ROMANCE: Lion Protector (Paranormal Shifter BBW Military Romance) (Shapeshifter Alpha Male Short Stories Book 2) (31 page)

She told them that she was sure, that of course he was. She tried her best to act as certain of this as the ground beneath her feet, but she could tell from the worried looks on their faces that she could not conceal the doubt that had crept into her heart.

What if he had gone? What if he had gotten what he wanted from her and then, like so many words spoken into the night air, disappeared to leave her and her village to their fate?

Facts that she had previously overlooked began springing, unbidden, to her mind. Certainly he had been able to dispatch six terrified soldiers in a forest at night. But then he had had the advantage, hadn’t he? He’d been concealed and they were cowards, anyway, who had run from the battle in the first place and did not even have enough sense between them to find the right direction to rejoin the army.

And the village had so very few men who could even fight. They would do the best they could, but they had been relying on the wolf – a wolf that, Elspeth now saw, would be out of its depth. Surely Henry must have known this. Surely he must have known all these things from the beginning.

Had he never intended to help? Had she been absurd? Had she been blinded by the magic of the situation, of the man who could be a beast, to recognize the truth of what all men – wolf or no wolf – truly were?

Elspeth tried to push these thoughts away. She tried to believe in what she had felt the night before. She tried to summon the certainty she had felt lying on the moss, looking at the shards of sky she could see between the branches. But hope was slippery, and as the hours wore on, became harder and harder to hold on to.

Finally, after a day that seemed so long it must have been a week, there was a figure spotted at the horizon. Elspeth had been in her room, lying on her bed, alternating between utter faith and absolute heartsickness. Fiona came in and got her, and told her to come.

It was a lone figure, large and limping, and impossible to make out at a distance. But Elspeth knew instantly who it was.

Henry’s wounds were deep, and he did not change to a man. He could not speak to her, but she did not need him to. She didn’t know whether he did not change because he could not change in such an injured state, or because wounds such as these inflicted on a human would surely kill him. She did not need to know.

Rumors spread throughout the village, but no one asked her any questions directly. There were those sent out to investigate, who discovered a band of solders on the road who had been torn to pieces, their banner ripped and bloody, lying in the dirt.

For seven days, the wolf lay on the table in Elspeth’s house, and when Henry walked through the village at the end of that week, no one asked him what had happened. They only greeted him with overly large smiles, and brought food to him as he recovered.

And no one questioned when he did not leave Elspeth’s house once he was healed, and no one questioned when they married, soon later, after such a short time.

The only one who had any further questions for Henry was Elspeth, when, some months later she asked him if he had always intended to fight the English alone as he did.

“Yes,” he had replied, after some time.

“Why would you do such a thing?” Elspeth asked, angrier, even after all this time, than she had a right to be. “Why not fight in the village, where you would have had help. Why go alone?

“That’s simple,” he said. “I would have had help if I had fought in the village, and I would have been safer. But your life would have been at risk, too, not only mine. And I only risk things I can afford to lose.”

Then he kissed her forehead, and they never spoke of the past again, only of the future.

THE END

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Chapter 1: Anthony “Razor” Polizziano:

I was trained to wait patiently for hours, or even days, watching for the perfect time to strike. When that moment came, I would go in unseen and unheard. I would quickly and efficiently put my prey to death and then slip away. The only evidence that I had even been there would be the dead body that I left behind.

The party inside the house that I was watching had been raging for hours and I was growing weary of the same heavy bass and screaming guitars of the metal music that had been blaring over the speakers, no doubt keeping the entire neighborhood from sleep. But no one would call the cops to complain about it. Doing that would be suicide. Most of the neighbors had left the area long before, and the few who remained were the type who paid low rent and avoided any human contact, preferring to pass their time in a drug-induced state of delirium.

Whenever the wind shifted just right, I could smell the sweet, unmistakable scent of marijuana drifting from the party. It was probably the tamest of the illegal substances that were being consumed inside the house. I didn’t care. I wasn’t there to enforce the law.

The night had been overcast, but the clouds were beginning to clear away and a thin stream of light from the moon was reflecting off of the chrome of a row of motorcycles parked in front of the house. An admirer of motorcycles—the real ones, not the rice-burning imports—I would have liked to stroll among them and examine the different customizing jobs that had been done to each of the different models.

Noise coming from the front of the house made me tense up and sharpen my senses. The first group of party-goers was spilling out of the house. Loud conversation, laughter, giggles and the occasional howl or squeal, which had, up until that point, been contained inside the walls of the house, were penetrating the night. Though it took several minutes for them to get organized and headed in the right direction, I eventually heard the sound of their bikes turning over and the fading rumble of tuned pipes as they started off down the road. I wouldn’t have to wait much longer.

