaves us where?” Walker asked. He’d been quiet, waiting and listening. Seamus liked to do that too. “Are you saying there’s an unknown, feral Shifter on the loose?”
“I want to go back to the safe house,” Seamus said. “The one out here. When I was there, I knew something was wrong. I bet I was sensing the feral watching us. Watching me.”
No one suggested that it was futile running around in the darkness. They went back to the truck, got in, and Walker drove away, following Seamus’s directions again.
Ideas, thoughts, worries, swam in Seamus’s brain. He tried to keep himself calm, tried to sort through them. The feral beast who’d attacked him had touched something feral inside him. Bree had told Seamus he wasn’t a killer, and Seamus was starting to believe it. But something feral inside him had awakened, a disturbing wildness he couldn’t ignore. Something was going on with him, and he needed to figure out what.
Bree’s scent wrapped around him as Walker’s truck bumped its way down the washboard road. She was right in a world that was wrong. A light in the darkness. Bree understood about grief, but she was living her life. The hole in that life, left by her brother’s death, wasn’t stopping her.
Seamus’s need for her cried out to him, a craving so strong he could seize her now, leap out of the truck, and run off with her to some place where they could be together. Alone. Not surrounded by Shifters, hunters, killers, and a guy from Shifter Bureau.
Bree leaned against him, her sleek hair brushing his chin. Seamus slid his arms around her and rested his cheek on her head.
The safe house was difficult to see in the darkness, which was why Seamus had chosen it. It was a small house, abandoned, that must have stood here for fifty or sixty years. Seamus had shored it up and put in new windows and plumbing when he’d still lived in Kendrick’s compound, fortifying it against a day he’d need it.
Other trackers had done similar things with the houses they used, but even the trackers didn’t know where each other’s safe houses were. Kendrick liked compartmentalization. If one tracker was compromised, he couldn’t compromise them all.
Walker stopped where Seamus directed. Dylan took Seamus’s key from him and led the way into the house, leaving Ronan to circle the place, looking for signs of intrusion. They’d found none so far. The place looked empty.
Even so, Dylan wanted to go first, his duty as strongest Shifter in the party to lead the way. Walker insisted on bringing up the rear, drawing a dark, thick-barreled pistol. Humans liked to do that, protecting from behind, which did make sense, especially with Bree between them.
The house, which consisted of two rooms and an attic, was empty. Seamus caught a whiff of his own scent—damn, he must have been nervous—Francesca, equally as nervous, and the rather soothing scent of baby Katie.
The aura of Katie’s presence calmed Seamus. She was such a happy cub, in spite of her beginnings. But then, she’d been snatched away from death, cared for, loved. Katie enjoyed the hell out of her life. She was with Francesca now, in Shiftertown, as safe as she could be under the circumstances.
Over the scents of himself, Francesca, and Katie, Seamus detected the scent of another Shifter. The feral. Not strong—the feral wasn’t there now—but Seamus’s skin crawled. He felt his eyes change to his wildcat’s, tension scraping his nerves raw.
They checked out the entirety of the small house, but found nothing. The Shifter hadn’t left evidence of himself behind, nothing helpful like a note with directions to where he’d gone. The feral had come here, looked around, and departed.
They found no signs that Seamus and his charges had been living here either. Seamus hadn’t left anything to betray their presence. He’d learned long ago the importance of being thorough.
Ronan came in the front door. “Hey, come see what I found,” he said. Without another word, he turned around and faded back outside.
Seamus led the way this time, too impatient to wait for Dylan to play alpha. Ronan took them around the house to the back then moved some boards away from the foundation to show them a dark, gaping hole.
The scent that poured out of it was strong, fetid, disgusting. Seamus clapped his hand over his nose and mouth, and Ronan turned away, his face gray. Even Dylan backed a step or two, growls coming from his throat.
No one was there. Walker volunteered to go inside and look around, since his sense of smell wasn’t as strong as the Shifters’, and no one argued with him. The scent was making Seamus want to shift and get the hell out of there, and he knew Ronan had to be feeling the same way.
Walker flashed a light around inside then came back and hoisted himself out of the opening. “He used this space to access the inside of the house by popping out the floorboards above him,” Walker announced as he climbed to his feet and dusted himself off. “Then replaced them when he left again. That’s why the door was still locked, windows unbroken.”
“What was he looking for?” Ronan asked. His voice sounded nasally as he tried to breathe only through his mouth. “Seamus? Or just a place to stay?”
“I don’t know,” Seamus said. “Unless he was one of Kendrick’s Shifters, and went feral when we had to go to ground. That’s what I thought was happening to me. He might have been looking for me to help him, but been too crazy to let me.”
Dylan gave Seamus a thoughtful look. “I’m thinking there’s more to this than we understand,” he said. “But now that we know there’s a rogue feral out there, I’ll round up my trackers, and we’ll hunt him. We’ll find him.”
