Chapter Nineteen
LEON
Leon came down from his tree as twilight turned to dark. The clouds were still thick, thank God, stopping the moon from breaking through and keeping Leon invisible.
He slunk around the hillside above the camp, each step cautious and calculated as he circled the area where he’d heard the guards talking. If the guy came back with an update, Leon wanted to be close enough to hear it.
It was slow going. He hated the waiting, the helplessness of it. But he couldn’t move until he understood what was happening. Charging in blind might get Karl hurt, and Leon was not going to let that happen.
He found a hiding place underneath a log, flattening himself in the shadow until he was just a darker piece of night. And then he heard voices again.
“Laura!” someone called up the slope.
Leon made himself count out the silence in slow, even breaths before inching forward. He kept his body low, letting the brush hide him, hoping to catch what they were saying.
He missed the beginning of the exchange, but the male voice was clear.
“…got a fever or something, so Michael says let it run its course and he won’t be a problem.”
Leon’s claws sank into the soft earth. His vision narrowed to a pinpoint. What?
The cold hit him hard. Not from the night air, but from something deeper, horrifying. And then guilt slammed into him again, like a freight train. Karl was sick—too sick to fight—and Leon had abandoned him. It had only been for ten minutes, maybe less, but it had been long enough.
“Doesn’t feel right, though, not when he looked after Charlie,” the male voice continued, sounding even younger than before.
“Yeah, but you know we can’t risk anyone knowing we’re here.”
“D’you think Michael would have—? If he wasn’t sick, would he have—?”
“Killed him?” The woman took a deep breath.
“I think so? I mean, Hailey wouldn’t like it, but he’s got to keep us safe from outsiders.
We could have tried to keep him as one of the pack, but if he didn’t want to be, then what could we do?
We couldn’t watch him twenty-four-seven for the rest of his life. We can’t risk it.”
Leon’s breath came thin and controlled. Every part of him was locked down tight because if he let one single emotion through right now, he’d break cover and tear the hillside apart.
They’d have killed him. If he hadn’t been too weak to fight back, too sick to pose a threat. That was the only reason Karl was still alive. Otherwise, they’d have just… ended him. And Leon wouldn’t have been there to stop it.
Their conversation shifted to patrol routes, who was stationed where. Leon listened long enough to pick up anything useful, then ghosted away, slipping silently back uphill.
Finding another tree in a good spot, he propelled himself up into the branches, where he flexed his claws against the bark. He needed a way in, something fast and quiet. But Karl couldn’t run, from the sound of it. And Leon couldn’t understand it. He’d been hurt, sure, but not sick.
So if Karl couldn’t leave, what other possibilities were there?
If Leon tried to talk to them, they’d see him as another threat to the pack.
He didn’t know why they thought they were under threat from outsiders, but paranoid cults didn’t need reasons.
Maybe he could find this Hailey, who sounded like she at least had a conscience.
He stared down at the camp, every sense focused, calculating. But beneath it all, a single thought pulsed, frantic and raw. Karl was in there, sick and alone. And Leon had left him.
* * *
The moon was still hidden, the night damp, cold and very dark.
Perfect. Leon moved down the hillside, his movements as deliberate as they were silent.
He’d mapped the compound from the trees earlier in the day, studied the camouflaged dwellings spread across the valley floor.
Whoever had built this place had gone to a hell of a lot of trouble to stay hidden.
Moss was piled on rooftops, with netting strung between branches to break outlines and blur shapes. This had taken time to build.
Leon had wondered at first if it was some long-forgotten pack that had hidden back when shifters had no legal rights, and didn’t know the world had changed.
But then he’d caught the scent of fuel, seen the glint of solar panels and heard the hum of a generator tucked behind one of the cabins.
They evidently had contact with the modern world. They just chose to hide.
He passed the first cabin and raised his head as he walked, filling the space he occupied, strolling proud and obvious through pools of lamplight.
He curved his tail high with feline arrogance and added just a touch more disdain to his step—every inch the self-possessed predator on unfamiliar ground and entirely unimpressed by it.
