Shadow of Danger (Crimson Hollow #14)

Chapter One

My feet hurt.

That was the first coherent thought Sonny’s brain managed to produce after two days of running.

Well, running was generous. More like stumbling through back alleys and side streets while trying not to hyperventilate loud enough to attract attention.

His sneakers were falling apart at the seams, held together mostly by optimism and duct tape he’d stolen from a hardware store two towns back.

The dogs had kept pace better than he had, which was embarrassing considering one of them was missing half an ear and the other limped on her front left leg.

Both were pit bulls, both scarred in ways that made Sonny’s stomach turn every time he looked at them.

The hyenas had called them Brutus and Killer, names that didn’t fit the way they’d pressed against Sonny’s legs when he’d unlatched their cages.

The way they’d followed him without question when he’d whispered that they were leaving.

Crimson Hollow appeared ahead like something from a postcard.

Quaint storefronts with hanging flower baskets.

Brick sidewalks that looked like someone actually maintained them.

People walking dogs that weren’t covered in scars and stank of fear.

Sonny’s bunny twitched under his skin, recognizing safety even as his human brain insisted nowhere was safe.

Not anymore.

Not after what he’d done.

The hyenas would be looking for him. Would be looking for their prize fighters, the dogs that had earned them thousands in illegal betting rings.

Sonny had watched them force these animals to tear each other apart for three weeks while he stitched them back together afterward.

Had listened to their howls of pain. Had held them while they shook from terror.

Had finally decided that dying while helping them escape was better than living while watching them suffer.

Except now he was in Crimson Hollow with two traumatized dogs and approximately forty dollars in his pocket. Also, he was pretty sure he smelled like a dumpster. The last shower he’d managed had been at a truck stop bathroom two days ago, using hand soap that had left his hair feeling like straw.

The dogs needed water. Food. Medical attention beyond what Sonny could provide with the supplies he’d managed to grab.

His bunny had good instincts about healing and could sense infections before they took hold, but that only went so far when dealing with injuries this severe.

A house appeared on his right with a for-rent sign stuck in the overgrown front lawn. The yard had a fence, mostly intact. Trees provided cover from the street. Sonny’s feet carried him toward it before his brain finished processing the decision.

The gate opened with a rusty squeak that made him wince. The dogs followed him into the backyard, their nails clicking against the concrete patio.

“Stay here,” Sonny whispered. He crouched down and ran his hands over both dogs, checking their wounds. The male’s ribs were too prominent under his scarred hide. The female’s limp had gotten worse in the last hour. They needed help soon, or everything Sonny had risked would be for nothing.

He found a water spigot attached to the side of the house and turned it on.

Nothing happened for several seconds, and then brown water sputtered out before running clear. Cupping his hands under the stream, Sonny offered the cool liquid to the dogs. They drank eagerly, their tongues lapping at his palms. The sensation tickled, making him snicker.

These dogs weren’t dangerous. They were just scared and hurt and desperate for kindness.

“I’ll be back,” he said, scratching behind the male’s remaining ear, feeling the raised scars under his fingers. “I promise. I’m going to find help.”

The dogs settled onto the patio, pressing against each other for comfort.

Sonny’s throat tightened. He’d promised them safety, and so far, all he’d delivered was more running.

More fear. But Crimson Hollow should have resources.

Probably had people who might help if he could just figure out how to ask without repelling them with his smell.

The street was busier than he’d expected for early evening. Sonny kept his head down as he walked, trying to look like just another resident.

Like he hadn’t stolen two dogs from a hyena-run fighting ring.

Like his hands weren’t shaking from exhaustion and terror and the crash that always followed his adrenaline highs.

A coffee shop appeared on his left. Cyril’s Café, according to the sign. The windows showed people inside, sitting at small tables with laptops or on sofas with books.

Normal people doing normal things.

His bunny recognized the scent before his human brain caught up. Shifters. Multiple kinds. The air practically vibrated with predator energy.

He should leave, should find somewhere else to ask for help. Predator shifters didn’t usually take kindly to prey shifters showing up in their territory, especially unannounced.

