Dark and Damaged: Eight Tortured Heroes of Paranormal Romance: Paranormal Romance Boxed Set (15 page)

“There was something in the dark with me,” he said, his throat raw. He still had hold of Bree’s hand—he should release her and not make her go through this, but he couldn’t seem to let go. He walked with her unerringly down a dry ditch, which was thick with dust at the bottom. “Here,” he said.

The blood smell was acrid, cloying. Ronan let out a whistle. “Goddess, that’s ripe.”

Walker and Bree, though they didn’t have Shifter sensitivity to smell, both backed up a pace, Bree wrinkling her nose.

“I agree, this is where it must have happened.” Dylan seemed the only one not affected by the smell. “The scents are right. The hunters were killed in this ditch then carried away, not dragged. Someone very strong did that. The killer didn’t bother to come back and clean up the scene. Buzzards have been here, just because of the blood.”

They’d have left disappointed, Seamus thought. No bones to pick.

The dizziness that had been bothering him returned with a whack. Seamus clamped down on Bree’s hand, his breathing shallow.

“No, don’t let me ...”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Bree said quickly. She squeezed his hand. “I’m right here. I’m not letting you go feral, or be taken to Shifter prison, or anything else. I know you didn’t kill the hunters.”

“There was anger,” Seamus said. “Despair. So much of it. Killing rage. It came at me, swept me up in it. I fought.” The impact of the attack came back to him, the noise and fury. “I fought hard, shifted—it was in between-beast form. It threw me aside, beat me down again and again. I couldn’t protect them ...”

Bree’s touch was the only thing that kept him connected to the present. Without it, Seamus would have swirled inside his memories and not come out. His awareness of her, like a beacon at his side, grounded him, allowing him to speak of it and not relive it.

“I tried to protect them, and then they were dead.”

“Protect who?” Bree asked in her soft voice. “The hunters?”

“Yes.” Seamus gazed down at her, her eyes in the starlight the only thing worth looking at. “Stupid humans. Stalking a Shifter, trying to kill it. Not me. They were stalking the other Shifter, who was after
me
. He was feral. Whatever is feral in me tried to become like him. It was so real, so vivid, I couldn’t tell where he left off and I began. It was too tempting to give in to the wildness. For a moment, I was completely gone. Feral. Never coming back. Dear Goddess, it was one of the worst moments of my life. To know I was insane, dangerous, a killer ... and not to care.”

“But you weren’t.” Bree’s hand tightened on his. “You didn’t kill those men. You made it to find me. I helped you, and you helped me. You came back from it.”

Seamus dragged in a long breath, finding the cool sweetness of the night beyond the blood. “Yes. I came back. But the other hunters thought the killer was me.
I
thought I was.”

And so they’d chased him, shooting, ready to bring him down.

“Well, that’s a relief,” Ronan broke in, cutting through Seamus’s horror. “Won’t have to kill you then. I kind of like you, Feline.”

Seamus reached for grim humor. “Good thing. I’m sleeping in your house tonight.”

“Bree,” Dylan said abruptly. “How long were you were in the roadhouse?”

“Um.” Bree pursed her lips as she thought. Red, sweet-tasting lips. Now that Seamus knew—or mostly knew—what had happened, his thoughts were turning to his other pull. The need for Bree.

“I’d say a little over an hour.” Bree said. “I ordered one drink and looked for someone to talk to. Shifters were standoffish there.”

Ronan nodded. “They don’t much like strangers. Come to Liam’s bar. We’re much more friendly. I’m the bouncer—I make
sure
everyone’s more friendly.”

Seamus pictured Bree in the small bar they’d passed on the way to Shiftertown, swaying to music in her tight skirt, while Shifters vied to get next to her. He growled and tightened his hold on her.

Bree didn’t seem to mind. She answered Dylan, “If you’re asking me if I saw any Shifters in the bar who might have killed the hunters, I don’t think so. None of the Shifters there looked insane—well, not obviously, anyway. They were all Collared and comfortable with each other, as much as Shifters of different species from different Shiftertowns can be. If one was feral, I’m sure they would have noticed.”

Dylan only grunted and gave her a nod of thanks.

“Which leaves us where?” Walker asked. He’d been quiet, waiting and listening. Seamus liked to do that too. “Are you saying there’s an unknown, feral Shifter on the loose?”