It didn’t take long to be noticed. A young pup shrieked and bolted inside. Another tumbled toward him, yipping with delight. A woman scooped it up, clutching it close to her chest and staring as Leon sauntered past.
By the time he reached the center of the settlement, the ripple of alarm caused by his presence had beaten him there. Standing squarely in the middle of the path, waiting for him, was an alpha.
Leon stopped, sat primly, and licked one paw. Then he shifted, rising smoothly into human form without hurry or hesitation.
“Good evening,” he said, with cool precision. “I’m Leon Fitzroy, crown prince of the cat-shifters. I understand you’re caring for my sick mate.”
Leon had never seen someone come quite so close to choking on their own tongue as that alpha did. He held the man’s gaze with effortless poise. Neither aggressive nor submissive, but there—immovable, unbothered, and entirely in control.
“Michael,” the man said finally. “Alpha of this pack.”
No surname. No name for the pack at all. Leon filed that away. It reeked of cult. But even a cult couldn’t remain completely unaware of power structures in the outside world, of what it meant to be cat-shifter royalty. Could they?
Michael recovered a little too fast for Leon’s liking. “I don’t know where you got this idea about your mate,” he said, his voice calm now, but with danger coiled beneath it. “You’re the first cat-shifter I’ve ever seen.”
Leon gave a soft, amused laugh—perfectly calculated, amiable without warmth. He’d spent years watching the way Luna operated, and it hadn’t been wasted on him.
“Perhaps I should have been clearer. My mate, Karl Griffin, is a wolf.” He allowed a moment to pass. “And yes, I’ve heard all the cat-and-dog jokes.”
Michael didn’t smile. “What makes you think he’s here?”
“I followed his trail.”
The flash of fury in Michael’s eyes was fast but telling. Not aimed at Leon. At his own pack, probably, for leaving a trail in the first place.
Leon didn’t wait for the invitation. “We’re grateful for your care. Will you take me to him now?”
Michael’s voice was soft, but there was steel underneath. “You said ‘we.’ Are there more of you?”
Leon smiled. “None that have yet infiltrated your perimeter the way I did.”
Michael heard the threat, hopefully without realizing how empty it was. He studied Leon for a long moment. It was all Leon could do not to tuck his hair behind his ear to underline his perfection, but that might look like nerves.
“He’s in Cormack’s house,” Michael said at last. “Ruth, take our guest.”
A short, slender woman in her fifties stepped forward. “This way.”
Leon followed. The moment Michael was behind him, the weight of the eyes on his back became a physical thing, curiosity, hostility, and fear. It was difficult to keep relaxed, not to glance back at him.
All of that dropped away the second Ruth opened the door. The stench of sickness hit him like a punch.
Leon pushed past her, no longer playing a part. He crossed the room in seconds and dropped to his knees beside the bed.
“Karl,” he breathed.
He was burning up. Sweat slicked his skin, and his face was twisted in restless pain. He didn’t respond when Leon touched his shoulder, and that gutted Leon, because that wasn’t Karl.
He should have known. That rising color in Karl’s face, the way he’d held himself tighter as the hours passed. Leon had seen it, and he hadn’t understood. He hadn’t asked. He hadn’t fucking stayed with him.
“How the hell did this happen so fast?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
“Fever’s how the body fights infection,” Ruth said grimly, checking Karl’s pulse. “His healing's kicked it into overdrive.”
“So you’re telling me this is good?” Leon shot back, low and sharp. It neither looked nor smelled good.
“It’s not good,” she admitted. “Not when it gets this bad.”
“Then help him.” The words came out too loud. Karl shifted, muttering something, and Leon bit his tongue. “Please,” he said more softly.
“I need to check something first.”
She turned and walked out.
Leon stared after her, fury surging so fiercely that his hands shook with it. He knew exactly what she was going to do—ask Michael if the orders had changed. If this stranger was still marked for death, or if he could be saved now that someone important had shown up asking after him.
He sat beside Karl and pressed his forehead to his temple, hand curved around Karl’s arm, anchoring him.
“I’m here,” he murmured. “You’re not alone.”
And this time? He wasn’t leaving.