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Flambé. Come to me right now. Use the tunnel. Stay in the tunnel.
For one terrible moment, she was so desperate she actually considered the idea of going down to the leopards. If she was wrong about Sevastyan, he would kill them. If she wasn’t, she would never be able to live with herself anyway. She had told him she would never go to his cousin’s home and she meant it. She wouldn’t prove him right about her either.
So your cousin can have his laugh. Fuck you both.
Grinding her teeth together, she crawled to the bed and gripped the post to pull herself back to her feet. It was impossible to think with chaos in her head, the terrible roaring and the blowtorch inside of her burning its way through her skin. She screamed and tore at own skin with her fingernails as the thing inside her lifted her skin over and over. She had to help Flamme get out or they both were going to die. Things crawled on her. Slithered over her. Licked at her. The sensations were so terrible she wanted to vomit.
War going on. I can’t leave. Get to entrance of tunnel. I’ll meet you and take care of both of you.
Flambé flung her phone away from her. She didn’t want anything more to do with him or his leopard. There was no way to get downstairs, let alone to the garage, or a car. And she’d never go to him now. Never.
She would take Flamme and disappear the moment she knew Shanty and her children were safe. She just had to get through the next few hours. Find a place to ride it out. Find a way. A bath? Hot water? What would work? There had to be something. She just needed to use her brains. Tears blinded her, streamed down her face, and she wanted to claw at her eyes because they burned too. There were no more brains in her head. Her skull was on fire.
She’d interviewed a lot of female shifters, but there had only been a total of thirteen female strawberry leopards who she had ever heard of prior to the recent find. Her mother had been one but she was dead before Flambé was born so that left twelve. Four of those women had died before Flambé was fifteen. Six, Flambé had helped disappear. Two worked for her and she kept a close eye on them. They had separate apartments in a secure building. They had their own money and her private cell number in case of emergencies.
Flambé had smuggled seven other shifter women out from under the noses of their partners when they had called the emergency line for help. She’d been extremely careful. Everyone helping was putting their life on the line. More often than not, male leopards furious at losing their partner were in a killing frenzy when hunting for their “mate.”
It didn’t seem to matter what species of shifter they were, what lair they came from, the males appeared to be abusive to their mates. She detested them all. Now she just detested everything shifter. She crawled around the floor, blind, sobbing, trying to take her own skin off her body while her leopard thrashed and clawed, desperate to break free.
CURSING, Sevastyan turned and ran toward the front yard, calling into the phone for the snipers to take out teams two, three and four. He reiterated that all leopards with signature blue dots were theirs and not to be shot. Kill anything else. He was grateful that he’d had the foresight to call for help from his cousins, Elijah Lospostos and Drake Donovan, and even Joshua Tregre, all of whom sent teams of leopards to defend his cousin’s home.
He glanced down at his cell as he ran and his steps faltered. Flambé. Calling him home. She’d never called him for anything. Not ever. He answered her fast as he stripped. Fuck. Her leopard was rising. He gave her hasty instructions.
“How many coming at us, Ambroise?” he asked.
“Looks like about fifty. They have the house surrounded.”
The sniper rifles were sounding off, but leopards were shadows and they had made progress coming in behind the sacrifices, unseen for quite a distance. Sevastyan didn’t have time. He waited impatiently for Flambé to tell him she’d come. It wasn’t like he could send Kirill and Matvei after her. No male leopard could go near her.
He stared down at her text, not believing his eyes when her answer came, but he should have known. He swore at the top of his lungs in his native language and then shifted on the run, trusting Ambroise to lock up after the leopards exited the house. No one could get inside. Even if they tried burning Mitya and Ania out, they couldn’t get to them.
Sevastyan couldn’t think about Flambé and what was happening to her, not when vicious leopards invaded the property from every direction. They were coming at the house from the trees, across the rolling hills, the meadow, the paths in the woods, even the road in front of the house.
“Coming up over the back fence to try for the roof,” Christophe reported.
