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

breath, tried blinking her eyes. The big cat still paced the cage. Am I drugged? Like when Private Renner had a bad reaction to morphine and spent hours screaming about ghouls eating his heart.

Or maybe she had a concussion. Yeah, this wasn‘t happening. She didn‘t believe in ghosts, ghouls, or people changing into mountain lions. Woo-woo stuff was for flakes and druggies.

'Cut the crap, Swane.' A man said from the stairs. White, average height, heavy build.

Older, in his sixties. Wearing a suit. Scarred knuckles matched his battered face, nose busted in the past, thin lips and dead-cold eyes. Might be in nice clothes, but the body inside said thug.

'He can‘t talk in cat form.'

'Not my fucking fault. I only tapped it,' Swane said. When the cat swiped at the cattle-prod with three-inch claws, he used the prod until the cat shrieked in pain. 'It‘s not gonna talk anyway.' Swane tossed the device onto a table. 'Fucking thing would rather starve. Look at it—

it‘s dying.'

'Dammit.' The suit crossed the room to the cage where the cat paced back and forth. 'It‘s amazing he‘s still alive. He should have died the first week with what you did to him. The creatures are fucking strong.'

'An‘ you really want to turn into that?' Swane spit on the floor.

Vic stared. The suit wanted to become an animal? Was he insane?

His face turned ugly. Brutal enough that Swane took a step back. 'I‘m not paying you to think. Just to get answers.' He glanced over his shoulder. 'What happened with the old bitch?'

Swane walked over and, with his foot, he shoved the woman onto her back. Hands and feet tied, she blinked blankly as froth trickled from her toothless mouth. 'Another goner.' Swane nudged her with his boot.

'Get rid of her.'

'Will do.' Swane‘s mouth pulled into a twisted smile as he set his boot on the woman‘s throat.

Before Vic could move, she heard the crunch of breaking cartilage, and then it was too late.

Sucking air through her teeth, she tried to stay motionless against the fury rising inside.

Expressionless, Swane watched the old woman‘s strangling efforts to breathe, her death spasms. When her body finally stilled, pleasure shone in his eyes, and his filthy jeans showed his erection.

Sick bastard. Vic clenched her jaw. She should have done something, created a diversion. I didn"t save a helpless woman. Her war-torn past stretched out behind her, littered with bodies—

testaments to the times she hadn‘t moved fast enough, discovered enough information, or pushed herself hard enough. The ones she‘d failed.

'You were clever to test this first, boss.' Swane glanced at the body. 'You could have ended up like her.'

'Why are they dying, dammit? Why the fuck don‘t they change?' The suit hit the table with his fist, then stared at the dead woman. 'They‘ve all been druggies, alcoholics. Maybe they‘re too unhealthy to survive being bit.' When his gaze lit on Vic, he walked toward her.

She closed her eyes completely.

'Didn‘t kill her, Swane?' His voice held a thinly concealed taunt. 'The bitch looks healthy enough. Let‘s give her a try.'

'No. She‘s mine. I kept this piece of ass for me, not you.'

Vic‘s skin crawled at the thick lust in his voice. Icy fear punched past the tight grip she‘d maintained on her emotions.

'You can fuck her all you want…after.' The man slapped her hard. 'Still out. Toss her in the cage while I tranq the cat.'

A second later, Vic heard the whap of a tranquilizer gun. Fuck, what were they planning?

Can"t afford fear—push it aside. When Swane grabbed under her arms, Vic made her move.

Clamping her elbows to her sides, she pinned his hands and swung her legs up toward his head.

She opened her eyes in time to ensure that her feet hit him in the face. The crack of impact felt infinitely satisfying.

Baldy toppled backward, releasing her.

Jaw set tight, she rolled up and onto her feet.

He rose, shaking his head, looking like he‘d been raised on steroids instead of candy.

Considering the Marine tattoos covering his neck and arms, his fighting skills might be as good as hers.

Vic took a step back, feeling cartilage grate. That kick hadn‘t done her knee any favors. She back-pedaled toward the stairs, trying to disguise her limp. As Swane advanced, she dropped into cat stance, the foot in front tapping the floor lightly, ready to kick him into never-neverland.

'Don‘t move, cunt.'

Vic froze. The suit had the tranq gun in his hand, dart already loaded, aimed right at her chest. He motioned to the panther‘s cage. 'Crawl in or Swane will stuff you in there unconscious.'

She took a step back. In with the mountain lion? The rush of terror made her head spin. 'No way.'

'Open it,' the suit said to Swane.

Scowling, Swane worked the combination padlock and half opened the door. 'Stop dicking around and just shoot her. Better yet, give her to me for a while. When I get through, she‘ll beg for the cage.'

If he tranked her, she wouldn‘t have a chance of escaping. Eyeing the groggy cat warily, she bent and entered the cage, feeling Swane‘s anger like a wave of heat as she crawled past.

The cat was on its side, head nodding, eyes glazed.

'Do it before he changes back.' The suit slammed the cage door shut.

She turned, 'Do what—' and the psycho shoved the cattle-prod into her stomach. Fiery pain blistered across her skin, and with a yell, she staggered backward. Right into the snarling cat.

She landed hard, tangled in its legs, scrambling to get away. Paws seized her. Its claws ripped into her back, and the mountain lion sank its teeth into her shoulder.

'God!' Agony tore through her. She kicked, nailing it in the stomach. The animal snarled viciously. She shoved herself free, its claws tearing her skin. Rolling away, she scrambled into the corner farthest from both the cat and the cattle-prod.

'That‘ll do.' The suit picked her wallet up from the table and tossed it to Swane. 'I gotta leave. Give your buddies on the force some green in