Traitor (Shifters Unlimited: Clan Black Book 3) Page 7

  What is happening to me? The cougar snarled again inside him.

  Turning away in disgust, he swiped his hand over his head, unable to decide what bothered him more, his revulsion at her injuries or his indecision as to whether she deserved help.

  A glance back confirmed a bloody smear across her temple. He brushed her hair away from her face and winced at the open gash along her hairline, her swollen eye, and the bloody lip. Lush red lips that should never be damaged, except swollen from kisses.

  He spun on his heel and fisted his hands. Focus! This is all a ploy.

  Yet when he glanced over his shoulder at her, she hadn’t even twitched.

  A trick?

  He leaned close to her cheek and sniffed deep. Damn. She was the honey. Everyone thought bears were the ones who coveted honey, but any shifter who loved fresh air, cold nights, and hot biscuits over an outdoor grill adored honey.

  Right now, he craved honey.

  Moving away, he stared at her without blinking. He couldn’t get a break with this mission. The last thing he needed was—a damn evil woman who ruined his plans.

  Despite that thought, he found himself unable to resist cupping her cheek. He brushed his fingertips across her skin. Hell. She was burning up. He lifted an eyelid, saw the whites of her eyes and her pupil—violet. Like pansies in spring and a midsummer night, her eyes were deep, mesmerizing violet.

  Dear Goddess, what would she look like when she was conscious and healthy? Because, despite what they’d done to her, she had all the makings of a rare beauty.

  With a sigh, he concentrated on being less enamored and more attentive, but he couldn’t control the hardening of his body with arousal or his beast’s clamor. And he suddenly had a very bad premonition of what was driving his mood swings.

  No. He refused to go there, if for no other reason than Jacob’s team would wait only so long to find out why he hadn’t driven out the other side of the canyon.

  Ignoring his cougar’s anger, he carefully checked the rest of her body for injuries. One arm lay at an unnatural angle. A spiral break—one guard to hold her down and another to inflict wounds. Grumbles started in his chest.

  Cold and factual, he continued his assessment, the only way he could shut down his reactions to the numerous injuries he cataloged on her body. Bruises covered her in the places he could easily see. When he moved the chains binding her, he snatched back his hand with a hiss.

  Inlaid with silver?

  He flipped the chain over and picked it up, scrutinizing the thin silver wires soldered to the inside of the chains around her wrists. A brief check confirmed the same treatment for the bindings around her ankles, neck, and the chain wrapped around her hips. They’d tortured her and ensured she couldn’t shift to heal by sending her animal into hibernation with silver. Of course it was hardly a surprise they’d also kept the key, thinking he couldn’t release her.

  Intently aware of the time slipping away while he’d been checking his charge on the side of the road, he looked at his phone. Twenty minutes.

  Jacob’s scouts would already be on their way.

  Bracing his shoulders, he crouched beside her. Enemy or—well, something more dangerous—a few things needed to change.

  First, he needed to deal with the chains. He whipped out a short, thin wire hidden inside his belt and went to work picking the lock.

  The chains fell away.

  Then he lifted her broken forearm in his hands. He never would have believed he’d show compassion for a Karndottir. But, logic countered that a battered body could sway the tribunal in her favor. He couldn’t allow that to happen. Yes, go with that bit of fiction, because you can’t handle the truth.

  He gripped above her wrist and at her elbow and clenched his teeth. This was going to hurt like a son of a bitch. And while he might still harbor feelings about vengeance, he’d prefer his target be whole, healthy, and fighting back if he took her as his consolation trophy. His cougar grumbled again.

  Shut up.

  With a fast yank and a slow, methodical twist, he aligned her bones. She twitched and her lips parted, yet no moan escaped.

  That didn’t ease his conscience. Her ability to endure pain hinted at a prolonged familiarity with abuse, but he didn’t have time for pity.

  Glancing behind him, he scented for intruders. He needed to get them far away from here. Picking her up gently in his arms, he carried her to the second full seat, placing her in the middle. Protocol nagged at him enough that he secured zip ties to her wrists, but he left her hands in her lap and secured the seat belt around her.

