Saved by Wolves (Shifters Meet Their Mate Book 1) (18 page)

She agreed with him about Monroe. The man was a cretin. A dumb cretin. The only thing worse than being in the woods with him would have been being alone in the woods with him. He used any excuse to poke and prod her, and his hands always lingered a few seconds too long. Her first, self-defensive instinct was to draw power and zap some manners into him, but they were still deep enough in Shifter Territory that there were no power lines to tap into. The only energy was from life itself, and she’d sworn, to herself and others, that she’d never use that. It would be too easy to cross the line and kill someone. And then what would she be? A killer? A weapon, like the lab had tried to make her into? Much as Monroe irritated her, at least Lash’s presence kept him somewhat in line.

She satisfied herself with saying, “Those ‘weak-ass dogs’ kicked your butt. More than once.”

A sharp hiss was his answer. Ahead, she thought she saw Lash’s shoulders move with suppressed laughter, but it was hard to tell, as the sun was close to setting, its last fading rays lending just enough light for her to make out obstacles before she tripped over them.

“Are you supposed to deliver me in one piece?” she asked, projecting her voice so Lash would hear. “If so, we’re going to have to stop soon. I can barely see my hand in front of my face.” A bit of an exaggeration, but not much. And Monroe was right. Much as she told herself she was on her own and could find a way out of this mess, she was still hanging onto the thin hope that Jackson or Marcus would come riding—or more likely, running—to her rescue. The slower they moved, the better.

Lash halted, and she bit back a satisfied smile. The relief she felt was short lived, as he made his way back to them, pulling something out of the side pocket of his pack as he did. Rope. That didn’t bode well. Kirra backed up a step, only to smack her head on something. Monroe’s chin. He hissed again and grabbed her arms, pulling them behind her. Struggling would be futile, so she held her chin up and met Lash’s eyes as coolly as she could. He looped the rope around her waist, double knotting it, and then around his own, leaving a short tether of around five feet.

“There. Now you won’t get lost,” he said, then turned around and set off again.

“Yeah, brilliant,” she muttered, stumbling after him. “I wasn’t worried I’d get lost, I was worried about tripping and breaking my neck.”

They continued their trek, and Kirra kept up a running commentary, listing all the terrible things she’d witnessed at the lab over the years. When she described the shifters she’d seen locked up, Lash finally cracked.

“Enough,” he roared. “We’re not going to any lab. I’m turning you over to a police officer. Detective Lokston.”

“Lokston? He’s not police. He’s military. Working with Blackstone. I told you that al—”

He tilted his head at Monroe. “Gag her. Her screeching is giving me a headache.”

***

W
ell, Plan A had been a spectacular failure. With a dirty rag shoved in her mouth, she wouldn’t be talking herself out of anything anytime soon. She’d thought that years of being experimented on, pushed to the brink both physically and mentally, had hardened her to most forms of pain or discomfort. Yet somehow, the dryness in her throat was driving her to distraction. Kirra was getting to the point where she’d do anything for a drink, for just a drop of water to soothe the desert of her throat.

Two minutes after Monroe had gagged her with a balled up piece of cloth secured by a second strip of cloth, she’d attempted to tear it off—her hands were still free at that point. Now they were bound by another piece of rope. At least they were in front of her, not behind her back. That had saved her a few times when she’d tripped over roots and rocks in the dark and pitched forward. Her hands were scraped up, but her head was still intact.

Time for Plan B. 

Morning light broke through the trees, chasing away the shadows. Other than a ten-minute pit stop, they hadn’t stopped. Tiredness dragged at Kirra’s limbs, but her mind was clear. She reached out, questing, and there it was. The faintest ping of energy. And not from an organic source or a storm. No, it was from a power line. Not enough to do anything with yet, but soon. They had to be approaching the edge of Shifter Territory.

Four grueling hours later, the trees thinned and Kirra heard the faint rumble of traffic coming from somewhere past the forest’s edge. She didn’t think they’d covered enough ground to be near Davidston, but she remembered enough of the map to feel secure that if she could get to a major road, she’d be able to find her way. If she didn’t make her move soon, she’d lose her chance. She stopped abruptly, bracing her feet and hooking an arm around the slim trunk of a tree to keep her balance when Lash kept walking and the rope tried to yank her forward.

