A Love Untamed (Feral Warriors #7)(71)

“Mel!” Fox’s voice pulled her back to the present, and she ducked, barely in time to avoid being stabbed through the skull by one of the mounted sentinels. Instinct and long experience took over, and she leaped onto the horse behind him, stood on the animal’s haunches, and drove her sword straight through the rider’s skull. Yanking her blade free, she swung, lopping off his head, too.

Pushing the headless rider from the horse, she stood on the animal’s back, surveying the dying Mage on the ground around her. In her mind’s eye, they weren’t Mage, but Ilinas. Not dead, not yet, but writhing in pain and madness, crazed from the poison the Mage potion master had infected them with.

So many dead.

Screams echoed in her mind, escaping the box she’d tried to lock them in. Her body turned to ice.

Ninety-six Ilinas dead.

Castin’s fault. It was all Castin’s fault. He had to die. She had to make it right.

Melisande half fell, half leaped off the horse. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Fox yelling something, but couldn’t hear what he said. All she could hear were the echoes of those ancient screams.

It was starting to rain. Just f**king great, Grizz thought as he strode across the open field on the slope of the mountain. Finding a lone woman in the f**king Rocky Mountains was worse than searching for a needle in a haystack.

After talking to Brinlin last night, he and Lepard had rented a motel room, then set out at daybreak. They’d found the lockbox easily enough, in the middle of the woods, in the middle of f**king nowhere, just as Brinlin had warned. There were no trails leading away from it. No roads or trails of any kind in any direction. At least none that they’d been able to find. They’d even shifted into their animals and tried to track scents, though neither of them had much experience with it. And they’d been wholly unsuccessful. Then again, if Sabine only came down here once a month, and the last time was nearly four weeks ago, they weren’t likely to find any kind of trail, scent or otherwise.

Finally, they’d decided to split up, afraid if they didn’t, they’d be at this for days. The woman could be anywhere.

Grizz was just cresting the next rise when a loping bear cub caught his attention not ten yards to his right. Cute little guy, and a grizzly, if he wasn’t mistaken. The incredible nature of seeing a real grizzly wasn’t lost on him. Nor was the fact that he was in very real danger. Because where there was a cub, there was almost certainly a mother.

A quick look left confirmed his suspicion. The mother, all right. The very pissed-off mother if the ears lying flat to her head were anything to go by.

Hell. This wasn’t what he needed right now. He hesitated two seconds before tossing his backpack to the ground and yanking off his boots. But as he shucked off his pants, the sow began charging and he didn’t have time to divest himself of his shirt, jacket, or briefs. And there’d be no seeing them again. He wasn’t one of the lucky ones who could hang on to his clothes through a shift.

Pulling on the magic that lived within him now, channeled by the golden grizzly-head armband that curled around one upper arm, he shifted into his animal in a spray of colored lights.

Mama grizzly pulled up short. But her confusion didn’t last long or change anything. He was still standing between her and her cub, and that was the only thing that mattered.

Grizz was far larger than she was, but he had no desire to hurt her, so he took off running, lumbering over the open grass, getting the hell away from that cub. Finally, he glanced back and found her turning back to her baby. But the moment he slowed, she turned toward him, snarling, slapping the ground, making it clear he wasn’t nearly far enough.

I’m going, I’m going, he thought to himself. But, shit, now he was going to have to wait until they left, then circle back to retrieve his jeans, boots, and pack. Fucking hell.

A scent tickled his far more sensitive bear’s nose. A sweet scent. Human? Glancing back at the mom and cub, who’d moved off slightly, but not nearly far enough, yet, he decided to follow the scent for a ways, see where it led. Maybe he’d gotten lucky at last even if he had lost his favorite leather jacket.

And that’s when he saw her. A woman of perhaps thirty, she was walking across the grassy embankment below, a shotgun slung over one shoulder, her stride long and confident. Tall and slender, her auburn hair curling in a ponytail down her back, she was striking to watch even dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt.

Sabine?

As if possessing a sixth sense, she turned and saw him, then turned away and continued, as if the sight of a grizzly bothered her not at all. And maybe it didn’t.

But he’d be damned if he was going to lose her now. He started after her, lumbering down the hillside, for a moment forgetting just exactly what he looked like.

She turned, suddenly, raising her shotgun.

Oh hell. He pulled up fast.

Wait, Sabine. I just want to talk to you.

Her head jerked back, her eyes widening, then narrowing as she took aim and fired.

Pain exploded in his shoulder. What the f**k did you do that for? Maybe she wasn’t Sabine. Maybe she was human and thought he was some kind of devil.

“Go away!” she shouted at him, and shot him again, hitting him in the neck.

He swayed, shifting back to human without meaning to. Christ, he was still bleeding. Not stopping. Why wasn’t he healing? His vision began to narrow.

“You’re a Feral Warrior!” she called.