“Let me join you,” Seamus said. “If it is one of Kendrick’s Shifters gone bad—I’ll know him. He might respond to me.” Seamus would try to help him—going feral was no Shifter’s fault—but the guy had to be stopped. The feral was out of control, had murdered those men, and had tried to kill Seamus, not to mention leaving him to be blamed for the killings. Seamus didn’t have a lot of sympathy for humans who hunted Shifters for sport, but they hadn’t deserved such a death.
“Of course you’re coming with us,” Dylan said. “You’ll know
him when you encounter him, and I want to keep an eye on you.”
Dylan and his trackers would hunt the Shifter, figure out who he was and what he was, and try to bring him back to sanity if they could.
If they couldn’t, then they’d do what Shifters had to with ferals—end his life and send him to the Summerland. After that, Seamus would be free to discover what he had with Bree, to be with her.
Maybe. His fear that he might hurt Bree hadn’t entirely gone. The feral should not have been able to drag Seamus into the madness with him.
Seamus also needed to figure out what had happened to Kendrick, what to do with Francesca and Katie, and whether Bree wanted a Collarless rogue Shifter to fall in love with her.
If he stayed in Shiftertown, what would happen to him? If he managed to escape, what about Bree? And Francesca and Katie?
Too many things. Seamus was a fighter, a soldier. He followed orders and left big decisions up to Shifters like Kendrick or Dylan.
Seamus had the feeling, though, that this time, the decisions had to come from him. And Bree. This was his life, not simply carrying out the orders of a leader. His brain hurt.
“You all right?” Bree asked, taking his hand as they walked back to the truck.
“No,” he said. He drew her close, his arm stealing around her waist. “But it’s better when I’m with you.”
***
Back in Shiftertown, Bree filled Francesca in on what had happened, while Dylan had a quick conference in Ronan’s living room with all the Shifters.
Bree heard Dylan and Walker relating what they’d found out at Seamus’s safe house, then Dylan called the hunt to start in the morning, after they’d rested. Most feral Shifters reverted to being entirely nocturnal, Dylan said, and they would likely catch the Shifter napping—literally. Trackers from San Antonio had been recruited as well, Dylan finished, to watch the safe house tonight to see whether the feral returned. Dylan would be on alert, as would Liam and Sean.
After that, the trackers scattered, and Seamus nearly crashed to the floor.
Bree couldn’t convince him to go to bed, though, until he was one-hundred percent certain that Katie would be all right. She’d been given a bed in the room with Cherie, a grizzly who was about twenty-one in human years, but still a cub in Shifter terms. Francesca would share the room as well, and Olaf insisted they set up a cot in it for him. He was determined to look after Katie. Seamus checked the room, the house, the Den, the yard, and the perimeter of the yard before he confessed himself satisfied, for now.
Finally, Bree dragged Seamus to bed.
No one questioned that Seamus and Bree would share a bedroom. The other Shifters only said good-night and trundled to their rooms to sleep, and Walker and Rebecca retired to the Den.
Bree had a low-voiced conversation with her mother after she marched Seamus upstairs—she had to use Ronan’s land line in the kitchen, since Sean still hadn’t returned her cell phone.
“Really, Mom, I’m fine. You sound like you’re having a good time with Kim and Carly. We’ll go home tomorrow. Tonight, I need to make sure Seamus is okay.”
“Sure you do.” Nadine skepticism floated over the phone. “You know, I never thought my grandchildren would be Shifter, but if this is the only way I get any ...”
Bree made a noise of exasperation. “Mom, you are so ahead of yourself. Good night.”
“I’m just saying. Be careful over there.”
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” Bree said firmly. “Good night.”
“Good night, honey. Love you.”
“Love you too.” Bree said it in all sincerity. She and her mom had their ups and downs, but they’d survived a lot together, had made it because underneath their banter, they had a love that couldn’t be broken.
Bree hung up the phone and walked upstairs and into the bedroom they’d been given, a small one that had belonged to Rebecca.
Seamus lay face down on the bed, sound asleep.
Bree closed the door and stood at the end of the bed, looking at him. Seamus was stretched out in exhaustion, one hand flung across the covers, the other hanging over the side of the mattress. He’d managed to get his boots and socks off, and his strong bare feet dangled off the bottom of the bed.
Bree had been able to wash up and brush her teeth with a toothbrush Ronan’s mate had purchased for her, and now she stripped out of her clothes, sliding under the sheet in her bra and panties. She snapped off the light on the bedside table and snuggled down.
Seamus didn’t move. A faint snore trickled into the room. Moonlight touched Seamus’s tanned skin and danced in the darkness of his hair.