He swung around. “Delaying won’t help. I’m turning you over and washing my hands of this business.”

“Naa hhh haa hn.”

“What?”

“Naa aahh ahh naa.” Kirra tried to speak around the gag again, widening her eyes and wildly gesturing with her hands.

Lash sighed and none too gently yanked the cloth keeping the gag in place off her head. Kirra spit the gag out, and the saliva-soaked cloth dropped to the dirt. Cool air hit her throat, and she coughed.

“What?” he demanded.

“Water,” she croaked. It’s not what she’d meant to say, but she drank greedily when he held a bottle to her mouth. As soon as he pulled it away, she gestured to the side. “I’ve gotta go.” At his blank look, she elaborated. “Pee. I have to pee.”

“We just stopped for that.”

“Yeah, like three hours ago. I’m a girl. We need to go more often. I think it has to do with the size of our bladders.”

“You shouldn’t have had so much to drink.”

“Look, you either let me go or I’ll go right here, and then you’ll have to smell it. And you have a really good sense of smell, don’t you?”

Monroe clamped a hand over his nose. “That’s disgusting. Let her go, man.”

Without another word, Lash did what he’d done the last time they’d stopped: undid the rope around her hands and motioned her to the closest tree. There was just enough length to the rope that connected them to allow her a touch of privacy. 

She conducted her business, ignoring the crude jokes Monroe was making, and focused, taking deep breaths. Lash was only three short steps away. Monroe was somewhere off to the side—from the sounds of it, making his own visit to a tree. Good. That meant his attention wasn’t on her.

A tug on the rope signaled she was taking too long.

Kirra whirled around the tree, arm outstretched, and clamped her hand on Lash’s arm, making sure to touch bare skin. He tried to shake her off and opened his mouth to either protest or threaten her. Kirra projected a surge of power, and watched as his lips pulled away from his teeth and his back arched. Lash’s eyes rolled back, and Kirra released her grip on his arm as he thudded to the ground like a felled tree.

“He’s hurt!” she called in a frantic voice. “I think they killed him!”

“What?” Monroe bounded over, skidding to a stop at the sight of his partner motionless on the ground. He was less than five feet away. In range. “What did you do to him?”

“Me? Nothing,” she said. “They did it.” She pointed over his shoulder. Monroe whipped his head around, braced for attack, and Kirra lunged forward, aiming for his bare arm. Her fingers slipped off his sweaty skin and Monroe growled, wrenching away. The rope around her waist brought her up short, and she ended up kneeling at his feet. His dirty, ugly, bare feet. As he reached a meaty hand down to grab her, she latched onto his ankle and knocked him out with a single blast of energy. He slumped over, and she shoved at his side so he wouldn’t land right on top of her.

Slowly gaining her feet, body tingling with power, Kirra allowed herself a small smile as she studied the unconscious Cats at her feet.

A
sh held up a hand, and Jackson came to a stop, passing along the signal. They’d been traveling in silence for hours, trying to keep off the radar of the Cat patrols they’d seen signs of. Ahead of him, Ash crouched on his heels and cleared leaves and debris from a small patch of dirt before pressing his hand flat to the ground. Moments later, he stood and set off at a slight angle to the way they’d been heading.

Jackson followed without question. Ash was the best tracker he knew—his sense of hearing, sight, and smell were off the charts.

A full five minutes later, Jackson felt the vibration of something drumming against the ground, and then picked up a faint moaning. Visions of Kirra hurt, in pain, flashed through his mind, stopping the breath in his throat. The moaning came again, louder, deeper. It was a man. Relief shuddered through his body, and he locked his knees to keep upright, forging forward. The wind was at their backs, but there was nothing they could do about that. If their scent announced their presence, they’d just have to deal with it.

Marcus moved into the trees to his left, while Daisy took the right. He and Ash continued forward. The drumming grew louder. Focused on it, Jackson almost ran into Ash’s back when he pulled up short and bent over, clutching his knees.

Concerned, thinking Ash had been hit, Jackson dropped his pack and prepared to shift. Ash reached out a shaking hand and stopped him. He was laughing and pointing at something ahead of them.

There, naked in the dirt, lay a gagged Monroe, trussed up like a turkey. His body was bowed back so his wrists and ankles were close enough to be tied together, and clumps of dirt and twigs decorated his body, stuck to it by sweat. The sharp smell of urine coated the air.

