The Werelion and the Cat Page 4

  He moved on, walking across the front of the property. The curtains were open, revealing the rooms within if he ducked to look under the blinds. They were empty and neat. No signs of a struggle.

  “Can I help you?”

  Sully stood quickly, turning to face the voice behind him. A middle-aged lady, her arms full of shopping, watched him from the other side of the street. Great, the freaking neighborhood watch.

  “No, I’m fine thanks. My…cousin,” he invented hastily. “Said she’d be in, but she’s usually late.”

  He was downwind, which was good because the scent rolling toward him on the slight breeze was lycan. She’d be able to scent in a heartbeat that he wasn’t Meredith’s cousin. Possibly even scent the gun hidden beneath his sports jacket.

  But she wasn’t downwind and thankfully just nodded. “She’s probably in the back. I saw her pull in a while ago. Can you tell her to keep the speed down on the street, please? The kids play out here a lot.”

  Moon bless protective mamas. He smiled and nodded. “Of course. I’ll make sure she does that in future.”

  The woman smiled her thanks, hefted her shopping and headed up her own drive. Sully watched her go, waiting until she was through her front door before he shot down the side path to the back of the Cat’s house. He knew she was in there now, which meant that if she knew he was here, she was on her way out the back.

  The rear garden was as neat and manicured as the front. He paused, checking the windows and doors. Nothing open. Unless she had a fancy-ass spell for getting through plate glass, and he didn’t think so given the way she’d smashed the window in the museum, then she hadn’t come out this way.

  Padding forward on silent feet, he checked out the back door. Unlike the front, with its small, slot-like panes no wider than a couple of inches across, the top half was entirely glass. Without a moment’s thought, he slammed his foot into it just below the lock and kicked it in. Wood splintered and glass shattered, the shards falling around him as he charged through into the small utility beyond.

  And caught the smell of blood.

  Thick and heavy, it lay on the air like the most exotic perfume. His lion roared, recognizing the scent. It was the same one that had wound around him at the museum, the same one that had teased and tantalized him as he’d chased it for months. The Cat. And she was injured.

  “Shit.”

  He lifted his head and scented the air, moving automatically as he followed it. The smell blossomed and thickened within a few steps, getting strongest near a small door next to the one that led to the kitchen. Had to be the basement, he figured, drawing the Glock from under his jacket and edging forward. Just because he was a shifter didn’t mean he couldn’t take advantage of modern weaponry. Sure, on the run he was faster than shit off a shovel, but neither he nor any other shifter could outrun a bullet.

  Nudging the door ajar, he caught his breath as the smell of blood exploded, thick and sharp on the air. His lion growled, pushing up to just under his skin. Something was wrong. She shouldn’t be bleeding this much. Fear thrilled through his veins. Was he too late?

  He padded down two steps, senses alert for anything. The scent of magic, prickly and hot in his nostrils, wove through the blood smell and the soft sound of chanting reached his ears. Relief slammed into him with the force of a missile. The White Wolf didn’t use magic, which meant she wasn’t here yet. If she were, Meredith wouldn’t still be drawing breath, unless it was to scream. Chanting would be out of the question.

  Carefully, trying to keep the noise to a minimum, he crept down the stairs. The basement opened up into a large room with filled shelves around the wall. So far, all normal. Most basements had storage. But these shelves weren’t filled with the standard array of household or gardening and mechanical equipment. Instead, he felt like he’d fallen into a magical supplies store.

  Jars of…things jostled for space with old books. Crystals and, yes, what looked like a sheep skull over there sat next to candles of all shapes and sizes. A large work surface was set to one side, an open book on the top, its pages filled with writing it hurt his eyes to look at.

  But all that paled into insignificance when his gaze landed on the woman in the centre of the room. Meredith James. The Cat. The woman he’d tracked for months. The woman who had become somewhat of an obsession for him. And whom he’d never seen without her mask on.