For the next hour, the same process was repeated. A small group would stumble from the house, organize themselves, start their bikes and then rumble away down the road. Though no one had turned off the stereo, the party was essentially over. I waited a little bit longer, making certain that there were no more stragglers, and then reached into the pocket of my leather jacket to pull out a pair of driving gloves.

With the form-fitting gloves in place, I crept forward across the unkempt yard toward the back door of the house. I paused several times as I covered the distance, making certain that I was still undetected, and then moved on, reaching the back door and crouching at the stoop.

It might have been easier to hear whatever was going on inside the house if the stereo wasn’t continuing to blast away, but I would simply have to do what I needed to do in spite of that. I’d just have to be more cautious. As the breeze shifted slightly, I could make out the rhythmic moans and cries of a female voice as she was, no doubt, giving some lucky bastard a wild ride in one of the bedrooms. I waited a while longer, until those sounds also died out before reaching up to the knob on the door. The arrogant bastards had left it unlocked.
I turned the doorknob slowly. Though it was unlikely that any conscious person would be sitting in the room and watching the back door, I pushed it open slowly and then, still crouching, slipped inside and pushed it closed.

The blaring music would cover whatever sounds I made, but it would also cover the sound of anyone approaching, so I continued to remain disciplined in my movements and kept a close eye on my surroundings. My quarry would be in the middle bedroom on the left side of the hall. I moved out of the kitchen and down the hallway. As I came to the archway that led to the living room and the source of the loud music, I peered around the corner and noticed several passed-out bodies strewn around, like the empty bottles that littered every available surface. But I also heard heavy, rhythmic breathing and soft moans. I froze and then peered cautiously around the corner.

Lying on her side on the sofa, the nude form of a slender blonde with long, straight hair was taking a pounding from behind. Her hips rolled in the same rhythm of her moans, which eventually became more pronounced and higher pitched as she reached her climax. A few minutes later, what sounded like the grunting of a pig came to my ears, and then the motion that had been slowly rocking her hips stopped. Waiting a few more minutes, I peered around the corner again, taking note that the couple on the couch had finished their entertainment and drifted off to sleep.

I moved past the archway and down the hall to the room that held my quarry. Crouched in front of the door, I paused to listen. Other than the music, I detected no other sounds in the house. I turned the doorknob and pushed the door open enough to peer through. Trained to make use of even the tiniest amount of ambient light, I studied the room and its two occupants. I was certain that the larger of the two bodies lying on the bed was my prey.

Patience and waiting were often the greatest assets of my craft, but when the moment to make that final move came, it had to be swift and decisive. I slipped through the door in a crouch, closed it behind me, stood and listened one more time. Satisfied that I’d been undetected, I unzipped my leather jacket, reached inside and pulled out a small, razor-sharp knife.

I glanced briefly at the nude body of the girl lying on the bed beside my quarry, making certain that she was asleep, and then moved to the head of the bed on the near side. Without further hesitation, and in one swift movement, I placed the knife to the sleeping man’s throat and my hand over his mouth.

The man’s eyes snapped open and a slight grunt came from him, but the feel of the knife against his neck made him freeze. Whatever substances he’d consumed to cloud his mind earlier dissipated instantly as he looked up into the eyes of his killer, felt the sharp blade move through the skin of his neck and then began to feel his life passing away.

I reached into my jacket pocket again, exchanging the knife for a playing card, which I placed on the man’s chest, then moved silently to the door. I pulled it open, listened, and looked up and down the hall. Satisfied that no one would detect me, I moved down the hall, paused at the archway, and moved quickly past it into the kitchen and out the back door.

As I crossed the yard toward the grove of elms where I had passed the night waiting, I heard Metallica’s
Enter Sandman
coming from the stereo. Chuckling softly at the irony, I slipped through the trees, swung a leg over his Harley, kicked the starter and heard the low rumble of the chrome pipes come to life. Shifting it into gear, I flexed my wrist on the throttle and the bike let out a low, steady growl as I disappeared into the night.

Chapter 2: Kelly “Sunshine” Pearson

Bad boys had always been my weakness. I liked their rugged demeanor, their devil-may-care attitude, their proud arrogance and the smell of leather. From the first moment that I had first discovered how liberating the open road on the back of a Harley could be, I had started to hang out with bikers. The badder the better.

I had started off by just hanging around the clubs where I saw bikes lined up out front and got my first taste of the wild life that the guys inside them led. I learned the meaning behind the leather jackets, their patches and insignias, becoming a virtual encyclopedia of knowledge concerning the different clubs, which ones were allies and which ones were bitter enemies.

Needless to say, the wild parties, booze, drugs and sex had also had their appeal. I’d gone well beyond limits that I had previously held to in all of those areas, even taking part in my first gangbang in celebration of my twenty-first birthday.

