Katie made one of her contented, growly noises and hugged him back. Bree sensed the other Shifters relax, as though something important had just happened.
Olaf straightened and looked around at the waiting adults. “She’s very little,” he said. “Can I take care of her?”
“Of course you can, sweetie,” Rebecca said, her voice warming as she moved to the porch. “Let’s take her inside, all right?”
***
“Time for some serious talk,” Walker said.
Bree seated herself at the long table in Ronan’s house, folded her hands, and proceeded to listen. She did trust these Shifters—at least, more than Seamus did—but if they even mentioned putting a Collar on Seamus or caging him, they were going to hear it from her. She wasn’t quite sure what she could do against them, if anything, but she wouldn’t let them hurt Seamus—or Katie or Francesca—without a fight.
Walker Danielson reminded Bree strongly of her brother, though Walker was quieter. Remy, while a hard partier, had possessed the same competent strength, the same air of self-assurance that led others to follow him. Sadness touched her, but at the same time, thinking about her brother gave her confidence.
Walker had tried to suggest that Bree go back to the Morrisseys, or at least retired to the room upstairs she’d been given, to get some rest. Bree refused. They were going to talk about what to do about Seamus, and she wasn’t going anywhere.
Seamus didn’t sit down but wandered the room, restless. Rebecca had taken Francesca and the cubs to what she called the Den, the converted garage where she and Walker lived. Walker had remained behind, and Ronan had returned without his mate but with Dylan.
Dylan had spent the afternoon with the police, Walker told them, convincing them that his Shifters had nothing to do with the deaths of the hunters. Walker had met him there to help, the police more trusting of a human who worked for Shifter Bureau.
Now the three, Walker, Dylan, and Ronan, faced Seamus.
“The only way to clear this up,” Walker said, “is to find out who did kill those hunters. If it was a Shifter, he needs to be stopped.”
Seamus ceased his pacing. Bree saw his distress in his tight back and shoulders, the haunted look in his golden eyes. “It might have been me,” he said. Pain filled his voice. “I just don’t know. I think I’m going feral.”
“Fighting frenzy happens,” Dylan said, his blue eyes intent upon Seamus. “Whether you wear a Collar or not. Collars just make it hurt more.”
“No,” Seamus said tightly. “I mean I think I’m going feral, right now.”
Chapter Thirteen
Seamus could barely see, barely think. The presence of Ronan, Walker, and Dylan—a bear, a human, and an alpha Feline—was making him insane.
Bree sat alone at the table, a bright smudge of light in the middle of darkness. The three males, enemies to keep from his mate.
Seamus went to Bree’s chair and slid it back with her in it, putting himself between her and the others. Dylan and Walker watched him, their stances betraying their tension.
Only the bear, Ronan, remained comfortable and unworried. “You sure it’s fighting frenzy that’s wrong with him?” he asked in his deep voice.
“Feral.” Seamus heard the snarl in his voice. “I can’t keep it contained. Lock me up somewhere. Don’t let me hurt Bree.”
Bree was up and out of the chair, her cool hands on Seamus’s hot skin. “Seamus, I’m not going to let them do anything to you.”
Seamus suppressed a shudder, Bree’s touch the only thing anchoring him to the present. “Bree, love.” He turned her to him, brushed shaking fingers over her cheek. “I might have killed those men. I was attacked, I responded. The next thing I knew they were torn apart. I don’t want to wake up and find out I’ve done that to you.”
Bree was supposed to look at him in terror, run from him, go far away where he’d never find her. That’s what human women did when Shifters frightened them. No matter how much groupies pretended to be fascinated by Shifters, at some point the excitement was over, and true danger began.
Bree closed her hands around Seamus’s forearms and drew herself closer to him. “I know you didn’t kill them. You don’t have it in you.”
Seamus knew he should jerk away, put the distance of the room between them, demand Walker to hurry up and take her out of there. Instead, he stepped to her, letting their bodies touch.
“How do you know?” he asked in a fierce voice. “You only met me last night. I was bloody and shot up, and I forced you to help me get away. How can you say I don’t have it in me?”