  She was beautiful. Long, blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders and flowed down her back. Her eyes were closed but even so, he could see they had a feline slant, set over a cute button nose and sinfully full lips. The memory of how those lips tasted and felt his filled his mind, bringing his body to hot and hard attention.

  He cursed mentally, trying to beat down the reaction. Talk about fucking inappropriate. She was injured. Now that he could drag his attention away from the perfection of her face, he took in other details.

  She sat cross-legged in the middle of a pentagram drawn in chalk on the floor, one hand loosely in her lap as the other pressed what looked like a kitchen towel to her side. It was stained red. Her lips moved, filling the air with a melodious sound.

  He frowned, feeling the soothing nature of the magic as it filled the room. Small cuts he’d sustained breaking through the door upstairs eased and healed. She was healing herself? He hadn’t known that was possible. Even the most powerful witch-medics they had at the agency needed to get another to heal them if they were injured on a job.

  Reaching the bottom of the stairs, he started to take a step toward her and fucked up. The bottom of his boot scuffed the ground. Just slightly, in the barest possible sound it could make, but he froze. Shit. Please say she hadn’t heard that.

  He wasn’t that lucky.

  Her chant stopped, and her eyes snapped open to focus on him. For a split second he thought she was pleased to see him, then her expression shuttered over. Power built in the room, gathering around her hand. Eyes widening, he watched the fire bolt leave her hand, streaking toward him. He threw himself to the side just in time.

  “Meredith James, I’m here to help you,” he yelled, scuttling behind the counter base. “We need to get you out of here. You’re in danger.”

  Crap, he hoped she believed him. Because otherwise this was going to be the quickest rescue mission that never was.

  Shit. They’d found her.

  A small sound brought Beth out of her spell-trance with a snap. She gasped as pain from her side hit her. The healing hadn’t finished, the wound not entirely closed, but it would have to be enough. She tried to focus on the man standing by the stairs but her eyes wouldn’t cooperate. All she could tell was that he was tall, broad shouldered and where he shouldn’t be.

  Panic and the need to get away, to get out of danger until she could heal, filled her. Gritting her teeth, she pulled power, gathered it in her hand and threw it in the direction of the sound. Another and another followed it as he leaped for cover behind her workstation. He shouted something but the words thundered in her ears, too warped to make sense.

  Snarling another spell, she slid fire across the floor. Even half out of it, she’d made sure to alter the magic so that the fire she conjured didn’t burn the place down. She’d keyed it to flesh and bone, so it would consume a body, but nothing that didn’t live. It had surrounded her would-be killer, trapping him behind her work surface.

  She staggered to her feet, the edges of the claw wound pulling. Pain almost drove her to her knees again, hot and cold chills chasing over her skin. Fuck. She was weaker than she’d thought. Her wound and the healing spell had taken almost everything she had.

  The few steps to the stairs felt like a marathon, the room wavering around her and the floor rolling like the deck of a ship on the high seas. A roar behind her spurred her on, but it wasn’t enough. The heat of his body hit her a moment before strong arms wrapped around her.

  She cried out as they fell together, braced for the sharp impact of the floor. But it never came. Instead, he rolled them, using his
big body to shield her from the fall. Her breath exited her lungs in a whoosh as she sprawled over his broad chest.

  “No! Let me go!”

  Eyes wide, she struggled to free herself from his arms, panic and fear filling her. She’d never let anyone get this close, never let anyone get a hand on her. That way led to shallow graves in the woods at night…

  Her hands beat his chest but he held her easily. Then her fingertips brushed the skin of his throat and they both froze. Deep inside, she felt the strange thing in her blood uncoil, coming to the surface as though reaching for him. His eyes, pale blue, locked onto hers, and an odd rumble filled the air around them.

  A purr, but not from him. From her.

  His hand latched into the hair at the nape of her neck, holding her head still as he lifted up. Heat and need filled her, the spells behind them snapping off as all her attention diverted to the man who held her captive. Who looked at her lips with such longing.

