The ice slithering into me settles in my heart. I press my balled fist there. The pressure doesn’t help. The ache remains from the phone call with Jarah earlier. I haven’t been able to shake the dark mood.
Rolling my shoulders, I place the cell on the charger after checking for the umpteenth time for a response to the text I sent Ilan, then make my way to the living room. Soren’s silence is surprising. He’s been eating every two to three hours. It’s been over four now.
The splash of light from the kitchen brightens a section of the wall and part of the couch, the same spot where Ilan had knelt this morning, changing Soren’s diaper. I smile, the memory warming me and chasing away the chill Jarah’s call left with me, then make my way to the bassinet.
Soren’s widened gaze meets mine. His stiffened body sends my heart racing. I lay my hand over his chest, fears I don’t want to give life to choking me with possibilities. He grabs my finger and squeezes tightly, eradicating the worries choking me. Other concerns grip me.
This tiny baby has instincts I’ll never possess.
With my heart pounding, I kiss his forehead, then ease my finger from his tight grasp and walk into the kitchen. A quick peek outside doesn’t show any obvious danger. I also don’t see Ezra. Of course, he might be on the patio below the porch.
Hands trembling, I push the window up and call out. “Ezra? Can you come back inside? I need to ask you something.”
Silence answers me. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t hear me. He might be making his way inside. I can’t take the chance. Soren is relying on me to soothe him and to protect him.
I shut the window and lock it, then step backward until my legs meet the kitchen table. With my chest heaving on harsh breaths, I snatch the gun Ilan left lying there before he went out with Dante. The instructions Ilan gave play out in my head.
Throw the safety. Exhale. Aim for the spot between my enemy’s eyes. Pull the trigger.
And become a murderer.
I shake off the last thought and take up a spot in front of Soren’s bassinet. With a flick of my finger, I release the safety and hold the gun loosely in front of me. Minutes pass. No sign of Ezra or danger, but it’s close. It has to be. Ezra would’ve come inside otherwise. He hasn’t yelled upstairs or appeared in any of his big cat forms.
With the gun aimed at the floor, I glance over my shoulder. Soren is watching me. Silently. The tenseness in his body hasn’t eased.
Using my free hand, I rub his arm, hoping to comfort him somehow as regret slithers into my muscles. My cell phone is still on the charger in my bedroom. I should’ve grabbed it when I last looked for a reply to my text. The ninety-six percent charge was plenty.
Soren looks from me to the archway as if he shares my same thought. The move strikes me as deliberate. It can’t be. This baby is days old. There’s no way he can be communicating with me.
But…but Soren is descended from a goddess, just like Ilan is. They also have better senses than I do. Their animals enhance their abilities, which is why I suggested Ezra should allow his to guide his human form. Soren is in a similar predicament. He can’t walk or talk. He can hear, though.
My narrow home has the kitchen facing the alley, this living room, then my bedroom and bathroom facing the front street. The archway between this room and the kitchen allows access to the hallway to my bedroom or the stairs to the first floor where Ezra left the door unlocked.
Closing my eyes, I listen for the sound of someone walking down my creaky hallway or the squeak from opening the stairwell door. Nothing. All I hear is my heartbeat.
The trembling starts in my arms as fear chokes me. I take a steadying breath and drop to a crouch in front of Soren’s bassinet, then raise my arms, pointing the gun at the archway, and wait. I’ll either look the fool or be ready for the approaching threat.
The sound of groaning wood precedes the thump of the stairwell door hitting the ground. A lion steps into my line of sight. Its dark, shaggy mane could be Ezra’s. Or it could belong to the lion who roared the night I walked into a murder scene. Or it might be any number of shifters, maybe Dante or Uri.
The indecision builds. My hands shake. Tears well, the frustration choking me.
The lion walks into the living room. It doesn’t bare its teeth. Doesn’t snarl. Doesn’t act remotely threatening. It turns its big shaggy head from the bassinet to me. Then steps forward.
Soren lets out a piercing scream unlike anything I’ve ever heard.
Hoping the days-old baby senses more than I do, I exhale, aim, and fire.
Red explodes from the lion’s neck. It staggers back for a moment, then snarls. It doesn’t fall over. Doesn’t die. I missed my mark, the spot between its eyes.
I pull the trigger again. The gun clicks. No bullet fires. The lion charges. I scream, my terror adding to Soren’s cries.
The lion jerks back a second before it reaches me, its rough hair brushing my legs. Ezra, in his human form, has clawed hands dug into the lion’s hindquarters. The lion turns, sinking its fangs into Ezra’s shoulder.
Ezra punches the lion’s head, cracking it to the side, then digs clawed hands into its flank and pulls himself closer, his legs dragging uselessly behind him.
The dart lodged into his lower back, right above the waistband of his sweats, gives me the clue as to why. He’s been drugged. Yet he’s still fighting.
Ezra bares his own set of fangs at the lion, but only half of Ezra’s mouth opens. The other side is droopy. The lion topples Ezra, knocking him to his back, and stands over him.
“No!” I aim the gun at the lion’s head and fire. Nothing happens. My tears spill over. We’re going to fail. We can’t.
I turn the gun around and crack the butt off the lion’s snout as it lowers to Ezra’s throat. The lion whips its head to me. It doesn’t get the chance to take a bite out of me, though. Ezra grunts. The lion’s body jerks. A spray of hot liquid coats my legs, then the lion who tried to hurt us falls to the side, a gaping hole in its neck.
Choking on bile, I squeeze my eyes closed against the sight, but a solid hand on my leg yanks my attention to Ezra.
“He dr…drugged me.” Ezra’s voice is slurred, barely audible. “Call…help.”
His hand slides off my leg and flops into the spilled blood drenching my carpet. A small whimper escapes my throat. I ignore the sound of my weakness, stand, and glance into the bassinet. Soren’s gaze meets mine. Terror no longer leaves him tense. He’s relaxed, as if a deadly fight didn’t just play out feet from him.
“You’re safe, Soren.” I touch his cheek, leaving a streak of blood there, then glance from my hand to the front of my body. I’m covered in blood.
Gagging, I bury my face into my shoulder and swallow the sour liquid filling my mouth. More signs of weakness. Soren and Ezra are counting on me to act, not break down.
I grab a burp cloth and wipe the blood from Soren’s cheek, then run to my bedroom and snatch my cell from the charger. My call to Ilan is dropped to voicemail. I don’t have anyone else’s number except for Josh…and Shifter Affairs. Ilan added the contact in my phone, labeling it Specialized Affairs, and told me how he was now working for a woman there.
Selecting the number, I dial. The moment the call connects, I ask, “May I speak to Ella Montgomery, please. It’s an emergency.”