  With a frustrated snarl, he gave in to his cougar’s demand and checked to make sure the belt wasn’t too tight over her certainly broken ribs.

  Muttering under his breath for showing such compassion, he slid into the driver’s seat and whipped the SUV back onto the road. His phone vibrated, but he ignored the call, focused on the road before him. The unconscious woman behind him still held half his attention.

  That was his last thought as a remote click followed by a barely perceptible whine registered through his open window. Shit. A sniper’s shot. He flicked a glance in the rearview mirror. His passenger was still where he’d left her, sporting no fresh blood.

  Pushing the vehicle as fast as it would go, he raced for the bend ahead that would shield them from the next shot. He gripped the steering wheel tight as a dull hiss echoed, followed by a soft pfffft. The back end of the SUV skated from one side of the narrow cliff road to the other.

  Breslin cursed as he tried to bring the vehicle under control and slow his speed. But the sniper had hit more than one tire, and slamming on the brakes would only add to the problem. It didn’t matter. Jacob’s team wasn’t getting Rayven back. His growls reverberated throughout the chassis as he hunted for a solution. Too late, he realized this stretch of road provided the perfect setup.

  The roadway a few yards back had trees that would have at least cushioned their impact, but in front of them—empty sky and a long drop into the rushing river swollen from recent torrential rains.

  Unable to wrestle control without ripping the steering wheel from the dashboard and aware the vehicle was skidding toward the edge, he did the only thing he could.

  With one click, he released his seat belt and punched his foot into the floorboard. Twisting with shifter speed, he vaulted into the second row of seats and covered Rayven Karndottir with his body, his frame wedging her as carefully as he could, while holding tight to the seats on each side of her.

  The vehicle pitched into the ravine and somersaulted.

  He had one long second to turn his head and stare into his prisoner’s shocked violet gaze before they crashed into an outcrop.

  Glass fractured. The SUV bounced against another rock face. Then the windows on one side crumpled and broke away.

  Moments later, they screeched to a sliding halt.

  Her breath brushed down his neck, and she blinked as the vehicle groaned and swayed. “Can’t…”

  6

  Pain. A crushing weight on top of her pressed until she had no air in her lungs. Rayven pushed with her fists. Something hard covered her body, not giving an inch, but she managed to open her eyes.

  Large steel-gray eyes gazed at her with an intensity that made it hard to concentrate. The concern laced in his expression as his gaze flickered over her face shocked her. Then reality hit.

  “Can’t breathe.” She gasped for air, and he rose to his palms and knees, hovering over her. Air washed blissfully over her, and her lungs expanded, then she missed the warmth of his body. A crazy thought, especially when every cell in her body hurt.

  But, wow. From the close-cropped blond hair to the squared jaw covered with matching stubble, he looked downright…tempting and fierce. An angel? “Who are you?”

  “Enforcer Breslin Taggart, Ms. Karndottir.” He responded without blinking, the earlier concern gone and his voice so emotionless, it gave her chills.

  She might as well be speaking
to an automated response system. Yet, his stone-blank expression and the cold glint in his eyes told a different story. A deep layer of fire ran through him, one she’d always associated with others as hate. And he directed it at her. How could he bottle such rage against someone he’d never even met? For she’d remember him if she’d ever seen him before.

  Karndottir’s men comprised some of the most dangerous shifters she’d ever tangled with. But the tension coiled in Enforcer Taggart’s body, the lean, hard muscles pressed against her, spoke to restrained power and discipline.

  Then she remembered.

  He wasn’t a member of her clan. He most certainly wasn’t a friend. This was the man tasked with delivering her to the tribunal. The assassin Ghost, who Jacob had snidely informed her was coming to fetch her.

  Too bad. She could have used someone with his formidable skills on her side for a change. Her list of enemies was already far too long.

  Then her world tilted sideways. A dizzying look to her right confirmed a crushed car door and a rock ledge visible through the cracked but still solid window. A glance to the left didn’t help. Open air.

