Chapter 16 #2
A wolf emerges from behind the overturned couch. Female. Young, barely past adolescence in shifter years. Her fur shows the same unnatural enhancements as the other syndicate shifters, but something in her eyes is different. Recognition instead of the cold calculation I've seen in trained killers.
She's staring at Catriona.
The young wolf shifts. Silvery mist swirls around her despite the chaos, and a girl appears where the wolf once stood.
She's naked and shaking, enhanced muscles evident beneath skin that shows old scars and fresh burns.
She's been tortured and experimented on.
Turned into a weapon she never chose to become.
"You're the one who saved them." Her voice cracks. Russian accent thick. "The selkies. You got them out."
Catriona lowers her weapon slightly, though she doesn't drop it. "Yes."
"My sister." The girl's eyes fill with tears that spill down her cheeks. Her hands shake violently. "They took her. Turned her. Enhanced her. She screamed for days during the process. I could hear her through the walls. They made me listen."
Grayson appears in the doorway in human form, covered in gore from the battle. He reads the situation instantly, moving toward the girl with surprising gentleness for a bear shifter who just tore through enemy forces.
"We're not your enemies. The syndicate is. Zharkov is. We know what they're doing to you."
"I know." The girl's voice drops to a whisper. "I know what they do. But if we resist, they kill our families. If we run, they hunt us down and make examples. There's no escape from what they've made us."
"There is now." Grayson extends his hand. "You come with us. Tell us everything you know about their operations. Help us shut them down. We'll protect you."
The girl stares at his offered hand for a long moment. Then she takes it.
Outside, the battle has ended. Bodies litter the clearing, smoke rising where Finn's flames consumed tactical gear and flesh. The cottage stands half-destroyed, walls cracked and windows shattered, furniture destroyed by supernatural violence.
But we're alive. All of us. And we have a prisoner who might provide the intelligence we need to take down Zharkov's operation.
I lean against Catriona, the bullet wound in my chest burning with every breath. My tiger retreats slowly, allowing human awareness to process what just happened. The syndicate sent an entire squad of enhanced shifters to kill us. Military-grade weapons. Coordinated attack. Professional execution.
And Zharkov himself never appeared.
"This was a test," Finn says, surveying the carnage. He's shifted back to human form, standing naked and unbothered by the destruction. "Zharkov sent his forces to probe our defenses. To see how we fight. To gather intelligence."
"He wanted to learn our capabilities." Declan wipes gore from his mouth, his alpha authority evident even in human form. "This wasn't meant to kill us. It was meant to study us."
The girl who surrendered speaks up, her voice small against the aftermath of violence. "There are more. So many more. He's collecting them. Changing them." Her hands shake. "Worse than what you fought today. Things that shouldn't exist."
"Then we prepare for worse." Catriona's hands stay pressed against my wound, keeping pressure despite blood soaking through her fingers. "But first, we get this bullet out of Kian before he bleeds out being heroic."
The pain intensifies as my body tries again to force out the foreign object.
The bullet is different, probably some kind of silver alloy.
Silver burns differently than normal bullets.
Slower to heal. Harder to recover from. I'll have hours, maybe longer, before my body can repair the damage properly.
Hours where I'll be vulnerable. Weakened. Unable to protect Catriona if the syndicate comes back.
My tiger snarls with impotent fury at the thought.
Declan kneels beside me, assessing the wound with a combat medic's eye. "Silver round, lodged deep. We need to extract it now before it does more damage."
"Do it." I meet his stare. "Just get it out."
What follows is agony measured in seconds that feel like hours. Declan's fingers probe the wound, searching for the bullet. Every touch sends white-hot pain through my chest. I can feel my tiger retreating, conserving energy for healing, leaving me vulnerable.
Catriona holds my hand through it. Her grip is strong, steady, grounding me to something beyond the pain. I focus on that. On the warmth of her skin. On the smell of heather and determination that I've come to associate with her presence.
"Got it." Declan pulls the deformed silver round free in a spray of tissue. "Finn. Cauterize it before he loses more blood."
Finn leans over me, and I see the flicker of dragon-fire in his throat before he breathes it out in a controlled stream.
The heat hits the wound with surgical precision.
The smell of burning flesh fills the cottage as dragon-fire sears the torn tissue closed.
I bite down hard enough to crack teeth, refusing to scream, refusing to show weakness.
Then Finn's hands press against the cauterized wound. The contact sizzles, flesh meeting flesh with a wet hiss that makes my vision white out for a heartbeat. Heat pours from his palms, not burning but enhancing, pushing my body's natural healing into overdrive.
The pain eventually recedes to a manageable throb as Finn lifts his hands away.
My tiger's healing kicks in properly now that the silver is removed and the wound is sealed, knitting torn tissue back together with supernatural speed.
Not fast enough to be combat-ready anytime soon, but fast enough to keep me alive.
"You're an idiot," Catriona says, but her voice carries something that sounds like affection. "Taking a bullet meant for me."
"You would have done the same." I manage a weak smile despite the pain. "That's what mates do. They protect each other."
Her expression softens. Some of the anger from earlier fades, replaced by something warmer. "Is that what we are? Mates? Because you seemed unsure of that last night."
I grin. She is never going to let me live that down.
"You have my bite mark on your shoulder.
My scent all over your skin. My tiger knows you belong to us.
" I reach up with my uninjured arm, touching her face gently.
"The claiming isn't complete because I stopped it. But yes, Catriona. You're mine."
She leans into my touch. "We're having a long talk about you making my choices for me."
"Looking forward to it." The exhaustion hits suddenly, my body demanding rest to continue healing. "But first, we need to deal with what's coming."
The sun climbs higher. Bodies scatter the clearing. Smoke rises where Finn burned them.
My vision blurs. The bullet drained more than blood. Strength bleeds out faster than my tiger can replace it.
Catriona's thumb finds my pulse at the wrist. Counting beats. Her hand trembles slightly, though she's trying to hide it.
"Stay with me."
"Not going anywhere." The words slur together. "You're stuck with me."
She makes a sound that's half-laugh, half-sob. "Damn right I am."
Her smell fills each shallow breath. Heather and salt and the copper tang of my blood on her hands. The woman I took a bullet for. The mate I haven't properly claimed yet.
We'll fight about that later. When I can string sentences together without my vision going grey.
Sounds fade to distant movement. Footsteps. The brotherhood cleaning up. Grayson's rumble asking questions. The girl's broken Russian responses.
Catriona's fingers stay locked with mine. Anchor point. The only thing keeping me conscious.
Zharkov learned what we can do. He'll come prepared, and it might kill us, but that's tomorrow's problem. Right now there's only her hand in mine, her pulse under my fingers, the steady rhythm of her breathing.
My eyes close.