Her Lion Guard - The Complete Series Box Set (BBW Shifter Romance) (6 page)

     Jonas’s roar split the night. He covered the space that separated him from Wiley in two powerful bounds, slamming into the other man with a bone-crunching noise. Together, they tumbled to the ground, limbs tangling as each attempted to throw the other off.

     Mary-Lou watched the two men fight, eyes darting from one contorted face to another. Jonas’ skin glowed golden, eyes sparkling electric-blue with his rage. Against him, Wiley was marble-white and seething, pink lips pulled back to reveal sharp teeth. They rolled around like cubs, growled and bit and tore at each other’s flesh. It was a terrible fight, all the more so for the fact that the two appeared evenly-matched: Any victory would be hard-earned and painful.

     A lucky hit left Jonas on top, the man pinning Wiley beneath his own heavy body. The golden-haired Shifter roared at his opponent to stop, unwilling to continue the mindless scuffle. Wiley grinned, growled something vicious back – Mary-Lou winced when Jonas slammed a large fist into Wiley’s face in response. Wiley turned away briefly to spit out a mouthful of dark blood and caught Mary-Lou’s eyes. He snarled at her, pink-tinged saliva smattered about his lips.

      “Shift,” Wiley growled at Jonas, eyes wide with violent excitement even as he struggled to take a breath, “Shift, you fucking
pussy
, and
fight
me
. What,” he grinned, lips bloody and bruised, “Are you afraid? I will tear her apart, you know – as soon as I am done with you, I will sink my teeth into her throat and
pull
—”

     “Shut up,” Jonas hissed and hit him, again and again – each time harder and more vicious than the last. After the fourth such blow Mary-Lou let out a distressed gasp, wondering if she was about to witness a murder. She desperately wished for a weapon – a taser, a mace, anything that would incapacitate the two testosterone-driven idiots tumbling about and end the whole thing.

    Wiley chose that moment to lurch upward and slam his head against Jonas’, the sound not unlike that of two bulls crossing horns. Jonas fell backwards but did not release his grip on the other man, instead used the momentum to throw Wiley’s body forward and into the garden wall. The sound that followed was truly horrifying: Bone crunching against stone, underlined by a drawn-out howl of pain. Wiley’s head was
in
the wall, the stone cracked around his flesh. Blood dripped steadily down the cracked wall, pooling between the man’s trembling knees.

     Mary-Lou stumbled to Jonas’ side and let the man envelop her in his arms, eyes on Wiley’s twitching body. Jonas nuzzled against her, still growling but calming now that she was out of harm’s way.

      “Is he going to die?” Mary-Lou whispered.

      Several feet away Wiley stilled before redoubling his efforts, hands clawing at the crumbling wall.

     “Just stuck,” Jonas rumbled, “He will be fine in an hour or two. It would take more than that to bring one of us down permanently.” Mary-Lou got the impression that Jonas would like to continue the fight, test exactly how far he had to go to ensure that Wiley fell and
stayed
down. She quickly shook her head, tugging at the man’s arm until he focused on her rather than Wiley’s struggles.

     “Take me home.” Mary-Lou smoothed Jonas’ brow, trailing trembling fingers against his bruised cheek. “You are injured, and I – just take me home,” she pleaded, angry tears stinging her eyes. She was frustrated – at Jonas, at herself, at the new complication that had just entered her life in the form of the murderous Wiley – and really, she just wanted it all to be over, even if only for a little while.

      Jonas studied her pained face. He nodded, expression gentling to one of kind sympathy. He enveloped her waist with one large arm, pressing Mary-Lou’s shivering body as close to his as was proper.

    “Hold onto me,” he said. Mary-Lou did and felt him sweep her fully into his arms, felt ground disappear beneath his feet as he bounded forward. She pressed her face into his neck, too dizzy to enjoy the kaleidoscope of scenery the world had become.

     Wiley’s parting roar echoed in her ears long after they were too far for the sound to reach.

C
HAPTER FOUR

  Jonas did not take her home.

     Mary-Lou stared blearily at the quaint wooden cabin that rose before her, half-certain she was dreaming. Jonas lowered her carefully on the soft grass that skirted the building and she stumbled forward, confused at the absence of cement and pollution and general city-noises. She studied the flowers that bloomed in thick patches all about, cocked her head to better hear the soft flutter of wings and rustling of forest creatures within dark-barked trees. Understanding coalesced slowly.

     It appeared she was in a forest. Again.

     Had she been less bruised, scared, and generally confused, Mary-Lou would have gladly given into the mad impulse to punch Jonas in his handsome face, then and there. As it was, she sighed heavily and stumbled forward, refusing the man’s flustered offer to help her along.

     “This is not my house,” she told him.  Her feet crunched dejectedly against the pebbled path that led up to the cabin, Jonas a warm presence on her side.

     “I know,” Jonas muttered needlessly. His next words were almost too soft to hear, “Your house is not safe, won’t be for a long while.”

     Mary-Lou stiffened at the words, halting three short steps from the cabin’s cheerfully-green door. A cold numbness spread through her body.

     “I can’t go home?” she asked. Jonas shook his head, sighing an apologetic, “It is for the best.”

      Mary-Lou did not look at Jonas, could not bear to look at anything at all. She stared at her feet instead, eyes watering with the intensity of her focus. “Fine,” she whispered in the end – even though it was not, even though it killed her to think that the last conversation she may ever have with her parents had been a fight.

     “My parents,” Mary-Lou gasped. She turned to stare at Jonas, self-pity forgotten as fear gripped her heart. “Who will protect
them
?”