  Panicked, she took in the crushed roof. Her neck ached and her chest burned as she searched for another way out.

  What happened? Last thing she remembered, she’d tried to avoid Sam after he shifted and aimed a claw at her head.

  “This looks bad.”

  Taggart was busy checking out the interior of the vehicle when the car lurched again. He didn’t bother answering her and bent, reaching beneath her seat. A moment later, he resurfaced holding a small hand-sized tool, a LifeHammer.

  Since she couldn’t shift, she’d spent too many hours traveling by car and always carried one in her glove compartment. Fortunately, she’d never needed to use it.

  The vehicle jerked a few inches, and the seat belt, somehow caught beneath the crumpled side door, dug across her midsection. She ground her teeth and closed her eyes at the fiery pain.

  Better to go this way than in the alpha gauntlet. For that was what awaited her. But the children of the clan still needed her.

  “Don’t count on dying yet,” he replied.

  She hadn’t meant to say that aloud.

  “When I’m done, we’re going to move fast.” Taggart gained her attention as she tried to keep the dizziness from consuming her. He glanced from the strap covering her from her shoulder to breast, and evidently decided the binding at her waist was the place to start. One quick slice and—ahhh, she could—well, almost breathe. Then he sliced the rest of the seat belt from her.

  The vehicle slid left with another metal screech, and she landed on her broken arm. A moan tore from her as she tried to move and her ribs protested. “Might as well leave me here. I doubt your alpha plans to keep me around for long anyway.”

  “My alpha’s motives are never what they seem.” His voice rolled over her, smooth and calm, almost soothing. Odd for a killer, but she’d wanted to kill so many people and she could be nice. Who was she to judge? “Close your eyes.”

  Why? But she scrunched her eyes shut as he smashed open the door and vaulted. Air breezed across her body, and the vehicle jerked again. Her stomach pitched.

  Bad. Way. To. Die. She swallowed hard and edged toward the opening. Her good arm wouldn’t reach. Biting her lip, she braced herself as the vehicle slid again. She looked in time to see Taggart on a ledge above her in cougar form. The effect of her downward motion made it look like he was moving away. Confused and half-conscious, she still stretched toward him.

  Her arms didn’t reach, and one hurt like hell as frustration welled up inside her. She wasn’t finished with her mission yet. Too many in the clan still needed her help.

  Jaws wide, the cougar stuck his head through the window and grasped her arm. She didn’t have time to scream, much less struggle, as he clamped tight and the vehicle fell away from her body. Stripped free of metal, rubber, and oxygen, she hung from the cougar’s maw.

  The cat stepped backward on the narrow outcrop, his grip astonishingly gentle as he pulled her with him. The backs of her knees hit the edge, and her bound arms jerked. The one arm wrapped in a thick wad of cloth screamed with pain. Unable to help, she lay on her side, shivering as he dragged her free of the edge.

  When he released her, she waited for a pounce. Waited for teeth and claws to rip her to shreds. When neither happened, she risked a glance over the side of the outcrop toward the river and then up past her captor’s thick tail to the next ledge. Ten or twenty feet stood between them and the edge of the road above them. “How are we getting up?”

  “We’re not.” Startled, she focused on his appearance. Shifted back to human, though shirtless and wearing only jeans and boots, he swept her up and pulled her tight against him.

  A fragment of rock crumbling behind his broad shoulders punctuated his comment. Rock splintered near them where her head had just been. “Someone is shooting at us.”

  “M98B rifle. Likely a Lapua round.” He growled and grasped her tighter. “Which is why we’re going down.”

  That was mad. He was crazy. “No!”

  But he’d already stepped off the edge with her in his arms. Wind whipped her curse away, and frigid water covered her body. As she fought against the rush of blackness threatening to suck her away, she made a fervent vow. If I survive, I am going to make Enforcer Breslin Taggart regret he was ever born.

  7

  He wished he’d never been born. Breslin absorbed the brunt of their impact, holding her securely against his body. He refused to question the backward notion that Rayven’s survival meant something to him. Bad enough that his unruly beast surfaced during those precarious moments and defied him by grabbing Rayven from the vehicle with its teeth, instead of letting him grab her with his hands.

