Page 22 of Roar Me Like You Mean It
Michaelis drives with both hands on the wheel, eyes sharp, shoulders rigid. He does not speak, and I do not ask him to. Silence is the only language I want tonight.
We stop at the warehouse district where Syndicate vermin nest like rats. The river stinks of oil, water churning dark against the stone embankment. One building stands out from the rest, its roof sagging, its walls bleeding rust down the concrete.
“They brought her here,” Michaelis says, nodding once.
I step out into the cold. The lion presses close, restless, eager, scenting blood before the first drop has fallen.
“Stay with the car,” I tell him.
He does not argue.
Inside, the warehouse is a tomb.
The air reeks of mold, oil, and old blood. Rust streaks down steel beams, puddles of water spread across the floor where the roof leaks, and the hum of the city is swallowed by silence. My footsteps echo faintly as I move, the sound of a predator entering another predator’s den.
Her scent finds me before the men do. Sharp, clean, threaded with fear and fury. Beneath it, faint but unmistakable, the copper tang of blood.
The growl rises low in my chest.
Voices echo ahead, rough, jagged, their laughter carrying too easily in the cavernous dark. I slip between shadows, senses stretched sharp, and then I see them.
Five Syndicate men surround a chair bolted to the floor. Their weapons are close, their stances lazy with overconfidence. And in that chair, wrists bound, head slumped forward, is Jennifer. Her hair falls across her face, chest rising and falling shallow but steady.
The leader leans in close, his voice thick with Russian, each word a taunt. “The lion will come for you. He always comes for what belongs to him.”
They do not know how right they are.
The first dies before he realizes I am in the room. My claws rip across his throat, blood spraying warm against the concrete. The second fumbles for his gun, but I crush his wrist and drive his own weapon into his chest until bone cracks and lungs collapse. The third shouts, firing wild, the bullets ricocheting against steel, but I move faster than his eyes can follow. His scream ends when I tear him open.
The last two try to run. Their boots slap against the concrete, their panic thick in the air. I catch one by the spine and twist until it snaps, his body folding like paper. The last I drag backby the collar, my claws carving across his chest until his voice breaks into silence.
When the echoes die, only the drip of water remains.
I stand in the ruin, chest heaving slow, hands slick with blood, the lion prowling just under my skin.
Jennifer stirs.
Her head lifts, her eyes glassy but aware, and she looks straight at me. For a moment there is only confusion, but then her gaze sharpens, and I know she sees. Not the man who stood across from her at the gala, not the controlled mask I’ve worn for centuries, but the truth beneath. Eyes glowing gold in the dark. Teeth too sharp, skin bleeding into the beast.
Her lips part. A whisper escapes, too faint for me to catch.
And then she collapses, her body giving in, unconscious again.
I cross the floor and tear the ropes apart with one hand. Her wrists are raw, her skin too pale under the dim light. I lift her into my arms, careful despite the blood still dripping from my claws. She is light, too light, her head falling against my shoulder, her breath warm against my throat. The lion purrs low, a sound I hate, a sound that feels too much like possession.
I carry her through the blood and silence, out into the night where the city waits, still and watchful.
Michaelis sees us coming. He opens the car without a word, though his eyes linger on the way her body rests against mine, the faint mark of my claws still visible on my hands. He knows better than to speak.
“Safehouse,” I tell him. My voice leaves no room for question.
He nods, starts the engine.
I settle into the back seat with her still in my arms, the city sliding past in streaks of light and shadow. She doesn’t stir. Her breathing is steady but shallow, her face turned toward me as if even in unconsciousness she knows.
I should have left her.
But I didn’t.