Bree’s look was far too calm. “Because I know. Listen, everyone thought my brother was a total fuck-up. That he was dangerous, nothing but trouble. They said it so much that Remy started to believe it himself. That’s why he joined the army, to prove he was a good guy at heart. But I knew it already. Remy always went out of his way to make sure I was all right, that my mom was. My dad died when I was five—I barely remember him. But Remy was always there, taking care of us. Shit happened around him, and people blamed it on him, but it wasn’t him starting fires or wrecking cars—he was the best driver I ever met. He started driving at thirteen, because how else were we going to get groceries when my mom had to work twelve-hour shifts? He took care of us.”
She paused, but she didn’t let go. “I look at you, and see the same thing in you,” Bree went on. “Everything you’ve done, you’ve done to take care of Francesca and Katie. You’re still doing it. And now you’re taking care of me as well.”
He didn’t so much hear Bree’s individual words as the sound of her voice. It flowed over him, her scent and touch calming him.
“It’s different for Shifters,” Seamus said, words coming with difficulty. “We’re not human. We’re animal first. That animal always wants to take over. It’s how we were bred. We want to fight, to kill. It’s our nature. We fight it so we can survive, have cubs, and continue.”
Bree shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.” She ran her hands up him arms. “You’re a fighter, sure, and you’re good at sneaking around, but you’re not a killer. I do know about Shifters—my friend in Louisiana had a blog I contributed to, we researched, we had chats with people all over the world about Shifters, people who knew a lot of stuff. Heck, everything that happened last night and today would have made a great post, but I won’t write it because it would put you in danger, something I’d never do. My point is that I’ve learned about all kinds of Shifters for years. The feral ones aren’t like you. You are exhausted, worried, living on adrenaline, while you try to make sure everyone’s all right. These are bad circumstances. I know that—”
“Bree.” Seamus put his fingertips to her lips. “What you and your groupie friends know about Shifters is the tip of the iceberg.”
“I don’t know,” Ronan said. “I’ve read some of those blogs. They’re pretty good. Helping make Shifters look fun. ’Cause, you know, we are.”
Seamus ignored him. “I blanked out—my instinct to protect Katie kicked in and wiped out everything. I don’t know what happened exactly. But if I did kill those men, I can’t know if it won’t happen again. I might hurt other Shifters. Cubs. You.”
Bree’s hold tightened. “No, you won’t. When you jumped into my truck and told me to get you away, you could have hurt me. You could have pushed me out, stolen the truck, left me to fend for myself. You could have forced me to drive off into a field, killed me, taken off. You didn’t do any of those things. You came to my house, put up with my mother, for heaven’s sake, protected us. When my mom picked those bullets out of you, you sat there. I’d think that pain would have made you go feral if you were heading that way. And Fuzzles liked you.”
Seamus tried to clear his head. “Fuzzles?”
“Our cat. She doesn’t like just anyone. She was all over you the second she laid eyes on you.” Bree ran her hands up his arms again, which were whole, if scarred. “Can’t say I blame her.”
The rest of
the world, the Shifters, Walker, the threats, Seamus’s fears, abruptly spun away. Seamus saw only Bree, her blue eyes, her round face and wisps of golden hair, her plump lips that curved with her smile.
Seamus slid his hands to her waist, the tight skirt beckoning his touch. He moved his palms down her spine to cup her backside, soft through the leather.
Bree’s breath quickened, warm on his lips. Seamus, still in the world where nothing existed but her, leaned down and kissed her.
A slow kiss, taking his time. It was a kiss of need, and also of possession, telling the other Shifters in the room that Bree was his.
Bree kissed him back, her arms coming around him as she opened to him thoroughly, making a low noise in her throat. She scooped herself to him, breasts and hips fitting to his chest and thighs.
The kiss turned fierce, Bree pulling him closer. Heat skimmed down Seamus’s body and rested in his cock.