  Worse, the rescue left him shaken. Hell, it wasn’t as if he was going to let her fall to her death, but he wouldn’t have used his fangs to save her. Now she had bruises and punctures from his tight clamp on her arm to add to her long list of wounds.

  The water cocooned them from above until his boots touched against the river bottom. He felt her go lax in his arms. He still had a minute or two before lack of oxygen became a problem. His beast could handle the brief deprivation as could hers. Instead of surfacing, he kicked off sideways, angling them downstream and gaining more distance beneath the water. The cold silence isolated him, leaving him with the image of her bright violet eyes wide awake with alarm in the backseat. His stomach twisted with the memory, for the distraction cost him precious seconds. Long enough he’d almost missed the car sliding until the last moment, all from his foolish lack of self-control. He’d recovered quickly enough to free them, though it had been close.

  He’d also heard the bolt-chambered load of the sniper’s rifle right before water closed over his head. A nearly undetectable smack hit the water and he watched as a streaking fizz from another bullet tunneled in depths several yards away from him. A sloppy, rookie move. Any sniper worth his salt performed kept his rifle well oiled and silent.

  Their shooter also misjudged the slight breeze from the southwest, the velocity of their drop, the refraction angle once they disappeared beneath the water, and the swift currents. The same reverse calculations allowed Breslin to approximate the shooter’s location. At least something had played out on his side.

  Once around the bend, he’d surface and revive Rayven. He could last longer underwater. However, her stillness bothered him. He punched upward, rising out of the river, and shook the water from his face, checking behind them. They were out of the line of sight of any of the ridges on the mountain.

  Reluctant to loosen his hold, he stroked one arm in wide arcs through the water and lifted her against him so he could rub Rayven’s cheek with his own. Pain from her wounds pulsed against him, a phenomenon he’d experienced with fewer than a handful of people. On instinct, he hoisted her higher as he swam toward shore.

  The current swept them along, but the river snaked sharply an
d narrowed a few yards downstream. Tree limbs overhanging the shoreline offered them a lucky break and shielded them from the other side of the river. He gained footing at the shoreline and lifted her high above the water. She shivered in his arms, her dark lashes unmoving against her cheekbones. A reassuring sign she was alive, but a shifter should have better resilience against a short dousing in the water. Unable to resist, he angled his lips to brush against her neck.

  His spontaneous act sped her heart to racing. Good, she’d soon be warm and alert. Forcing his head up, he strode to the shore and straight into the nearest copse of trees. But his professional instincts to get them to safety didn’t drown out the feel of her soft curves against his body. Harder still was the need surging through his blood for her kiss, for her sweet mouth to open to him so he could taste.

  Battling the alien urges, he set her on the ground and pulled the tool he’d used to free her from her seat belt out of his jeans pocket. One quick slice cut through the zip ties holding her wrists. She didn’t open her eyes, but he knew she was conscious. “Shift. You need to heal.”

  When she didn’t respond or look at him, he grabbed her good shoulder and gave her a tiny shake. She tensed in his hold. “Do it now.”

  Then her lashes fluttered open, and she narrowed a hardened look on him. “Aren’t you worried I’ll run?”

  “If you do, I will find you. Trust me. You’ll fare better surviving the tribunal than you will escaping me, or, evidently, your clan. But refusing to heal is foolish. I’m certain your father didn’t raise a stupid daughter.”

  “My clan didn’t do this.” She wrenched away from his hold, trying to roll away, but not before another tremor shook her.

  “Who do you think is shooting at you? I can make that shot, but I’m here.” He bent lower, pressing his nose to hers. The close proximity of their lips unnerved him, and the compulsion to get close beat at him. One more inch and he’d know those red, full, and—damn it—bleeding lips. How quickly he’d forgotten her injuries. His lapse irritated him, and the sensual hold she had on him even more so. “Your clan requested this tribunal. They also sent a sniper to finish you off before you’ve had a chance for exoneration.”