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

aftermath—her mind said even as her legs gave out. Kneeling on the floor of the shower, arms wrapped around herself, she shook uncontrollably. And cried.

She‘d killed a man. Cut his life short in a horrible way. God, she could still hear the ghastly choking sound he‘d made as he died. Because of her, he‘d never grow old, never have a chance to mend his ways, never return to the people who loved him—maybe a mother, children, wife, friends. Whether he deserved it or not, his voice would no longer be heard anywhere again, and she had done that.

No matter how many times she killed, it never grew easier.

The water had cooled by the time Vic stopped crying, but at least her shaking had slowed.

Only a fine tremor remained as she toweled herself off. She wiped the condensation off the mirror. Major mistake. She looked like hell. The days of camping in the snow had taken a toll—

cold-chapped skin, gaunt cheeks, circles under her eyes. Add tangled wet hair and reddened eyes.

"Aren‘t you just a vision of loveliness, Sergeant?" she whispered.

Life truly sucked.

Leaving the steam-filled bathroom, she followed the sound of voices and stepped into the living room. The room was all dark walnut and golden-toned fabrics. The fire in the glass-fronted wood stove gave cheer and warmth despite the wind howling outside. Half-asleep, Jamie snuggled into Calum‘s side on one of the matching cushy-looking couches; Alec sat on the other.

The men had damp hair and smelled of soap.

Although Vic hadn‘t made any noise, Alec looked up and patted the couch beside him.

With a sigh, she dropped down beside him.

Cupping her cheek in his hand, he ran a thumb under one reddened eye. "You all right?"

She shrugged and murmured an honest answer, knowing he‘d think she was kidding, "After I kill someone, I like to sit in the shower and cry."

"Of course. It‘s good to have traditions." He tucked her into his side as easily as if she were Jamie. The way he dwarfed her and the feel of his hard muscles against her were disconcertingly comforting. He handed her the cup of tea steaming beside him. "Drink. I dumped a ton of sugar into it."

She took a sip and choked; he‘d also added an ample amount of brandy. It burned all the way down, and she wheezed a little before she managed to speak. "Thanks. I think."

His eyes glinted with amusement. "My pleasure."

Before she could drink any more, she had to find out… "How‘s Joe?"

Calum‘s face tightened. "He ripped open his stitches and has a concussion as well. He‘ll spend the night in hospital while they sew him up. Again."

Vic shook her head. "How did they know Jamie was a shifter?"

"They didn‘t. Just that Alec and I are." Calum‘s voice was mild. She‘d have thought him indifferent if not for the blazing fury in his eyes. "Old Irma Neilson has lived here all her life and is one of the few humans who know about us. Someone tortured her for information about shifters—and our relatives."

Vic shuddered, thinking of the sadism Swane had shown. God, that poor woman. "Is she alive?"

"Oh yes, but she‘ll stay in the hospital for a couple days." Alec‘s mouth curled up. "I talked with her a few minutes ago, and her major concern was that fat poodle of hers. Good thing the dog survived."

Calum rested his cheek on Jamie‘s head. "They went after Jamie to use against me, but didn‘t realize Joe was with her. Then this little cat gave them more than they‘d planned for."

"I didn‘t recognize the men. That means Swane and the suit are still out there," Vic said.

"We‘re searching records. We need to take out the person who is doing the hiring." Calum looked so tired that Vic saw what he‘d look like as an old man—one of those coastal trees, the trunk gnarled and gray, still standing defiantly against the wind.

And God, she wanted to be standing beside him then. She concentrated on sipping her tea, pushing away the hopeless wishes.

Footsteps thudded on the stairs outside, and she set the cup down so quickly the liquid sloshed over the sides.

Alec pulled her back against him and murmured into her hair, "Relax. That‘s just Devin and Jody. They were cleaning up Calum‘s place."

At the rap on the door, Alec raised his voice slightly, "Come on in—it‘s not locked."

The man poked his head in, nodded to Alec, then looked at Calum. "All done. We removed the throw carpet, used special stuff on the...stains. Jody suggested we put down one of Rebecca‘s hand-crocheted rugs so it wouldn‘t look so bare."

The woman shoved the guy aside long enough to add, "The rug looks really good, Calum.

Better than what you had, actually. You should buy it from her."

"I will do that. And thank you both. I owe you."

Vic would have done a lot to have earned that fleeting smile of Calum‘s. Apparently the two felt the same for they beamed back at him. Jody said, "We‘ll bill you for the cleaning, but no further debt is owed, Calum. The attack was targeted upon us all, even if it happened in your home."

Devin gave a loose salute to Calum, and they retreated, pulling the door shut behind them.

"It‘s going to smell like cleansers over there, brawd. I think you and Jamie should bed down here in the living room." Alec tightened his arm around Vic and gave her his crooked smile.

"You know, I might have nightmares, so you‘d better stay with me, Vixen. Just in case."

*

She‘d let him tuck her into his bed as passively as if she‘d been Jamie, and it tore at Alec‘s heart how exhausted she looked. She fell asleep instantly, but he was wide awake, the anger slow to die within him.

Pulling a chair close to the bed, he studied her face in the flickering firelight. He‘d felt her increased slenderness when she leaned against him on the couch, and now, he noticed the hollows below her cheekbones. She‘d lost