     “They are safe,” Jonas assured her. Mary-Lou ground her teeth, tired of half-spoken words and hidden meanings.

     “If something happens to them,” Mary-Lou ground out, meaning to continue with threats of dismemberment and general violence toward Jonas’ person. The knowledge of just how powerless she was – against Jonas, against Wiley and every single strange thing that had invaded her life in the last forty-eight hours – dried the words in her throat before she could voice them. “I won’t be able to do anything about it,” she finished in a rasp. Fine shivers raked down her chest, her arms and legs; her stomach clenched in a dry heave. “Oh, God.”

     Jonas strode up to her, grasped Mary-Lou’s shoulder and urged her to look at him. Mary-Lou raised her eyes to his, fighting the desire to close them instead – to indulge in the childish belief that all bad things would go away if she could not see them.

     “I promise you, they will be safe,”Jonas told her, face serious and sincere. “Two of ours are guarding them – they will not let anything happen to your parents.”

     “Who?” Mary-Lou asked. Jonas hesitated. Mary-Lou was about to repeat the question when the door to the cabin opened and golden light spilled across the path.

    “Jonas?” exclaimed a woman’s voice, “And—” the silence that fell was thick with unsaid words.

    Mary-Lou turned in Jonas’ arms, squinting at the figure outlined in the bright doorway. She could not make out the woman’s features.

     “I am Mary-Lou,” she offered, for a lack of anything else to say. The woman inhaled sharply and nodded, the motion jerky. Pained.

     “I know,” she said and opened the door wider. “My name is Irma. Please, come in.”

                                                                      ***

     Mary-Lou stumbled up the steps and into the warm cabin in a daze. She did not hear Jonas’ soft apologies, the woman –
Irma’s, her mother’s
– comforting words. She concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other instead, navigating around the front desk and deeper into what she realized was a small bed-and-breakfast.

     “Who is it, Irma?” a man called from deeper inside and Mary-Lou halted, heart seizing as she remembered a very similar scene with very different people.

     At her side, Irma’s hand faltered inches from Mary-Lou’s shoulder. The older woman looked pained, frustrated at her inability to offer comfort to one she held so dear. A moment later, she moved past Mary-Lou with a broken sigh.

     “We have company, Jonathon.” Irma glanced over her shoulder, eyes slipping from Mary-Lou to Jonas, and beckoned them forward.

     “Come,” Jonas urged. When Mary-Lou shook her head, more stupefied than defiant, he curled a large hand around her waist and guided her toward the voices that spilled from within the cabin’s spacious common area.

     Sturdy oak layered the outside of the cabin, lent it warmth even as it hid its existence among trees and flowers. A chance passerby would think nothing of the cozy house – would believe it the retreat of
a
one hassled businessmen or another and forget all about it as soon as the structure was out of sight. He would never suspect the quaint façade as just that – a front. For the walls were not wood on the inside, no, but brick and mortar and
metal
.

     Mary-Lou trailed a hand across the entryway, strangely taken with the lattice of steel and stone that fortified the cabin. The seamless way in which the metal blended in and out of the red brick was beautiful, represented craftsmanship at its finest. She tilted her head up, toward the ceiling, gasping to see the steel extend out of the walls to weave in flowers and curving shapes across the dark ceiling. It gleamed white and soft, like lace against cherry wood. From there, Mary-Lou’s gaze lowered to the grand windows that occupied a good portion of the opposite wall. They were dark with night, darker – Mary-Lou realized the glass was thick and tinted black, saw the heavy metal flaps flanking each window pane.

     This was not a house, but a masterfully-crafted bunker. The realization was enough to startle Mary-Lou into the present, mind whirling with potential implications.

     “Mary-Lou,” Irma called out, voice strong and confident even as her eyes flickered worriedly over her daughter’s face, “Please sit down.” Bruised and confused, Mary-Lou looked frighteningly young; Irma had to repress the desire to grab the girl and hide her in her arms, away from a world that had been none too kind. But Mary-Lou was a child no longer, and Irma knew only too well how little right she had to offer any unsolicited comfort.

     After several unsuccessful starts, Jonas was finally able to guide Mary-Lou to a seat on a plush couch. Jonathon observed the younger shifter from his place next to his wife; his eyes narrowed at the muscular arm circling his daughter’s waist, a growl building in his throat. Irma placed a calming hand against his shoulder and shook her head. It was not their place. Not yet.

      “Mary,” Jonathon focused on Mary-Lou instead, voice a bit breathless. Winded. His daughter – his daughter! He bit back a pained whimper – she raised her head, meeting his gaze for the very first time.

     Mary-Lou gasped. The pain in her chest – the worry, the fear, the blood-tinged anger – had not receded, was not forgotten. Yet, with her birth parents standing but steps away, Mary-Lou found the strength to overcome it – to set it aside in favor of studying faces both familiar and strange.

     Irma was a tall, slender woman. Her skin was darker than Mary-Lou’s, physique more defined and effortlessly powerful. Her face, however – Irma’s full lips, straight nose, the hair falling in heavy curls about her shoulders – those were all Mary-Lou’s. Mary-Lou blinked back tears and shifted her eyes back to her father, to the startlingly familiar green eyes that had desperately sought hers.

     Jonathon Smith was not a tall man. His body was compact, sturdy and muscular, his face quietly handsome. There was a dimple in his chin, two more framing a mouth that smiled often. His hair was pepper-gray and straight, his skin pale, and his eyes –