The leopards would find that a hard landing. Sevastyan had been prepared for them using the fences as a spring-board to the rooftop of the house. The roof was ringed with hidden spears. As the cats landed on the sharpened points, they shrieked, the sound piercing the night. Their bellies were punctured, their bodies caught and held until one of the men on the rooftop turned and fired, putting them out of their misery, killing them.
“Back patio, going for the fence and patio,” Christophe continued.
The back patio seemed another good entry point. That was directly off the kitchen. The herb and vegetable gardens surrounded the patio where tables and chairs had a covered awning. Ania enjoyed sitting outside, especially in the mornings, with her coffee. Two leopards leapt onto the overhead covering and one clawed his way up the side of the column to the thick support beam, attempting to drag himself onto the roof from that angle.
The awning ripped slightly, just a minute tear, but all three leopards dug their claws into the support beam. Their thick stiletto-like claws struck metal in the beam. The three dug deeper for a better purchase and a flash went off, a small explosion knocking them backward, blowing them apart, so that fur, bones, blood and muscle and sinew rained down.
The first wave of leopards hit the front yard of the house, ten of them, coming in fast, males in their prime, scarred from numerous battles, confident in the knowledge that they were experienced. They expected their opponents, although mafia, to be from the city and easily overcome by their sheer numbers, not to mention weak, with few skills.
Sevastyan had already spotted the commander of the team, a big bastard, golden coat with large fancy rosettes. He had allowed his men to sweep into the yard, running at the house to come at the porch as if they could somehow break down the doors or windows just with their sheer numbers. They were big leopards and maybe that tactic had worked for them in the past, but Rolan should have prepared them better for his opponent.
Sevastyan’s leopards were either born in the same lair in Russia as he had been, or one of his uncle’s lairs. They’d trained as he had. If not in Russia, they’d been born and trained in the rain forests. All of his shifters were experienced fighters, skilled in every kind of battle with leopards or man. He would put his men or leopards up against Rolan’s anytime.
Shturm shouldered a big brute of a male out of his way, furious that these leopards were keeping him from his mate, and rushed toward the commander. The golden leopard hadn’t yet spotted him. He was too busy stalking Zakhar. Zakhar’s leopard was never that far from Shturm. He was a big Amur, very distinctive with his thick white undercoat, and his dark rosettes so close together and so large that he looked as if he had a black top coat over the white undercoat. No one had a pelt like Zakhar. His leopard was simply named Istrebitel, meaning fighter.
Had the golden leopard not been so confident, he might have been paying a little more attention to the scars in Istrebitel’s strange markings. Instead, he stalked the leopard, weaving in and out of the other combatants. Shturm went low to the ground, allowing two leopards who tried to ram into his sides to slam into each other hard while he slid between two fighting males, bringing him closer to his target.
The golden male bunched his legs under him, readying for the charge, his eyes in a focused stare. Zakhar faced a younger male, one coming into his prime, eager for battle, already charging the large
r Amur leopard, attempting to drive him off his feet. Shturm knew it was a ploy to keep Istrebitel’s attention on him in order for the golden leopard to leap on his back and break his spine, delivering the killing bite quickly.
At the last possible second, as the younger male came rushing in, Istrebitel leapt into the air, right over the top of him, whirling in midair to face the golden leopard who couldn’t stop his charge. Istrebitel landed hard on the younger male’s back, snapping the spine, just as the golden leopard’s intention toward him had been. The young male screamed, flopping to the ground, unable to rise.
Istrebitel reared up, going onto his hind legs to meet the incoming charge of the golden leopard. Shturm charged from behind him, seizing one of the commander’s back legs and snapping it in two with a vicious bite. The golden leopard fell over backward. Istrebitel rushed in and bit down on the throat of the leopard while Shturm eviscerated him with one sharp claw and then left Zakhar to finish both leopards off while he went looking for other prey.