“It could be a trap,” Jackson said. Although if it was, it was pretty elaborate, and he couldn’t see Monroe volunteering.

Ash shook his head. “That’s no trap. It’s an idiot.”

“Where’s Lash? Why would he have left Monroe here?” Something was wrong.

Ash shrugged. “Maybe they had a falling out. Let’s find out.” He strode over to Monroe, who’d wiggled around to see who was speaking. Seeing Ash, he moaned even louder, closed his eyes, and tried to wriggle backwards. Ash reached down, shifting a single finger into a claw, and sliced through the gag. Then he stepped back, folded his arms across his broad chest, and waited.

It didn’t take long.

“I didn’t want to take her—I had to—they made me,” Monroe babbled. “She’s like a witch or something. Just touched me and...” His eyes jittered and he wormed his way around, trying to get on his knees. “She did something to us, to Lash and me.”

“Yeah, where is that partner of yours?” Jackson asked, scanning the area. There were no signs of a fight, at least not typical ones: broken branches, circling footprints. Two short lengths of rope lay in a patch of dirt to Monroe’s side that was scuffed up, almost as if another body had lain there for a while.

“Asshole left me here,” Monroe hissed.

“Your partner did this?” Ash arched a brow. “What’d you do to piss him off?”

“He didn’t do this. That bi—” Jackson’s boot to his gut cut off Monroe’s words. When he recovered his breath, he began again, in a sullen tone. “She did it. Electrocuted me or something. When I woke up, I was here, like this.”

Jackson picked up one of the pieces of rope. It was knotted in the middle, and each end was ragged. Someone had been tied up and tore through their bonds.

Monroe tilted his chin at the rope. “She got Lash too.” Satisfaction lay heavy in his words.

“But he shifted and got away,” Marcus said, approaching from the west. “I found his tracks. He’s got about an hour on us.”

“And Kirra?” Jackson asked.

“Maybe four, five hours ahead of him.”

It was hard to believe Kirra had gotten the drop on two enforcers—even if they were Cats. She’d said she had powers, and he’d believed her, but deep down, part of him maybe hadn’t. He couldn’t wrap his mind around how she’d knocked them out and left them in her wake. He shook his head to clear it and focused on what mattered. Kirra. She had a healthy head start on Lash, but in the wrong direction.

“Why didn’t she turn back?” he asked the group at large as Daisy joined them. Hadn’t she trusted them to come after her?

Daisy rested a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “We’re in the middle of Cat territory,” she said. “She must have thought the smarter move was to continue—go into human lands where she’d blend in.”

“Where she’s being hunted,” he growled. And Lash was still after her. Rage welled, and he clenched his fists around the rope, imagining it was Lash’s neck. A slight moan drew his attention back to Monroe, and he took a step toward him.

Marcus’s hand shot out and blocked his way. “Can’t do it,” he said.

Jackson narrowed his eyes.

“Two reasons,” Marcus said. “One, we’re on Vincent’s land, and he’d use killing one of his men as an excuse for war—probably is hoping for it, actually. And two, Kirra left him alive. If she wanted him dead, he would be.”

He didn’t need to kill him. Just break his legs, maybe. And his arms.

“No,” Marcus repeated.

“He’ll be free and after us as soon as he gets the strength to shift,” Jackson protested.

Marcus snorted. “It’s going to be a while before he can shift. He’s a pitiful mess. A waste of your time. Focus on Kirra. She needs us.”

Everything he said was true, damn it. He dropped the rope and strode in the direction Marcus had indicated when he’d said he’d picked up on Lash’s trail.

“You can’t just leave me here,” Monroe called, desperation and anger edging his voice.

Jackson turned around to yell at him, but Marcus was already there, crouching near Monroe’s head. In a low voice Jackson could just make out, Marcus said, “Let’s be clear. You’re lucky that’s all we’re doing. You took someone we care about. A lot. My friend over there”—he gestured to Jackson—”would like nothing more than to rend you limb from limb, and honestly, I’d kind of like to watch. The only reason we’re not is because for some reason, Kirra decided to leave you alive. I don’t know why, but we’ll honor that. For now. You come after us or ever touch Kirra again, and I’ll eat popcorn while he beats you over the head with your own limbs.” Monroe didn’t say anything, but fear spiked his scent. “Good. I see we’re clear.”