Leap of the Lion (The Wild Hunt Legacy #4)(109)

It was her nightmare in the park again. A tinny taste filled her mouth. Her bare skin was too visible. Hide, must hide. The need to trawsfur into a dark panther and disappear into the shadows wracked her.

Visible was the point. Run, tinker. Lead the guards away from the children and babies. Her muscles flinched with each gunshot blast.

Not far ahead of her, two more guards appeared. “Get her!” Muzzle blasts sparked in the darkness as they shot at her.

She felt a tugging on her arm. A bullet slammed into her thigh, and her leg buckled. She went down, rolling over and over.

Terror filled her. Not again. She tried to push to her feet.

A man landed on her, flattening her to the ground. His stench increased her fear. Huber. He ground her face in the dirt.

“You fucking abortion.” His breath was foul, his weight horrible. As she struggled frantically, he ran his hand over her bare shoulder and made her shudder with revulsion. “You brought them freaks here.”

A flashlight beam danced over Huber and her. “You got her. Good—” The human’s high shriek ended abruptly.

A startled, choking grunt came from someone else. Heels thumped on the ground convulsively.

Another guard skidded to a stop. “One of ’em got Conklin.” He turned in a circle. “Jones? Parker? Huber, the fucking beasts are all around us!”

“Christ Jesus.” Huber’s breath panted on her cheek. Gripping her hair, he yanked her head up in the air and pressed his knife to her throat.

Terror engulfed her. There—the door to the wild, to the trawsfur. With all her control, she fought the change. If Huber realized she was shifting, he’d cut her throat immediately.

In the shadows to her right, tawny fur flickered past.

From the front, another cougar bounded directly toward them. Gawain. Snarling madly. All his attention was on Huber.

The guard beside Huber whimpered in terror, raised his pistol. Aimed.

“No!” Darcy struggled. The knife cut deeper into her neck.

The redhead hesitated, looking at her.

“Shoot!” Huber yelled.

From the right, a cougar leaped over Huber and landed on the other guard. The pistol blasted—and then Owen bit out the guard’s throat.

“Jesus!” Huber screamed. “You freaks, get back or she’s dead! I’ll—” His knife pressed viciously against her throat. Burning pain seared her skin.

Still a cougar, Owen let out a chilling scream-snarl.

And Darcy saw Gawain shift to human, pull his sheathed blade—and throw.

Huber shrieked and dropped his knife. Releasing her hair, he yanked Gawain’s blade from his forearm.

Free. Desperately, she shoved up and scrambled out from under him.

As she tried—managed—to stand, Huber disappeared beneath two enraged male cougars. His scream was cut off.

Dead. Darcy swallowed. He was dead…and he’d never rape or hurt another female again.

Shaking, nauseated, hurting, she took a step toward Gawain and Owen. In the middle of her worst nightmare, they had come for her. Saved her.

As her strength failed and she collapsed, she heard the whap-whap-whap of a helicopter making a landing.

*

Naked in human form, Tynan loosely tied the bag with his clothing around his neck. The helicopter touched down, and he jumped out, ducking his head against the wind from the blades. The grounds within the stone walls were dark. The little female had done her job. Tynan’s gut sucked in at the ugly noise of battle. Gunshots and yelling, screams of pain, shouted orders…but there was no rat-tat-tat of automatic weapons.

In wolf form, Fell and Patrin leaped to the ground, and then the rest stormed out and onto the grounds. As they spread out, littermates ran together, targeting the sounds of gunfire and the flashlights. The healing time had been too short, and some limped as they ran. A few remained in human form and carried cans of gasoline since Calum had ordered them to burn the manor where the Daonain had been held. Wells had requested the other building burn as well.

Tynan checked the helicopter. The last male out was his littermate, the damn fool. Healers were too valuable to risk in a war zone, but Donal had the stubbornness of a donkey. He insisted a battle was exactly where a healer was needed.

Tynan scowled at him. “We’ll head for the garage where the hostages and wounded will be. Follow me—and remember to duck.”

His damn littermate simply chuckled. Carrying a backpack of medical supplies, he joined Tynan.

Needing the greater mobility, Tynan shifted to wolf and trotted across the wide lawn, cursing the lack of fecking cover. Bodies scattered the lawn, and the stench of bowels and blood hung thick in the air.

A massive grizzly swatted a guard, flinging him into a building.

Two wolves in a well-coordinated attack took down another guard.

A lean old panther chased after another guard. Was that the old werecat who owned BOOKS?

A shot rang out from the vine-covered building—and the panther snarled. His forelimb darkened with blood.

Tynan turned.

Rifle barrel resting on the sill, a sniper knelt in a first floor window. Growling, Tynan leaped through, hit the guard’s shoulders, and knocked him onto his back.

Then the cop part of Tynan watched as his wolf instincts took over and tore the human to pieces. As the guard under his paws died, Tynan thought of the others who would also die today—without recourse to any laws. He found no pity or remorse in his heart.