It took time to kill all ten leopards and by that time, the next wave had swept into the side yard from the woods. Drake’s team was there to stop them, but security was Sevastyan’s job. He didn’t just simply hand it over to others. He shifted enough to get information.
“Ambroise. Closest threat.”
“Sneaking up on the garage. Two factions, looks close to twenty count. These leopards joined forces, coming in from your property and the meadow. They have someone directing them up on the hill just past the meadow out of my line of sight. He’s calling the shots.”
Sevastyan snagged his phone as he hurried around the side of the house toward the garage. “Christophe, send me another team. We’ll need at least another five leopards, maybe more.”
“Roger that,” Christophe said.
There were no more messages from Flambé. He read the last one from her again. So your cousin can have his laugh. Fuck you both. Did she really believe that?
Damn it. She’d made it more than clear that she believed Mitya thought her nothing but a sex object. Did she think he’d deliberately leave her if there was any way he could get to her? What if she couldn’t get to him?
He texted with one thumb as fast as he could. Baby, please, for God’s sake. I’m in the middle of a fucking nightmare here. I need to know you’re safe. At least get into the tunnel. I can come to you there.
He didn’t know how, but he’d find a way. He could get away. There had to be a way. He couldn’t leave her in need. Shturm couldn’t leave Flamme. If nothing else, he could see for himself she was alive and well. See how bad it really was for her.
There was no answer by the time he’d rounded the corner of the house, and he’d run out of options. He had to shift. He shoved the phone into the side column of the verandah and shifted while he ran, knowing Zakhar, Zinoviy and Vikenti were right behind him, their leopards coming equally as fast. A shot rang out and he felt a burn along his left shoulder. They had sharpshooters as well. Fuckin’ Ambroise had missed that. He’d have a talk with him about that. You couldn’t afford to make mistakes in Mitya’s security. He didn’t accept excuses.
Three shots answered, two from the garage roof and one from on top of the house. He hoped like hell they dropped the sniper. That had come from somewhere along that hill just beyond the meadow. He knew the exact spot a sniper would choose because he’d been there hundreds of times. His men had been there hundreds of times. They’d damn well better not miss, because he’d pointed that place out to them as a weak spot in their defenses.
Sevastyan ran into a solid wall of leopards. It looked like a sea of spots coming at him out of the dark. That didn’t slow Shturm down in the least. If anything, he sprinted, choosing his target, malevolent eyes staring at his next victim as he rushed toward the big male. This was a pale black leopard, the darker rosettes spread throughout his coat.
Zakhar came up on his left, Kyanite on his right. Zinoviy and Vikenti had dropped back and spread out farther so that they flanked him. Behind them more leopards borrowed from Mitya’s various friends joined him as they tore straight into the sea of leopards coming at them. There were no more shots fired, at least not at the leopards coming together in a fierce clash of claws and teeth. Sevastyan wasn’t certain if that was because the other side didn’t have another sniper or they had no way to identify their leopards in combat.
His snipers began to systematically shoot one bullet at a time, making each count. He had reiterated over and over that they were not to take a shot in a combat situation with leopards unless they were absolutely certain who they were shooting at. Leopards fighting were ferocious and fluid. They rolled on the ground, raking and clawing at one another, changing position. They leapt into the air, turning with flexible spines, tearing and charging, smashing like freight trains to drive one another off their feet. They rose up on hind legs, biting at genitals and trying to eviscerate their target. There was no telling how suddenly one would switch from one side to the other. Sevastyan had drilled it into his shooters not to make mistakes. He didn’t want them to take a shot, even a critical one, if they weren’t absolutely sure of it.
His leopards wore small blue dots in their fur to identify them, seen only by his snipers, but that didn’t guarantee that in the heat of battle, when the leopards were rolling around, a bullet couldn’t hit one accidently. No one ever wanted to answer to Sevastyan if that happened—so they made certain it didn’t happen.
Shturm used his claw to rip at an exposed throat, not that it would get him much. Their coats were so thick and loose, it was difficult to actually get down to skin and bone, but he opened the unwary male up as he passed him in his effort to get to the one he sought, the black-coated leopard who he was certain was the commander taking his orders from whoever was out behind the meadow.