“I want to go back to the safe house,” Seamus said. “The one out here. When I was there, I
knew
something was wrong. I bet I was sensing the feral watching us. Watching
me
.”

No one suggested that it was futile running around in the darkness. They went back to the truck, got in, and Walker drove away, following Seamus’s directions again.

Ideas, thoughts, worries, swam in Seamus’s brain. He tried to keep himself calm, tried to sort through them. The feral beast who’d attacked him had touched something feral inside him. Bree had told Seamus he wasn’t a killer, and Seamus was starting to believe it. But something feral inside him had awakened, a disturbing wildness he couldn’t ignore.
Something
was going on with him, and he needed to figure out what.

Bree’s scent wrapped around him as Walker’s truck bumped its way down the washboard road. She was
right
in a world that was wrong. A light in the darkness. Bree understood about grief, but she was living her life. The hole in that life, left by her brother’s death, wasn’t stopping her.

Seamus’s need for her cried out to him, a craving so strong he could seize her now, leap out of the truck, and run off with her to some place where they could be together. Alone. Not surrounded by Shifters, hunters, killers, and a guy from Shifter Bureau.

Bree leaned against him, her sleek hair brushing his chin. Seamus slid his arms around her and rested his cheek on her head.

The safe house was difficult to see in the darkness, which was why Seamus had chosen it. It was a small house, abandoned, that must have stood here for fifty or sixty years. Seamus had shored it up and put in new windows and plumbing when he’d still lived in Kendrick’s compound, fortifying it against a day he’d need it.

Other trackers had done similar things with the houses they used, but even the trackers didn’t know where each other’s safe houses were. Kendrick liked compartmentalization. If one tracker was compromised, he couldn’t compromise them all.

Walker stopped where Seamus directed. Dylan took Seamus’s key from him and led the way into the house, leaving Ronan to circle the place, looking for signs of intrusion. They’d found none so far. The place looked empty.

Even so, Dylan wanted to go first, his duty as strongest Shifter in the party to lead the way. Walker insisted on bringing up the rear, drawing a dark, thick-barreled pistol. Humans liked to do that, protecting from behind, which did make sense, especially with Bree between them.

The house, which consisted of two rooms and an attic, was empty. Seamus caught a whiff of his own scent—damn, he must have been nervous—Francesca, equally as nervous, and the rather soothing scent of baby Katie.

The aura of Katie’s presence calmed Seamus. She was such a happy cub, in spite of her beginnings. But then, she’d been snatched away from death, cared for, loved. Katie enjoyed the hell out of her life. She was with Francesca now, in Shiftertown, as safe as she could be under the circumstances.

Over the scents of himself, Francesca, and Katie, Seamus detected the scent of another Shifter. The feral. Not strong—the feral wasn’t there now—but Seamus’s skin crawled. He felt his eyes change to his wildcat’s, tension scraping his nerves raw.

They checked out the entirety of the small house, but found nothing. The Shifter hadn’t left evidence of himself behind, nothing helpful like a note with directions to where he’d gone. The feral had come here, looked around, and departed.

They found no signs that Seamus and his charges had been living here either. Seamus hadn’t left anything to betray their presence. He’d learned long ago the importance of being thorough.

Ronan came in the front door. “Hey, come see what I found,” he said. Without another word, he turned around and faded back outside.

Seamus led the way this time, too impatient to wait for Dylan to play alpha. Ronan took them around the house to the back then moved some boards away from the foundation to show them a dark, gaping hole.

The scent that poured out of it was strong, fetid, disgusting. Seamus clapped his hand over his nose and mouth, and Ronan turned away, his face gray. Even Dylan backed a step or two, growls coming from his throat.

No one was there. Walker volunteered to go inside and look around, since his sense of smell wasn’t as strong as the Shifters’, and no one argued with him. The scent was making Seamus want to shift and get the hell out of there, and he knew Ronan had to be feeling the same way.

Walker flashed a light around inside then came back and hoisted himself out of the opening. “He used this space to access the inside of the house by popping out the floorboards above him,” Walker announced as he climbed to his feet and dusted himself off. “Then replaced them when he left again. That’s why the door was still locked, windows unbroken.”

