56. Isobel
The front yard is a symphony of fury and bloodshed. The moment Quin shifts into his tiger, Tálstrom also springs free. Both are a blur of movement, Quin’s sweats a tattered pile on the ground, and Simon’s shirt and sweats nothing but shreds of fabric fluttering on the breeze. They’re each holding their own against their counterparts, and my heart aches for the difficult position Quin has been forced into. My mate is not an inherently violent person, despite the enormous tiger residing in his body, and the way his parents have maneuvered him into this situation for their own ends is disgusting.
With any luck, he’ll be able to end them quickly, but I’m not holding my breath. They’re like cockroaches—they’ll probably still run around for a week after their heads are removed, or even survive a nuclear winter.
Tálstrom seems to be enjoying himself, not exactly toying with the two other hybrids, but neither has he obliterated them with prejudice. I don’t know if it’s because he’s hoping back-up will arrive and they’ll all be contained and held accountable, or if there’s some other reason for his leniency.
We’re all so busy keeping our eyes on the shifted interlopers that I almost jump out of my skin as a hand latches onto my bicep. I’m forcefully shoved toward the steps, and it’s only by sheer luck that I manage to regain my balance instead of tumbling headfirst down them. Arina squirms in my arms, the violent jostling disturbing her sleep. I rock her in my arms, shushing her with soothing noises as I glare at the woman sneering at me, a dart-gun in her hand.
“If you don’t want me to fling that brat into the dirt, get moving. I’ve been more than patient, and now it’s time for me to get my lioness back. Move!”
My knees tremble, but I lift my chin and steadily make my way over to the section of the front yard that’s devoid of battling felines. I know Simon’s friends are on their way and that they should be here soon, but time is running out.
In an attempt to delay the inevitable, I remark on the weapon that the woman—who I can only presume is the infamous Catherine—is clutching.
“That doesn’t look like it holds bullets. In fact, it looks remarkably similar to the tranquilizer guns we have here at the sanctuary. As I’d rather not be tranquilized, I’ll do as you ask. So please, stop pointing that thing at me or my daughter.”
Catherine snorts inelegantly before tossing her head, her lank and dull blonde tresses flicking over her shoulder in a practiced move.
“I have no intention of pointing it anywhere else but at you and your spawn. Don’t worry, though. It’s not loaded with tranqs.”
I breathe a small sigh of relief, but Catherine’s sadistic chuckle destroys any sense of ease her denial provided me.
“It’s loaded with bond breaker. Apparently, with the information O’Hare salvaged from Simon and Quin, he was able to create a highly effective and fast-acting serum, especially when it’s injected directly into the bloodstream. Once I shoot you and sever your bond to Quin, you’ll be taken away to perfect the serum meant for me, and then I’ll not only have my lioness back, but a mate worthy of my beauty and status.”
Catherine wants my mate? This selfish, egotistical, spoiled brat of a woman, who has already attempted to steal another woman’s mates, thinks she can take mine? I see red.
Shifting Arina into my left arm, I stop suddenly, slamming my back into Catherine’s front and knocking her off-kilter. I spin around, my right arm extended straight out and ending in a clenched fist. It’s not the most elegant of moves, but it works. I smack my fist into the side of her face, then slam it down on the top of the wrist holding the gun.
With a cry, Catherine drops the gun, and I sprint back toward the house. If she wants to play with guns, then I’ll show her just how good a shot I am.
An enraged scream pierces the air, but I don’t look back. I just need to make it to the house.
I never make it that far.
A body slams into me from behind, a pair of muscular arms wrapping around me and Arina both, cradling and protecting us from harm as we fall. Pained grunts punctuate the air as we land, the pungent smell of copper filling my nose. I look up as my protector rolls us on top of him as we land, only to see a bloody and battered Simon. He arches his back, a soundless scream erupting from his lips, and then he begins convulsing on the grass.
What did they do to my mate?