The moment you kill this one, head for the meadow. You need to kill the one directing them all, Shturm, Sevastyan instructed his leopard.
He could only hope Rolan was arrogant enough to assume he could actually plan and direct a battle with mercenaries. Rolan would have someone aiding him, a man in charge of the mercenaries, one they all took orders from. Rolan would have a lieutenant. Who would be his second-in-command? That would be the man he would rely heavily on. That man would first recruit someone to find and then hire mercenaries from all over the world. He would want reliable ones, experienced in fighting. Who would be Rolan’s lieutenant?
Shturm was on his opponent, the two leopards coming together like two stallions, rearing up on their powerful hind legs, slashing at each other with hooked claws and terrible teeth. Shturm turned slightly to avoid getting his genitals slashed while he delivered a deep rip down the side of his opponent, slicing right through thick fur with practiced care to get to the skin covering muscles. He tore those open long before his front legs came back to the ground.
The leopard howled its hatred and pain, whirling to face Shturm, calling to another leopard for aid. His companions were otherwise occupied and, in any case, Shturm drove into his side, hitting him so hard he knocked him off his feet. There was an audible crack as ribs broke. The cat screamed loudly, turning its head toward the meadow.
Down, roll, Sevastyan commanded, nearly taking over the leopard’s form.
Shturm rolled right over the top of the fallen leopard, dropping to the ground on the other side of him, teeth buried in his throat in a suffocating bite just as a bullet skimmed across the leopard’s back where Shturm had been. He now had the body of the leopard between him and the meadow.
The moment a shot was fired from the meadow, there was an answer from the garage roof. Sevastyan hoped he’d chosen the right snipers. He needed them to make those kill shots every time. The moment the leopard was dead, Shturm lifted his head cautiously and looked toward the meadow and their enemies. Sevastyan was still racking his brain for who Rolan could have gotten for a decent lieutenant. Whoever had put this attack together was good. Had Sevastyan not brought in so much help, he would have been i
n trouble.
Shturm, remember the kid—Conrad. His name was Conrad something. He was a couple of years younger than I was and he was always hanging around, staying close, staying real quiet. He was learning. A smart kid. It’s got to be him.
You helped him. Stole food for him. For his family. Took the blame for his mistakes. Taught him to use a gun, taught him to fight, Shturm objected.
It’s him. Rolan would use him. He thinks when I confront the kid, I’ll hesitate. He also thinks because I trained Conrad, he’ll be able to best you. He forgets that there are a lot of years between then and now.
The kid trained as well in the intervening years, Shturm reminded with a disdainful huff.
Sevastyan pushed down all emotion. Rolan should have remembered that even at a young age, he’d learned to separate from all feeling and take his punishments, no matter how cruel Rolan, Lazar or their leopards could be.
Shturm broke free of the fighting leopards, but he did so out of sight of anyone in the meadow watching. He had thrown himself back into the middle of the dark fray, all those bodies of leopards, and had made his way to the edge of the landscaping where higher bushes marked the beginning of the routes to the trees or the meadow. Shturm took the trail to the meadow, only as he did so, he crouched low, almost on his belly.
It didn’t take long before Istrebitel joined him, silently dragging his body, using his toes to dig into the surfaces so that he made no sound as they crept across the meadow they spent hours training in every day. Vikenti and Zinoviy, looking almost like twin golden leopards with their dark bursts of rosettes covering their bodies all the way down their long tails and up over their ears and faces, were on either side of Istrebitel and Shturm, approximately six feet apart. Kyanite’s powerful male joined them, all muscle, a rare Persian leopard who had migrated to Borneo and found Drake Donovan like so many others. They made up their team, the one Sevastyan had trained for the last year to cover anything that might threaten Mitya and Ania from this open side of the house. A battle might rage near it, but this side was always going to be the one place they were weakest.