“What was he looking for?” Ronan asked. His voice sounded nasally as he tried to breathe only through his mouth. “Seamus? Or just a place to stay?”

“I don’t know,” Seamus said. “Unless he was one of Kendrick’s Shifters, and went feral when we had to go to ground. That’s what I thought was happening to me. He might have been looking for me to help him, but been too crazy to let me.”

Dylan gave Seamus a thoughtful look. “I’m thinking there’s more to this than we understand,” he said. “But now that we know there’s a rogue feral out there, I’ll round up my trackers, and we’ll hunt him. We’ll find him.”

“Let me join you,” Seamus said. “If it
is
one of Kendrick’s Shifters gone bad—I’ll know him. He might respond to me.” Seamus would try to help him—going feral was no Shifter’s fault—but the guy had to be stopped. The feral was out of control, had murdered those men, and had tried to kill Seamus, not to mention leaving him to be blamed for the killings. Seamus didn’t have a lot of sympathy for humans who hunted Shifters for sport, but they hadn’t deserved such a death.

“Of course you’re coming with us,” Dylan said. “You’ll know him when you encounter him, and I want to keep an eye on you.”

Dylan and his trackers would hunt the Shifter, figure out who he was and what he was, and try to bring him back to sanity if they could.

If they couldn’t, then they’d do what Shifters had to with ferals—end his life and send him to the Summerland. After that, Seamus would be free to discover what he had with Bree, to be with her.

Maybe. His fear that he might hurt Bree hadn’t entirely gone. The feral should not have been able to drag Seamus into the madness with him.

Seamus also needed to figure out what had happened to Kendrick, what to do with Francesca and Katie, and whether Bree wanted a Collarless rogue Shifter to fall in love with her.

If he stayed in Shiftertown, what would happen to him? If he managed to escape, what about Bree? And Francesca and Katie?

Too many things. Seamus was a fighter, a soldier. He followed orders and left big decisions up to Shifters like Kendrick or Dylan.

Seamus had the feeling, though, that this time, the decisions had to come from him. And Bree. This was his
life
, not simply carrying out the orders of a leader. His brain hurt.

“You all right?” Bree asked, taking his hand as they walked back to the truck.

“No,” he said. He drew her close, his arm stealing around her waist. “But it’s better when I’m with you.”

***

Back in Shiftertown, Bree filled Francesca in on what had happened, while Dylan had a quick conference in Ronan’s living room with all the Shifters.

Bree heard Dylan and Walker relating what they’d found out at Seamus’s safe house, then Dylan called the hunt to start in the morning, after they’d rested. Most feral Shifters reverted to being entirely nocturnal, Dylan said, and they would likely catch the Shifter napping—literally. Trackers from San Antonio had been recruited as well, Dylan finished, to watch the safe house tonight to see whether the feral returned. Dylan would be on alert, as would Liam and Sean.

After that, the trackers scattered, and Seamus nearly crashed to the floor.

Bree couldn’t convince him to go to bed, though, until he was one-hundred percent certain that Katie would be all right. She’d been given a bed in the room with Cherie, a grizzly who was about twenty-one in human years, but still a cub in Shifter terms. Francesca would share the room as well, and Olaf insisted they set up a cot in it for him. He was determined to look after Katie. Seamus checked the room, the house, the Den, the yard, and the perimeter of the yard before he confessed himself satisfied, for now.

Finally, Bree dragged Seamus to bed.

No one questioned that Seamus and Bree would share a bedroom. The other Shifters only said good-night and trundled to their rooms to sleep, and Walker and Rebecca retired to the Den.

Bree had a low-voiced conversation with her mother after she marched Seamus upstairs—she had to use Ronan’s land line in the kitchen, since Sean still hadn’t returned her cell phone.

“Really, Mom, I’m fine. You sound like you’re having a good time with Kim and Carly. We’ll go home tomorrow. Tonight, I need to make sure Seamus is okay.”

“Sure you do.”
Nadine skepticism floated over the phone.
“You know, I never thought my grandchildren would be Shifter, but if this is the only way I get any
...
”

Bree made a noise of exasperation. “Mom, you are so ahead of yourself. Good night.”

“I’m just saying. Be careful over there.”

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” Bree said firmly. “Good night.”

“Good night, honey. Love you.”