I considered myself attractive, with red hair and pale, freckled skin. I had filled out well and looked fantastic in a pair of body-hugging leather pants. I had advanced rapidly up the ladder among what some called “biker groupies” and had become trusted among the leaders of a MC club that called themselves the Lost Disciples. One person in particular had taken a special interest in me, a man by the name of Viktor Svetleachni. Of course, since nobody could pronounce his name, they all called him Sabre. Sabre was a powerful and dangerous man, something that had both frightened and thrilled me in the beginning.

What I had discovered about Sabre, whom I dared to call Viktor, though nobody else would, was that there was a softer and gentler side to him once I had been allowed into his confidence. Whenever the group traveled, I was seated on the back of Sabre’s bike. To all of the members of the Lost Disciples, as well as anyone who was aware of who Viktor Svetleachni was, I was known as Sabre’s bitch. I had worn that label with pride for more than a year. Truthfully, Viktor had been my first extended relationship of any sort, even before I dropped out of high school.

It hadn’t been all bad being with Viktor. I lived a lifestyle that few people ever experience. I could have pretty much anything I wanted, go anywhere I wanted to go and do anything I desired. I was safe, I was provided for and I had seen nearly half of the United States from the back of a Harley before I’d turned 22.

But the freedom of the road and that lifestyle had its drawbacks. By the time I had turned 22, I’d also seen people raped, murdered, beaten nearly to death and barely escaped being blown to pieces in a meth lab explosion. Ninety-nine percent of the time, Sabre was gentle and harmless, but hidden in that other one percent of his nature was a violent streak that terrified me. It was when that violent streak turned toward me, and I awakened after being beaten unconscious on bathroom floor in Sabre’s house, that I decided I’d had enough.

I had escaped by calling a friend, who waited for me in her Matrix on the other side of the grove of elm trees outside the back door of Viktor’s house. I had silently sprinted from an open window in the early hours before dawn. From that point forward, I had spent most of my time looking over my shoulder, hiding out or avoiding any place where I might be recognized.

Destiny didn’t just rescue me, She also took me in to her apartment on the opposite side of town from Viktor’s house while I started to try to figure out how to live a normal life.

“Well?” Destiny asked. “What would you study?”

“God, Des,” I replied. “I don’t know, really. I’ve always sort of liked fixing people’s hair or nails. God knows I haven’t had a chance to do that in a while, though.”

“They have a program in cosmetology at Williams Community College,” Destiny told me. “I can take you there and you can find out what it takes to get started and what it costs. You’re probably going to have to get a job to pay for it, but you can wait tables in a restaurant or something…”

“Or at a strip club,” I laughed. Destiny wasn’t nearly as independent minded as I was, and it was always fun to toss in a joke like that to stir her up a bit.

“Jesus, Kelly, you’re so bad!” It was pretty much the same reaction that Destiny always had.

“Hey, I’ve heard it’s good money,” I laughed. It sounded crazy, but at age 22, I had never had a job before. I wouldn’t have had any problem with taking off my clothes for money, and the idea of rolling in cash quickly and living the lifestyle that I was used to was tempting. However, since I wanted to stay away from the outlaw side of things and avoid bumping into Sabre or anyone who might know him, it probably wasn’t a good job choice.

“You could put in applications at, like, Applebee’s, Red Lobster, Chili’s, you know the sort of places where families hang out instead of bikers.” I had told Destiny that I would have to steer clear of places where I might be recognized by someone who knew Viktor, because I was afraid of what he might do to me for running away.

Destiny and I had carried out my plan. I had gotten the information I needed from the Community College, discovered that I qualified for a partial scholarship that took care of a nice portion of my tuition and fees, and that I could start with the next class that was going to start in three more weeks if I could get all of my paperwork for financial aid and my first down payment of $173.38 in a week before the class started.

I went through the process of filling out several applications at upper-end, franchised restaurants and been told that they would need someone in a few weeks, but that they were fully staffed. A streak of luck finally hit after I threatened Destiny with applying at a strip club, but that luck came for probably the same reason that I would have been hired as a stripper.

“You are perfect for the job,” Louis, the manager of Le Paris told me. He had scanned my body from head to toe in sort of a creepy way, evidently liking what he saw, because he barely even glanced at my application.

As I was given a tour of the restaurant, it became very obvious that the place catered to a higher-end clientele. It also became obvious to me the reason that my “look” was perfect for the job. Though they were dressed in a much more sophisticated way than the girls at Hooters, it was obvious that Ed liked to see plenty of flesh pushing up out of the uniform tops and lots of long slender leg extending below the skirts.

“On weeknights, you’ll pull down close to $200 in tips and on Friday and Saturday night, you’ll double that,” Ed had told me at one point during the tour.

It was pretty much a no brainer for me. I took the job as a waitress at Le Paris, accepted the uniforms and received my training and first week’s schedule written on the back of Ed’s business card. With a sigh of relief, I was ready to start my new life.