Hour of the Lion by Cherise Sinclair (reading a book txt) 📕

of coffee, then studied his brother whose face was still lined, eyes weary. They‘d both had to kill clanmates; it never grew easier. "Are you all right, brawd?"

Alec shrugged. "It‘ll take a while. Talking with Vicki helped."

Hoping to divert Alec from his grief, Calum asked, "Was Sarah as helpful?"

"You bastard, abandoning your own littermate like that. By the God, I‘d rather put a leg in an iron trap than be alone with that female. Would you believe she bawled over Fergus‘s death, and a second later climbed in my lap?"

"For a cahir, you certainly get trapped easily."

"And you didn‘t?" Alec smirked.

Calum winced. Overly sweet females made his fangs hurt. "I eventually managed to scrape Gretchen off by siccing Maude on her."

A door slammed, and Jamie ran into the kitchen, waving a piece of paper. "Daddy, all Vicki‘s stuff is gone! This was on the bed."

His blood stopped in his veins. Calum opened the note as Alec read over his shoulder.

I‘m returning to my normal life. I can‘t risk being a feral.

Please don‘t come after me.

Give Jamie a hug for me,

Vic

Calum‘s hand crumpled the paper as an icy blizzard lashed at his soul. She left us.

Alec‘s expression held the same devastation. "My fault," Alec said, his voice hoarse. "I didn‘t explain well enough. Why would she think she‘d go feral?"

"You did your best, as did I. It is her decision to make."

"Did Vicki go away? Without saying goodbye?" Jamie‘s eyes filled with tears, and Calum pulled her into his arms.

"She did. She returned to her own home, and I think it‘s time we went to ours."

*

Swane walked through the shack he‘d rented close to Cold Creek. Since Vidal couldn‘t leave his business in Seattle, it was only him and the old woman he‘d snatched. What a shame—

for her—that she and her fat dog had chosen to walk in the deserted park.

Although he‘d had a tranq gun ready, she hadn‘t transformed when he‘d kicked her dog or grabbed her, so she probably wasn‘t a shifter. Even so, the nosy biddy was friends with everyone in town. If any of those monsters lived in Cold Creek, she‘d know.

He shoved open the door to the bedroom. Wasn‘t she a nice sight, tied so neatly in the straight-backed chair? "Hello there." He tossed his bag of tools at her feet, then ripped off the duck tape that had covered her mouth. Some skin came with it, and blood oozed.

She blinked away tears. "Wh-what do you want? I don‘t have much money, but you can have it. J-just let me go!" Her eyes were terrified in the wrinkled face.

Swane‘s breathing sped up. He got a better rush out of anticipation than from snorting coke.

Fuck, he‘d missed interrogating prisoners. Maybe wereboy‘s resistance had been an ego blow, but this old bitch‘d spill her guts within an hour. Not that it would do her much good.

"I don‘t need money, Mrs. Neilson." Considering he‘d earn a cool half-mill once his boss learned to shift. He dragged over a chair and sat in front of her, knee to knee. "That‘s your name, right? Irma Neilson? You don‘t mind if I call you Irma, do you?"

She shook her head frantically. "But—"

He slapped her, open-handed across the face. "First—the rules. I don‘t hear your fucking voice unless I ask a question. Got it?"

A trickle of blood ran from her lip. Her eyes were shocked.

Probably never been hit in her secure life. And nope, she wasn‘t a werecreature or she‘d have changed into a cat by now. "We‘re going to talk about monsters, Irma. People who turn into mountain lions. Know what I mean?"

From the slight widening of her eyes, the twitch of her fingers, she knew exactly what he meant.

"Tell me who they are." He picked up a pair of pliers from the bag. "Then tell me who they love."

Chapter Seventeen

Winter camping for days. This had to be one of the stupidest stunts she‘d ever pulled. Vic‘s hood brushed against a pine branch and dislodged a flurry of snow onto her shoulders. Taking a moment, she oriented herself to the four gray, bare patches on a high, white-covered peak. They looked like claws, she‘d thought, when they‘d hiked to Elder Village.

That time seemed a lifetime ago. The first day had been sheer misery...and mourning...but then, she‘d done better. It was as if the surrounding snow had drifted around her heart also. Soon, her life would go back to the way it had been before without the impossible dream of having a family. A place to fit in.

Maybe if the danger was only to her, she might have stayed. But the memory of Helen‘s blood splattering the snow made Vic‘s stomach tighten. If I turned feral—what an ugly word—

then I"d hurt others, not just me. The risk that she‘d turn into one seemed way too high. She had no home. No family. No ties to keep her human. She‘d never really belonged anywhere besides the military. Although she‘d briefly hoped to be one of the shifter clan, visiting Elder Village had taught her the futility of that—half the time she hadn‘t understood what they were talking about.

Of course, it might be fun to be a cougar with big teeth and claws and run into the Ice Queen or Cleavage. Hooyah, she‘d give a whole new meaning to nasty feral. Now if bitch one and two were the only ones she might attack, she‘d do that trawsfur thing in a heartbeat.

But apparently a feral didn‘t choose its victims. No one could hate Helen, yet Fergus had tried to kill her. And if I attacked Jamie? The thought of hurting the child, slashing, biting was gut wrenching.

Hell, the kid was probably already hurt. She imagined Jamie‘s face at finding the note and cringed inside. Coward much, Sergeant? God, she‘d never imagined how enormously she‘d miss the munchkin. So bouncy and loving.

Was I ever that carefree? Saying just what she thought, screaming with laughter, hugging people? No. Growing up in the Mid-East