He wanted to explore her, get to know her, find out everything about her. Every curve, every corner, every part of her. He wanted to lay Bree down and feel her beneath him, slide inside her, let her make him whole again.
“You could be right, Ronan,” came Walker’s slow drawl. “Maybe not fighting frenzy.”
They weren’t wrong. Seamus wanted them all to vanish into the blue and leave him alone with Bree. So they could be together, on the table, on the carpet, on that big couch over there ...
“I’m taking you back to the scene,” Dylan announced, his voice like a glacier. “The sooner we figure out what happened, the sooner I can make the police happy. After that, you can deal with your mating need.”
“Even Dylan has to respond to mating need,” Ronan put in. “Glory makes sure he does.”
For the first time, Seamus heard Dylan’s tone soften. “Shut it, Ronan.”
Bree pressed her hands flat against Seamus’s chest and pushed. Seamus reluctantly broke the kiss. He didn’t let her go, though, pulling her closer. Shifters needed touch, and Seamus needed it right this second.
“Yes, let’s go figure out what happened,” Bree said. She rose on tiptoes and whispered into Seamus’s ear. “And then you can teach me all about mating frenzy.”
***
Seamus did not want to be in the cab of the white pickup one more time, heading south in the dark, out of Austin and to the area around the roadhouse. Walker drove, while Ronan and Dylan rode in the bed, lounging easily.
While Dylan had assured Seamus that the humans had finished with the scene of the killings for now and wouldn’t be anywhere near, that wasn’t the point. Seamus worried that simply being in the vicinity of the fight would trigger his feral state, make him the crazed fighting beast he’d become.
He had the feeling that this was exactly what Dylan wanted. What better way to prove Seamus was going feral than to try to trigger it?
Bree was next to Seamus, holding his hand. They’d been doing so almost since they’d met, Seamus mused. As though they’d instinctively known they had to hold on to each other, no matter what.
Not letting go, Seamus vowed. Never letting go.
They passed the roadhouse, which was already going for the night, lights flooding the parking lot. Shifters and humans milled in and out of the lit open doorway.
Walker drove on, taking a turnoff at Seamus’s direction to head toward Seamus’s safe house. Seamus had been attacked somewhere between the safe house and the bar, though he wasn’t quite certain where. Darkness and disorientation had added to his confusion.
Walker turned off on a dirt road, going down a slight rise that would hide them from the main highway. At the very end of this road was another, narrower road that led to the house, abandoned long ago. The farm that had lain around it was now fields of dust.
Dylan told Walker to stop the pickup some way before they made the house. Walker pulled to a halt, shutting off the engine and lights.
The silence out here was breathtaking. No cars, people, dogs, not even air traffic passing overhead interrupted the peace. The sky above was thick with stars, as though nothing blocked the way to those distant suns. Here you could see stars between the stars.
Seamus had selected the house for its isolation. He’d hear anyone coming a long way off, soon enough for them to go to ground if necessary.
And yet there had been something wrong. They’d spent several weeks there, Seamus and Francesca taking turns uneasily walking the perimeter while Katie slept or played.
Finally, one morning Seamus had decided to move them. Francesca hadn’t argued. He’d sensed that hiding out in the middle of the city would be more effective than sitting here alone, waiting for an attack.
“I had a pickup stashed about a mile away,” Seamus said, breaking the stillness, though no one had asked him a question. “I drove Francesca and Katie to the house in Austin, then I came back alone. I wanted to make sure I hadn’t led whoever it was straight to them. I ditched the truck on the outskirts of Austin and returned to the house across country. I prowled around, acting like we were still staying there.”
A light flared, Dylan flicking on a powerful flashlight. Though Shifters could see in the dark, the two humans could not very well, plus Dylan was looking for minute evidence.
“The bodies were here,” Dylan said, shining the light over the area. “The police brought me out here earlier, hoping I could solve the riddle for them. Shotguns torn apart, as were the men.”
Dylan spoke clinically, but Seamus couldn’t forget the stench of death, the horror of blood and entrails, the kick of feeling that he wasn’t alone.
“This smells wrong,” Seamus said abruptly. “This isn’t where I found them.”