  His mouth brushed hers, lips seeking and finding. They caught hers and clung in a soft embrace that quickly turned harder. With a growl, he turned them, pinning her smaller body beneath his as his tongue demanded entrance, submission and everything she had to give.

  Unable to resist, unable to fight the strange weakness in her blood and the control of the creature that had uncoiled to claim control, she gave in, opening up to him with a murmur to allow him to plunder her mouth.

  He swept in like a tidal wave, totally dominating to lay claim. His tongue found hers to slide and stroke against. Pleasure suffused her body, her hands clutching at his top to hold him to her when she should have been pushing him away.

  His hard, muscled form caged hers and he moved against her in small, rocking motions that stole the thoughts right out of her head. All that mattered was getting closer to him, wrapping her arms around him and letting him take whatever he wanted. What they both needed.

  His hand swept under her leg, gathering it close over his hip. The move opened her up and she whimpered as the long, hard bar of his cock pressed against her. Her clit ached and burned, her pussy clenching as every instinct she had begged for him to rip the offending clothes that separated them away and fill her. It was like a fever-dream, an obsession that consumed her; frightening and natural all at the same time.

  Then his hand slipped higher, over her hip and into the curve of her waist. It reached her ribcage, over the wound in her side where the wolf had torn through her skin.

  The sudden onslaught of pain burned whatever spell he’d cast over her out of her system. With a cry, she pushed him away. Or tried to. Her arms shook, too weak to fight him off as he kissed her again.

  “No!” she managed, struggling against him, but even that was too much and she felt a tear leak from the corner of her eye as the world began to fade from around her and her worst nightmare, helplessness, began to take over.

  Perhaps it was her time after all…

  Chapter 5

  Sully had kissed many—perhaps too many—women in his time, but none affected him as much as the woman in his arms did. As soon as their lips touched, instinct took over. Gathering her in his arms, the need to brand her, to claim her as his own had overwhelmed him—a deep, primal need that had swum up out of nowhere to consume him and his inner animal.

  Mate, the creature purred, reveling in the feeling of her smaller, curvy body pressed up close to him. The knowledge exploded through him, obliterating all other thought. She was his mate, his, all his. Just when he’d given up hope of finding the elusive female the fates had created just for him, here she was.

  He purred again, ravishing her mouth, sliding a big hand up her thigh. She was slender and toned, but still had curves in all the right places. Curves that drove him wild, every male instinct within him fired up and ready to go. His body was up for the idea, literally. His cock was so hard it throbbed, railing against the confinement of his jeans. It wanted out…and he had to agree. He could think of nothing more he wanted than to part her thighs and sink balls deep into her welcoming softness. His hand swept upward, desperate to discover everything about her. She cried out, but in his delirium, he didn’t realize it was in pain until she pushed him away.

  “No!”

  Oh shit. He pulled back to look into dark eyes full of pain, tears collecting in the corners. One rolled down her cheek and damn near broke his heart. She was his mate, who was scared and in pain, two things she should never be when in his arms. Before he could apologize and assure her it would all be okay, her eyes rolled back in her head and she went limp.

  “Shitshitshit no, wake up. Meredith? Wake up…”

  Laying her down carefully, he started to check her over. The wound on her side had reopened and was bleeding badly. Crap. Yanking off his jacket, he hauled off his shirt, turning it inside out to wad against the wound. He was crap at this mate thing. With his sense of smell, he should have scented the blood on the air in a heartbeat, but instead, he’d been too focused on more physical needs.

  Looking up and around, he scanned the shelves, trying to spot a first aid kit amongst the magical equipment. She had to have one. He hadn’t met a magic user yet who didn’t have one on hand. Magic use was fraught with danger and little “accidents” were common.

  “Yes!” Spotting one on the shelf across from where they were, he lunged for it.

  Grabbing the case, he was back by her side in a heartbeat. He tore it open in one quick move and rifled through the contents for wound dressings. As expected, it was better stocked than most domestic kits. Pads and bandages galore. Ripping open the biggest dressing he could find, he eased his shirt away from her side and pressed it gently into place.