Bree had never seen him so relaxed. Since she’d met him, Seamus had been tense, wound to one focused point. He’d been afraid and trying to bottle up his fear to protect not only Katie and Francesca, but Bree as well. And her mom. Even the cat.
Bree leaned across the bed and kissed his cheek. She savored the warmth of his skin, the rough burn of his whiskers.
Seamus’s eyes popped open. They glittered gold in the dark, a Shifter coming fully awake and alert.
Before Bree could say word, Seamus rose over her and bore her back into the bed. Bree found her arms full of strong-bodied Shifter, who covered her mouth with a slow but forceful kiss.
Seamus’s mouth was a hot place, his lips both leisurely and intense, as though he planned to kiss her all night. Bree surrendered down into the mattress, ready to let him.
She tugged at his T-shirt, dragging it up so she could touch him. Seamus impatiently broke the kiss and shrugged the shirt off, then nearly ripped her bra’s hooks to open it and fling it aside. Her underwear quickly followed.
Bare chest to bare chest, they came together, Seamus’s heart beating hard above hers. Bree drew her fingers down Seamus’s smooth back and slid them under the waistband, finding the taut mound of his buttocks beneath. No underwear. She’d thought as much.
“Need you,” Seamus said. “Need you, my mate. Can’t stop myself.”
Bree didn’t want him to. She worked her fingers around to the front of his jeans and popped open the button. The zipper hissed, and Bree plunged her hand inside to close it around his very hard cock.
Seamus froze. His eyes became a light golden color, as though he wanted to shift, and barely contained it. Or maybe he simply liked what she was doing. Bree stroked him once, enjoying how large he was. It would be a tight squeeze when he came inside her, but she wouldn’t let that stop them.
She shoved at his jeans, which he got himself out of. Seamus kissed his way down her throat to her breasts, his warm mouth trickling heat across her flesh. Bree arched, wanting him.
“The whole of you,” he said. He licked between her breasts. “You called out to me from the first. I belong ... with you.”
“I’m not minding that,” Bree whispered.
Seamus lifted away, repositioning himself to fit his body to hers. His cock brushed her opening, the already sensitive place shooting fires along every nerve.
So. This was being with a Shifter.
No, this was being with a man who was extraordinary, beautiful without knowing it, gentle and caring and at the same time, with an edge of unpredictability. His eyes took her in, the downward sweep of his gaze telling her he liked what he saw.
Bree smiled at him, liking him too. Seamus dragged in a breath, raised his hips, and slid inside her.
Large? Yes. Bree gasped as he filled her, opening pieces of her she hadn’t realized were closed.
Seamus emitted a soft moan, his eyes flicking to Shifter, the gold of them vivid. Then he closed his eyes, his face relaxing even more as he began a sweet rhythm.
Bree wrapped her arms around him, twining her legs with his as he thrust into her, his first movements slow and sensual. The room was cool, November wind tapping at the window, but warmth swathed them. Bree pushed the sheet away.
Bare to the night, they loved each other, Seamus increasing his thrusts, Bree rising to meet him. He needed t
his; she needed it. Emptiness was flowing away, her heart healing for the first time in a long, long time.
Slow sensations fled as desperation came upon them, Seamus moving faster, Bree sliding hands to his buttocks, urging him on. Seamus’s biceps bunched as he held himself from crushing her; Bree clung hard to him.
Madness was coming over her, a dark wash of climax—blissful, hot waves she gladly drowned in. She heard her voice rising, but everything went away, every worry, fear, and caution. All she knew was Seamus joining with her, spiraling her into a place of bright delight, one hot point of pleasure.
It lasted so long, both of them meeting in that place of fire, his shouts blending with hers. Just when Bree thought she’d never endure more—but damn, she did not want it to end—they crashed together on the bed, gasping, kissing, sealed together.
After a while, they eased into quietude, catching their breaths. Seamus smiled at her—the first time he’d done so. It was a wicked smile, one of both triumph and joy.
“Beautiful,” he whispered as he came down to her. “I’ve never seen anything as beautiful as you.”
“You’re not bad yourself,” Bree mumbled, exhaustion stealing her powers of speech. “In fact, you’re pretty hot.”
Seamus’s low laughter shook the bed, and to this agreeable lullaby, Bree dropped into sleep.
***
A wild scream broke the darkness. Bree jumped awake, her heart banging.
The sound was more like a wail, a horrible noise that wound high, boring through Bree’s brain. The sound came from outside, but an instant later, it was echoed by Seamus, who threw back his head and roared as though all the pain in the world had gathered within him.
Bree rolled away and scrambled to her feet in sheer panic. Seamus came off the bed, his hands on either side of his head, his eyes so light gold they were nearly white.
“Hurts,” he moaned. “Hurts.”
From outside came shouts, more screams, animal cries. Bree didn’t want to take her gaze off Seamus, but she ran to the window and looked out.
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