40. Quin
From my count, it’s been seventeen days since I escaped from the facility holding me. To keep my mind occupied, I’ve been mapping out the route, and I figured that the old buildings had been set up near a conservation area a little northeast of New Madrid, Missouri. Following the Mississippi had been a fantastic idea, and it was really a stroke of luck that those in charge of that organization had decided to build so close to such a notable landmark.
I shift back and forth as I move, generally bringing out my monstrous tiger rather than my hybrid form after it gets dark. It takes me a little while to get used to moving silently with my extra bulk, but once I can it doesn’t take long before I’m comfortable in my supersized body.
Once I hit Arkansas and am back in my human form, I manage to hitchhike from time to time during the daylight hours, which speeds up my progress somewhat. However, I never really stray too far from following the line of the Mississippi, as it is both my guide and my protection.
The sense of homecoming that crashes into me when the familiar sounds and smells of the Old Bayou Wildlife Sanctuary reach me is overwhelming. I drop to my knees and simply breathe, letting my emotions run riot for a few minutes until I’m able to compose myself.
I’m home.
I stalk my way through the trees until I reach the tall wire fence forming the border of the sanctuary. I throw the duffel up and over the barrier, before finding a tree relatively close by that I can climb. My trek south has given me plenty of opportunities to shift into my hybrid form. After a few false starts—and getting stuck in partial shifts—I have some pretty decent control over my multiple forms.
Being able to call forth my hybrid form at will is now second nature to me, and it didn’t take me long to realize just how lethal I am in that form. I’m able to partially shift my hands into those of my hybrid, which makes scaling cliffs, trees, rocks, and walls a hell of a lot easier than if I simply have human fingers and hands. Not to mention the damage they’ll do in a fight.
I find a suitable tree, and in the blink of an eye I’m up in the branches that stretch out over the top of the fence. It’s nothing for me to jump across, my landing soft and silent. I pick up my duffel and follow my nose.
While I don’t expect to be spurned and rejected once I make my presence known, I’m also unsure of receiving a warm welcome. After all, I’ve missed my mate’s entire pregnancy, and if the sensations and emotions thrumming down my bonds with Simon and Izzy are anything to go by, I’ve also missed the birth of my first child.
There’s even a small, wicked voice in the back of my mind telling me that I’ve been replaced. This voice whispers that Izzy and our cub no longer need nor want me, not if they’re under Simon’s protection.
But nothing will stop me from returning to them, and I refuse to give them up.
If that nasty little voice is correct, then Simon will just have to learn his place, or I’ll end him. He may be my brother, but there are some lines you just don’t cross. Seducing another shifter’s fated mate, especially when you threw your own away, is a major one.
I can only hope it doesn’t come to that. Especially as that wicked voice in my head sounds like it’s coming from Catherine L?nnberg, of all people.
She’s insidious.
It’s late, the sun having fallen several hours ago, and most of the animals are asleep. Those that are still awake only stir a little as I pass them by, recognizing my scent as belonging here. I can still smell traces of me dotted around the place, although they’re old and weak. I’ll have to retrace the borders of the sanctuary and scent-mark the place so that others know who resides here.
Simon’s baked earth, dust, and lion musk permeates the entire area, and having proof of his presence here settles some of my anxiety. He’d obviously listened to me when I spoke of Izzy and Josiah, and really heard the unspoken words about who they were to me. The moment he met Izzy, he would’ve understood everything. It wasn’t just her acceptance of my claim that marked her as mine. The moment I sank my cock into her pussy when we mated and fully solidified our bond, trace notes of my scent became a part of her own pheromonal signature. The cub she carried would only heighten those notes, so any shifter around would understand that she was mated.
The house comes into view, and I keep to the shadows, outside the reach of the spotlights mounted to the back deck should they activate. I need to scope out the area before I reveal myself, and make sure that there aren’t any nasty surprises lying in wait for me. I trust Izzy and Josiah. I don’t imagine that they would have anything to do with my parents or their work with Vieux Sang, but it doesn’t mean that O’Hare—under my parents’ instruction—hasn’t had trackers injected into either Simon or myself. Even if they did, it wouldn’t really matter, not if my parents were honest with me when they told me they’d had eyes on Izzy this entire time.
The area is still, and I inhale deeply, sucking the air through my nostrils to filter out all the different smells that litter the sanctuary. There don’t appear to be any unusual ones, nor any that I’d associate with Vieux Sang.
Except, of course, for Simon’s.
Light streams from the kitchen window and onto the deck. Every now and again a silhouette passes in front of the window, causing the light to shift. I creep forward, placing each foot carefully so that the wood beneath me remains silent. Reaching the window, I peer in, and what I see has my heart seizing.
Izzy.
With our cub in her arms.
The sight of my mate and our cub is the most magical vision I’ve ever come across. Izzy seems to be a natural, sitting at the table with the babe content in her arms as it suckles at her breast. It has a thick thatch of dark hair covering its head, and its tiny fist flails and clenches as it drinks. I can’t tell whether it’s a boy or a girl, as the blanket the baby is wrapped in is white and covered with tiny paw prints in greens, yellows, and browns.
Simon passes behind Izzy and gazes adoringly down at the cub. Dark and bitter emotions twist my gut at seeing him in there, looking at them as though they’re his world. He speaks to Izzy, and his words reach my ears and send my temper soaring.
“How’s our girl doing today, Mama? No more tummy troubles, I hope?”
Girl? GIRL?
I have a daughter?
I have a daughter!
She’s my daughter, not his!
How DARE he claim her as his!
I storm over to the back door, uncaring at the booming stomps that reverberate through the wood warning of my approach.
I kick open the back door to find Simon barring my way.
I see red.
They’re MY family, not his!