  “Shhh, shhh, it’s only me,” he murmured, sliding an arm under her shoulders to lift her slightly and wrap the bandage on the dressing around her ribcage. His hands shook. She was so tiny he was worried that he’d hurt her more. Instead of struggling, though, she whimpered softly, turning toward his body. Seeking comfort…from him. His heart leapt. Even unconscious she realized they were linked—that she was made for him and that he would protect her no matter what.

  For a moment, he let her lie against him, her smaller body nestled into the protective lee of his larger one. Breathing her scent deeply, he closed his eyes and savored the feel of her. His mate…who was injured and had the White Wolf after her.

  Opening his eyes, he reached into his back pocket for his phone. Swiping to unlock it, he hit the number for the office and waited for an answer.

  “Good mor—”

  He didn’t let the girl get any further, recognizing her voice instantly. “Debbie, it’s Sully. I have an emergency on the Cat case, put me straight through to the boss, would you?”

  There was no argument or even a reply. Instead, the line clicked, letting him know that he was being transferred. A moment later, the voice of his boss came on the line.

  “Alex, what do you need?” The voice was cool, calm and collected. She wasn’t a woman to flap, nor ask non-critical questions, a fact he was grateful for.

  “Backup,” he replied shortly. “Preferably close and with magical experience. I’ve located the Cat but she’s injured and the Latvarian Collective have put the White Wolf on her tail.” A sound upstairs made him pause, listening out. “I don’t know how long we have but I need to get her stabilized and moved.”

  “On it. We’ll dispatch a team from here and hopefully get you some backup from the local area. Contact me if you have to move.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Ending the call, he shoved the phone back into his pocket and slid his arms carefully beneath her. The basement, while out of the way, had one entrance and exit. Not a good place to get caught. All his operational instincts screamed at him to get them out of there. Now.

  Lifting his precious burden as carefully as possible, he held her close as he mounted the stairs. His lion, mollified by the presence of their mate so close, brought a purr to his throat. He swallowed, trying to stop the sound, but she murmured in
protest. Surprised, he carried on purring, letting the sound deepen so it vibrated through his chest. She smiled and nestled closer, as though the sound soothed her.

  Well, I’ll be damned. Shaking his head, he shouldered open the door at the top of the stairs and paused, all his senses extending outward. If there was a threat in the house, he’d know about it. Nothing moved, though. It was just them. He breathed a sigh of relief and carried her through into the lounge.

  He’d just put her down on the couch when his cell rang. He recognized the number. His boss was always as good as her word.

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re not going to believe this, but I got you some local backup. A werelock, apparently. Actually resident in Deal’s Gap if you can believe it.”

  “A what?” He frowned at the dark shadow on the dressing over the wound on Meredith’s side. “Werelock? Don’t be ridiculous, they’re just a myth. A kid’s story.”

  She chuckled. “You said that about the Sidhe as well, remember?”

  “Ugh, don’t remind me,” he grumbled. He’d met many types of paranormals in his time, but fairies had to be his least favorite. “Okay. Werelock…if you say so.”

  “I do.” A sharp click-click-click told him Iliona was clicking the top of her pen, a habit when she was thinking or on the phone. “He’s a bounty hunter. We call him in occasionally to bring in really weird shit we don’t have anyone to deal with. Hale Roark. We’ve contacted him and he’s en route to your location now.”

  A knock on the door brought Sully’s head up. Light on his feet, he moved to the window, staying back out of sight to check the front door. A tall guy stood there, wide shoulders encased in a battered leather jacket. Didn’t look like a wolf.

  “I think he’s here now,” he told Iliona. “I’ll update you later.”

  He barely heard her reply, cutting the call and cramming the cell in his pocket. The fact that he was bare-chested still, his shirt covered in blood and left on the floor of the basement, didn’t bother him in the slightest as he strode to the front door.