Page 39 of Betrayed Bullied Mate

Another rogue in his human form takes advantage of our tussle, slicing me across the arm with a silver blade. It stings more than normal, but silver itself isn’t the weapon people think it is against shifters.

“What’s wrong?” the rogue sneers, coming at me again with the blade as I push the other off me again. “Miss your daddy?”

I roar, whirling and grabbing the blade, ripping it out of his hand. Fear flashes over his face as I snarl, whipping him to the side with my claws just as his friend advances on me again. I turn to take him out, but Eva is there, sinking her fangs cleanly into his neck.

A throwing knife whistles past us, and we watch it bury in a rogue shifter, dropping him immediately. I don’t know where Byron is, but he’s taking care of his fair share of rogues, and none of them have seen it coming.

More coming from the south, Bigby sends. Byron sends a moment later, And the west.

I turn, catching a rogue in the side just before he can leap on Percy, who’s already fighting two rogues of his own. Even taking out dozens of them with the traps, confusing them with the scents, and with each of us being able to take on several of them at once, it’s still not enough.

Move into a circle, I project, getting my claws into the belly of the shifter I’m tussling with before backing up, creating a fighting circle with the team. The only agent not here with us is Byron, who’s still in the trees, sending his flying knives down into the clearing, taking out rogues before they can blink. I wonder how many knives he has and how long it will be until we lose the benefit of his attack from above.

Boss, Ado says. Should we launch the bombs?

I give the affirmative, and a moment later, each of us throws a smoke bomb away from us, shrouding the entire area. Because we know it’s coming, and because we can smell them, we have the upper hand, and we’re able to break away again, taking out scores of the rogues swarming the area.

The smoke from the bombs is suffocating and coats my throat in a thick, dry powder. I can hear my team coughing, the rogues hacking and vomiting up the stuff. Maybe six smoke bombs at once was too much, but they’re hurting them, too, so it can’t be all bad.

I keep fighting, letting my body take over, my claws and teeth flying, slashing, and sinking into rogue after rogue. Where did Varun find all these shifters? For a town as small as Rosecreek, this is an unbelievable number of bodies to fight. It makes me wonder what kind of alliances he’s created since becoming alpha, and if he’s calling on them now.

I can’t help but notice that Varun hasn’t shown his face yet, and I have the suspicion that despite his apparent admiration for the old ways, he’s not going to follow the one honorable rule and fight with his pack. Rather than leading these rogues out here to battle us, he’s sent them in blind, likely not knowing we’re an elite group of highly trained agents, and stayed back in his bar, waiting for the news that his guys have finished us off.

Anger builds in me as I turn the thought over in my head, imagining him sitting on his ass while his men are dying. I wonder if Varun would have Linnea killed, too, or brought back to his pack center. The thought fills me with so much rage that I practically rip a rogue in two, barreling toward the center of the clearing, looking for another enemy I can take my anger out on.

These rogues may not be upstanding citizens, but with an alpha like Varun, their lives are wasted here. There’s no reason to fight, to sacrifice shifter lives like this, especially when we’re already hunted enough by humans who believe anything “other” is evil and deserving of eradication.

I picture Varun showing his face and imagine what it will feel like to sink my teeth into his neck and rip out his throat. I’d lay it at Linnea’s feet if I could. I think of her, and my chest clenches, but I can still feel her heartbeat there alongside mine, beating in double time. I can sense that she’s unharmed, just scared.

My body is weary from lack of sleep, lack of nourishment, and the constant stress this mission has brought on us so far, but I don’t waver, keeping eyes on my team and moving as fast as I can. I think of Linnea, of protecting her and telling her that I want a life with her. I think of my father, who died at the hands of another man, not even getting the rightful death he deserved at the hands of his son late into his life. I think of my mother, the dependable and gracious luna she was, dying at the hands of Varun, and I rage, throwing bodies like they’re nothing more than sacks of sand.

Bigby and I end up back to back.

All good, Brother? Bigby sends, and I wonder if he can sense my rage.

Never been better, I respond, before growling and ripping my claws through a shifter in human form, watching him lurch forward and fall into the grass, unmoving. It seems like their strategy is for half of the rogues to shift and the other half to stay human so they can use weapons against us.

But they’re only using daggers so far, and they aren’t well-trained with them. None of the team has even seen a scratch from a blade besides me.

A brief hush falls over the clearing and I turn, wondering if we’re finished, if we’ve cut our way through Varun’s entire pack. I’m just about to send an order out to my team when another rogue comes bounding out of the trees, catching Percy and dragging him to the ground, teeth and claws extended. Several more follow him, and Bigby and I exchange looks.

If they keep coming at us at this rate, eventually, we’re going to tire out. Byron has, apparently, already run out of throwing knives and is moving through the bodies littered around the area, picking up discarded daggers and whipping them through the air, doing what he can. When a rogue gets too close, he executes a series of moves to immobilize them, but he clearly prefers to fight at a distance, just as he does with his laptop.

Ado and Eva are both breathing heavily, having covered more distance since they can’t just use sheer size like Bigby and I. Percy has turned over the shifter he’s fighting with, and Eva is helping to finish him off, but more rogues are surrounding us every second.

It’s at this moment that I smell smoke and turn, watching the first cabin go up in flames. Two shifters are standing next to it, and one is holding a gas can. I run in their direction, hoping I can stop the destruction before all the cabins are lost, but I’m too late. Even as I tackle them to the ground and kill them quickly, the fire has already caught and started spreading to the next building.

Mixed with the chemical smells and the powder from the smoke bomb, this fire just adds to the chaos in the air, and everyone around is hacking and coughing again, our enhanced senses aggravated by the intensity of all the combined scents and the substances in the air. My lungs burn and I make eye contact with each member of the team, ensuring none of them have somehow gotten caught in the fire that’s now blazing across all the cabins.

If people didn’t know the location of my family’s property before, it’s been fully revealed, with a huge, fiery beacon anyone can follow to find the house.

Our team is waning. It takes considerable energy to fight like this, and we’re all short on sleep and energy in general. We’re not at our best, and yet we’re taking out an entire army of shifters. I can practically hear Bigby’s mind whirring, strategizing, thinking about our team, our resources, and the energy we’ve already expended on this fight. I already know the conclusion he’s coming to.

If Varun’s force is unending, we won’t be strong enough to hold them off. If he has even twenty more shifters to send our way, we’ll fall to them, one by one, until the team is gone and Linnea is left stranded and defenseless in the trees.

Chapter 22 - Linnea

I have never seen this many shifters together in my entire life. Ever since I was little and I saw my parents shift for the first time, there was something that felt forbidden about it. Being unable to shift myself, it feels like a violation to see others go through the transformation. It’s like a club I don’t—and will never—belong to.

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