Page 4 of Mated
I give him the look that statement fucking deserves. “And battle until dawn?” I ask, voice laced with my frustration. “No-fucking-thank you.”
No matter how many times I tell the alphas in and around Lock Lake I’m not after their packs, as soon as we turn, my words fly out the proverbial fucking window. I spend more time trying not to kill their men or the alphas themselves than actually hunting. It leaves me in a foul mood for days. And since the Silver Rock alpha wouldn’t let me on pack land if I was bleeding to death, I have no choice but to come all the way out to the damn bayou.
But going this long without shifting has me on edge, cranky. Which is why we are in the fucking woods at almost midnight.
I glance back at Gage. “Are we sure they’ll be okay?”
He rolls his vibrant eyes. Even in the dark, the color is like spring blades of grass. “Horan and Caine are patrolling the outside of the cabin, T. If anything gets past a demon and a fallen angel …” He shudders. “Fucking Hells, I wouldn’t want to take on Ruin right now.”
I chuckle. “Good point.”
Our brave and fearless previous leader recently found his better half. And if we thought he was a hard-headed son of a bitch before, it’s nothing to how he reacts now. That Lilah Marks, his Consort, almost died two weeks before, is more than enough reason for him to be pissed. But that near death meant the only way to keep her alive was to turn her into a vampire like him. A dark demon of the night.
She’s been out of her transition for days. Now every sound, smell, sight … It’s all overloading her system faster than he can train her. But it’s been the thirst that has been the hardest to handle.
Ruin can only feed Lilah so many times before he has to feed too. But vamp food is hard to come by in the bayou. And it’s not like it’s my first time playing donor.
I glance down at the new bite on my wrist. The twin punctures are already scabbed thanks to my fast healing. They will be little more than two white mars on my tan skin by morning.
Ruin hates it, I know, asking for help and feeding from the team. But a Consort bond is powerful and deadly so early on. Still, it’s why we’re at my old family campground the week of the full moon instead of in town with all the noise and humans.
Because that shit always sounds better during a run.
My eyes roll.
“Shift, Tanner,” Gage prompts. “Then we can get back and relieve Horan from Caine’s incessant mouth.”
I salute him—the gesture part-mocking, part true respect for the Fae warrior—before jogging a little deeper into the trees.
Letting the changing mist flow over me, my bones crack and pop. Each snap is loud in the quiet, and even some of the wildlife stills. My spine burns and my jaw aches, both sensations now oddly familiar after the thousands of times the change has taken me. Thick fur pushes up through my pores, making me itch and twist. Every organ seems to pinch, shifting as my ribcage narrows and presses downward. There’s a sharp burst of fire and my tail springs into existence with the lengthening of my spine.
I press down on my paws, leaning into the pain and letting it wash over me in a wave. If I fight it, it’s always worse.
It takes moments, the change from man to beast. But it always seems longer. The mist begins to clear and I slip into the brush.
The dimness is highlighted in bits of green and soft grays. Every small insect and speck seems to grow larger, magnified. A beetle scurries along, drawing my focus. I pounce, paw clamping over the hard shelled insect. It wiggles under my pads and a chuff leaves me.
“Let it go, furball.”
I peer over as Gage pushes away from a nearby black locust. His solid white curls are in a tight braid over one shoulder. And even if his dark shirt wasn’t strained where his arms are crossed, the scent of gun oil is easily recognizable. His sidearmandmine. I only gave it over when the shaking in my hands got too bad for me to fucking hold it.
He raises a brow, waiting.
My paw slowly lifts, releasing the perplexed insect.
Gage takes it all in with the same snide amusement he has always had. I no longer take it personally. It’s just who he is. “There is bigger game, you spoiled housecat,” he says. “Perhaps an alligator to play with?”
I turn and give him my tail in response before bolting into the trees. His light footsteps trail me, allowing me a sense of pack without ever realizing it.
And I will never tell him that fucking shit either.
We run through the backwoods of the bayou. Even with the moist and patchy ground, my steps are light and calculated. Easy. It’s always easier in beast form.
Though I still retain much of my humanity, a cat’s mind is simpler. More focused on thenow, than thewhat may come.
Something darts into the underbrush. My gut rumbles, needing the nourishment to fuel my changes. But I bypass the thick brush and make for the small waterway barely audible in the distance.
The low croak of frogs ripple through the night. Their steady beat is as familiar with the bayou as the moss or fucking humidity.
