Into the Lair (Falcon Mercenary Group #2)(15)

She rolled to her back, and a shadow fell over her face. He moved so he could see her and then extended his hand down to help her up. For a long moment, she stared at him as if not believing he was acting so civilized. Hell, he wasn’t an ax murderer.

When he shrugged his shoulders and started to lean down to pick her up, she quickly thrust her hand toward his. He curled his fingers around her wrist and pulled so she stood in front of him.

He cupped her chin and tilted it upward until the moonlight better illuminated her face. “You’re a mess.”

Her lips thinned, and she jerked away from his grip. “You’re not looking so hot yourself. And you smell like a goat.”

A light chuckle escaped him, and it seemed to irritate her even more. He cupped her uninjured elbow and herded her back toward the truck.

Though he made an effort to relax and not give away his concern over where Ian was, his gaze shot left to right as they walked back. Halfway there, he heard a low growl emanate from about thirty yards to his right.

Fuck.

“Listen up, sister. When I tell you to run, you haul your pretty ass back to the truck. I’ll be right behind you. Don’t pull any stupid tricks or I swear to God I’ll leave you for the critters to eat.”

She tensed beside him but didn’t argue, thank God.

A hiss shot through the night.

“Run!”

Thankfully, she didn’t hesitate. She took off like a jackrabbit, and Braden pounded the ground after her, his hand at her back urging her faster.

Metal glinted in the moonlight ahead. The SUV came into view, and he grasped her arm and dragged her the remaining way.

He yanked open the door and tossed her inside. She landed with a thump then rapidly turned over to glare at him.

“Don’t get out of this truck,” he said. “I don’t care what you hear or see. You don’t leave. You got me?”

“Yeah, I got it,” she returned softly.

For a moment, fear lurked in her eyes.

“What’s out there?” she asked.

He grimaced. “I’m not entirely sure.”

He glanced once over his shoulder to make sure Ian hadn’t stalked them back to the truck, and then he turned back to Katie.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Without giving her a chance to respond, he shut the door, bathing the interior in darkness once more. The night air blew down his spine, eliciting a shiver.

He listened closely, tuning in to the sounds around him. There in the distance—the slow, methodical sound of a predator creeping through the underbrush.

Braden turned and ran in the direction of the noise. He shoved aside branches and bushes then leaped over a fallen log. It was stupid to confront the jaguar, but he wouldn’t leave Ian out here alone.

He burst into a clearing and came to an abrupt halt when the luminescent eyes of the cat stared back at him.

Shit.

They stared at one another, both so still. Then the jaguar raised its head and sniffed in his direction. The ears that had lain flat against his head slowly rose.

The cat stepped forward, and he hastily backed up. He reached for a gun that wasn’t there, not that he’d use it. Then he nearly laughed. What was he going to do, threaten the cat with it?

The jaguar stopped, his nostrils flaring. His head bobbed up and down as he inhaled Braden’s scent. Then he started pacing from side to side, his eyes never leaving Braden.

“Ian, man this sucks. Come on. Shift back. Katie’s probably setting the truck on fire as we speak.”

At the sound of his voice, the cat hunched down and let out a growl.

“Shutting up now,” Braden murmured.

He remained stock-still, not wanting to alarm the jaguar any more than he already had. He couldn’t bring himself to think of the cat as Ian. That wasn’t Ian.

The jaguar padded forward again, his steps cautious and slow. His ears flicked and twitched, and occasionally he tossed his head in the direction of a distant noise.

Braden held his breath and hoped he wasn’t about to kiss his ass goodbye.

When the cat was just a few yards away, he stopped again and settled on his haunches. He simply stared at Braden, his tail lazily flopping around his paws.

Afraid to say anything that might set him off, Braden just stood there, waiting.

His chest grew tight. Sorrow squeezed his throat even as anger lit fire to his veins. This was bullshit. It was no way for him and Ian to live—worried that at any given moment they could shift to beast and kill the other, or someone else.

“Come back, Ian,” Braden whispered. “Goddamn it, shift back.”

To Braden’s surprise, the cat eased down and gingerly rested his head on his front paws as he stretched out his lithe body. In the next moment, his body gave a shudder, and a garbled sound of pain—half human, half animal—shattered the stillness.

Braden raced forward, dropping to his knees as Ian’s body contorted and stretched. Fur melted away, replaced by pinkened skin. Sweat popped and beaded on his flesh as the muscles contracted, seized and finally went limp.

Ian’s mouth stretched into a ghastly grimace, and a more human-sounding cry of pain escaped, carried away on the breeze.

Ian’s head fell to the ground. Harsh breaths danced in rapid staccato, escaping in a thin puff of smoke against the increasing coldness in the air.

Braden leaned over his brother, fear like a vise gripping his chest. “Ian. Ian, talk to me, man.”