But Sonny’s feet had stopped moving. His eyes locked onto someone inside the café, someone massive and pale-haired and familiar in a way that made his bunny sit up and take notice.

The polar bear.

From the raid.

Sonny had been there that night three weeks ago, forced to watch from a locked room while the hyenas tried to defend their operation.

He’d seen this shifter tear through the front door like it was made of paper and watched him move with a power that should have terrified Sonny but had, instead, made him feel something uncomfortably close to hope.

The polar bear shifter was here. In this café. Looking like he’d just ordered something bold and strong based on the size of the guy.

Sonny pushed open the café door before he could talk himself out of it. The smell of coffee hit him immediately, rich and dark and so normal it made his eyes sting. Conversations continued around him, ignoring the scrawny guy who’d just stumbled in.

The polar bear stood near the pickup counter, his back to the door.

He was even larger than Sonny remembered, six-five at least, with shoulders that could probably support a small aircraft.

His pale hair was pulled back from his face, revealing a profile that belonged on a Viking or a movie star or possibly both.

Sonny walked forward, each step feeling like wading through concrete. His bunny was screaming at him to run, to hide, to do anything except approach a predator this powerful.

But the dogs needed help. That was more important than Sonny’s survival instincts.

“Excuse me,” he said, voice timid. “I need to ask you something.”

The polar bear turned. Sonny drew in a quick breath. His eyes were the washed-out blue of winter sky, like they could pick apart every hidden secret.

They swept over Sonny in one assessing glance, taking in his dirty clothes and desperate expression and the fear he knew he couldn’t hide.

Then something happened. Something that made Sonny’s entire world tilt sideways and reassemble itself in a completely different configuration.

The air between them thickened. The café sounds faded to background noise. Sonny’s bunny went completely still, recognition firing through every cell in his body.

This wasn’t just a powerful shifter.

This wasn’t just someone who could help.

This was his mate.

The realization hit him like a physical blow. His knees went weak. His breathing stuttered. His entire body seemed to lean toward this stranger without his permission, drawn by something more fundamental than conscious thought.

The polar bear’s eyes widened slightly. A low growl rumbled from his throat, so quiet that only another shifter would hear it. The sound went straight through Sonny and made his bunny want to either run or submit or possibly both at the same time.

“You,” the shifter said. His voice was deep, rough around the edges. “You were at the fighting ring.”

Sonny’s mouth opened. No words came out. His brain had apparently decided to take a vacation, leaving him standing there staring up at this massive predator who was apparently his destined mate.

The universe had a strange sense of humor.

“I need help,” Sonny managed, his words tumbling out. “The dogs. I have the dogs from the ring. They’re hurt and I don’t know where else to go and the hyenas are looking for me and I just need someone who can help them.”

The polar bear set his coffee down on the counter, his eyes never leaving Sonny’s face. “You took the dogs?”

“They were going to die there.” He wrung his hands. “I couldn’t just leave them. I know it was stupid and dangerous and probably illegal, but I couldn’t watch them suffer anymore.”

The growl was deeper this time. The polar bear took a step closer.

Sonny’s animal screamed at him to back up, to maintain distance, but his feet stayed planted.

His mate was approaching, and running seemed impossible even though every survival instinct he possessed insisted he should be halfway across town by now.

“Where are they?” The question came out like a command. Not aggressive, just naturally authoritative in a way that made Sonny want to answer immediately.

“Behind a house with a for-rent sign. About four blocks from here.” Sonny gestured vaguely toward the entrance to Cyril’s.

“They need water and food and medical attention. The female has an infection starting in her leg wound. The male possibly has broken ribs that might not have healed properly. They’re both malnourished and traumatized.

I’ve done everything I can, but it’s just not enough. ”

The guy studied him for a long moment. Sonny could feel the assessment, the way those ice-blue eyes took in every detail. His dirty clothes. His exhaustion. The desperation that probably radiated off him in visible currents. His mate was deciding whether to help, whether Sonny was worth the risk.

“I’m Reese,” the bear said finally. “You’ll show me.”