The others lifted their heads from studying the ground. Bree hadn’t left Seamus’s side, and she looked up at him now. “What do you mean?” she asked.
Seamus’s heart beat faster. “Nothing in this exact spot triggers my memories. Even if I never remember, I’d at least catch my own scent. The bodies were moved here after I ran from the hunters.”
Dylan gave a nod. “That’s what I thought too—that they’d been killed elsewhere. I looked for a trail, evidence that they were dragged or carried in a vehicle, but found nothing. It was plenty bloody here, so whoever brought them tore them up a little more when they dumped them here.”
“But it wasn’t me.” Seamus’s body relaxed so fast he feared his knees would buckle. “I was never here.”
Walker broke in, his matter-of-fact tone reminding Seamus that the solution was not that simple. Seamus still could have done the original murder, with another Shifter dragging the bodies from the scene. “Tell us what you do remember.”
Seamus ran a shaky hand over his hair. “Other hunters were coming—they’d seen me standing over the bodies. I ran to the roadhouse parking lot. We should backtrack from the roadhouse, see if we can find the place the men were actually killed.”
“Let’s do it then,” Dylan said. He snapped off the light and made for the truck.
Walker drove them past the roadhouse again and turned off onto a dirt road that circled it. He certainly knew his way around back here, but maybe Shifter Bureau made him patrol the area.
Walker stopped the truck. They were far enough from the roadhouse that the parking lot’s lights wouldn’t reach them but close enough so Seamus could search out his route.
Seamus’s heart was squeezing as he climbed out of the truck, beating so hard it felt like it was trying to jump up his gullet. Sensations rushed back at him—scents, the sounds of screaming, shouting, blood, darkness, pain. Rage so vast it could not be his.
“There was something in the dark with me,” he said, his throat raw. He still had hold of Bree’s hand—he should release her and not make her go through this, but he couldn’t seem to let go. He walked with her unerringly down a dry ditch, which was thick with dust at the bottom. “Here,” he said.
The blood smell was acrid, cloying. Ronan let out a whistle. “Goddess, that’s ripe.”
Walker and Bree, though
they didn’t have Shifter sensitivity to smell, both backed up a pace, Bree wrinkling her nose.
“I agree, this is where it must have happened.” Dylan seemed the only one not affected by the smell. “The scents are right. The hunters were killed in this ditch then carried away, not dragged. Someone very strong did that. The killer didn’t bother to come back and clean up the scene. Buzzards have been here, just because of the blood.”
They’d have left disappointed, Seamus thought. No bones to pick.
The dizziness that had been bothering him returned with a whack. Seamus clamped down on Bree’s hand, his breathing shallow.
“No, don’t let me ...”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Bree said quickly. She squeezed his hand. “I’m right here. I’m not letting you go feral, or be taken to Shifter prison, or anything else. I know you didn’t kill the hunters.”
“There was anger,” Seamus said. “Despair. So much of it. Killing rage. It came at me, swept me up in it. I fought.” The impact of the attack came back to him, the noise and fury. “I fought hard, shifted—it was in between-beast form. It threw me aside, beat me down again and again. I couldn’t protect them ...”
Bree’s touch was the only thing that kept him connected to the present. Without it, Seamus would have swirled inside his memories and not come out. His awareness of her, like a beacon at his side, grounded him, allowing him to speak of it and not relive it.
“I tried to protect them, and then they were dead.”
“Protect who?” Bree asked in her soft voice. “The hunters?”
“Yes.” Seamus gazed down at her, her eyes in the starlight the only thing worth looking at. “Stupid humans. Stalking a Shifter, trying to kill it. Not me. They were stalking the other Shifter, who was after me. He was feral. Whatever is feral in me tried to become like him. It was so real, so vivid, I couldn’t tell where he left off and I began. It was too tempting to give in to the wildness. For a moment, I was completely gone. Feral. Never coming back. Dear Goddess, it was one of the worst moments of my life. To know I was insane, dangerous, a killer ... and not to care.”