Hour of the Lion, Cherise Sinclair [good story books to read TXT] 📗

take out his guards. Another unclothed stranger stood on the far side of the chair.

The government man spoke, his voice quiet. "Vidal, I suggest—"

"Shut up!" Vidal lined the pistol up with the agent‘s forehead, feeling his hand begin to shake. Fucking disease. But he had the cure, now didn‘t he? He smiled at the two unclothed men.

"Swane described you. You‘re the cop and the daddy."

The dark one gazed back, pupils completely black, and growled.

A chill ran up Vidal‘s spine at the murderous anger radiating from him…from them both.

He shifted his weight and ignored the creeping of fear.

"What happened to Swane?" Vidal asked, then shook his head. Didn‘t really matter. If the werecats were here, the bastard must have got himself caught—and spilled his guts.

He needed to get the hell out of here before more CIA or creatures showed up. He had only one cage though. It could hold two animals—but he wanted to keep the woman.

Vidal aimed the gun at the one by the fireplace. "I don‘t need you." He pulled the trigger.

Calum saw the man point the pistol at Alec. No! He shifted and sprang as the pistol snapped.

He heard the gut-wrenching sound of a bullet hitting flesh and knew despair. On his knees, Alec couldn‘t have moved fast enough to dodge.

He hit Vidal from the side, knocking him down. The human tried to scramble away, but fury raging, Calum bit through his spine. With barely a shudder, the human died.

Lachlan was avenged. And Alec.

Calum shifted to human and turned, unsure if he could bear the sight of his brawd‘s lifeless body. But—

Alec was alive. Alive! It was Victoria, in panther form, who lay on the floor, incongruously still in her black clothing. The stretch top had a hole in it, and blood already pooled on the floor.

Kneeling, Alec ran a hand down her fur. "Damn, Vicki," he said hoarsely, "trawsfur back so I can get a bandage on that."

A blur, and she returned to human. She merely grimaced at her shoulder, but when she saw her handler‘s shock at her transformation, her face crumpled for a second.

His heart hammering, Calum went into the bathroom and grabbed a clean towel. He tossed it to Alec. "I thought he‘d killed you, brawd," he managed to say.

"Me too. Vixen took—" Jaws set hard, Alec ripped the cloth into a make-shift dressing for Victoria‘s shoulder.

"It‘s a time-honored tradition—take a bullet for your buddy. You know I like my traditions."

She shrugged and winced.

"How bad does it hurt?" Alec asked in a tight voice.

"Pain is weakness leaving the body," she said lightly.

"You were a Marine? I should have known." He put pressure on the hole, scowled at her back. "It went through. Change into cat form soon—that‘ll help."

Calum squeezed Alec‘s shoulder just to feel his warm skin, know he was alive. Then he touched Victoria‘s cheek. "Thank you."

She nodded, her lips curved up in a wry grin. "Next time, consider using the door. Glass and tied-up men don‘t mix well."

"We will keep that in mind."

"Is Vidal dead?" she asked, her voice disconcertingly level, obviously familiar with violent death.

He should have considered the implications of that before. With an effort, Calum shoved his feelings to one side and reached for clarity. The jolt of seeing Victoria had been followed by too many others, and he could not afford to lose control...or his judgment. "He‘s dead. As is Swane.

Irma will be safe, and Lachlan can rest easy in his grave."

Alec rubbed his face, sighed, and then asked, "What do the guards outside know?"

"They‘re Vidal‘s thugs. And they didn‘t see anything," she answered. "You‘re safe. There‘s nobody left who—"

Calum glanced at the handler. "Just one."

Victoria stiffened. "Calum. No."

He studied her for a moment. She‘d burned the information, saved Alec‘s life. Hope tried to ease past his barriers as he looked at her. She‘d used all those military skills to help the Daonain today. Maybe, just maybe, she wouldn‘t have to pay the penalty. His voice soft, he said,

"Victoria, return to Cold Creek. We‘ll talk. Perhaps—"

She interrupted, "What are you planning to do to him?"

"He cannot retain his knowledge of us."

Her appalled expression grew. She looked over at Alec. "You said it worked good on one-time spottings. More than that, and you destroy big chunks of their memory. You can‘t do that to him."

"Vicki, there‘s no choice." Alec held his hands out. "He‘s with the government. They‘ll try to exterminate us."

Her face turned cold. "No. It‘s not a risk I‘ll allow."

Calum felt the tiny splinter of hope die.

"Vicki," Alec said softly, "don‘t. You can‘t win against both of us."

She slid a pistol out of the small black bag beside her.

Calum looked at her easy grip, the tilt of the automatic, and sighed. One more skill she possessed. "I do not think you will kill us."

Her finger tightened on the trigger, loosened. "Probably not." The pistol dipped lower, pointed directly at Alec. "But if you figure it‘s okay to damage Wells‘ mind, then I guess it‘s okay to blow out Alec‘s knee. It‘d cripple him for life, Calum. There‘d be no bone left there to heal."

Calum tilted his head in acquiescence, his heart turning to ash inside his chest.

She stepped backwards. "Bring your car to the front, Wells."

Silent as a cat, the man slipped out the door. Too soon, the hum of an engine came from outside the house.

Calum caught her gaze. "You are a shifter, Victoria. We‘re your people." Please hear me.

Don"t do this to us all. "If you leave with him, I will have to call for your death. Is this truly what you want?"

She started to speak, then shook her head. As she backed toward the door, tears filled her eyes.

But the pistol never wavered.

*

Daylight was breaking when Vic finally decided she‘d driven far enough. She was high in the mountains, almost to the Canadian border, and miles down a tiny fire road. With a sigh, she shut the engine off and rested her forehead on the steering wheel. She‘d cried enough, cursed