Rejected Mate (Feral Shifters 1)

Kian races past me on a trajectory for another gun-toting silhouette in the dark. His voice sounds in my mind over mind-speak. Get the potion. We’re running.

I huff at him for bossing me around, but he’s already well past me and about to take out one of the two remaining humans. I leave the three of them to handle the remaining attackers, feeling at least ninety percent certain they won’t kill them.

Racing back into the house, I shift back to human form and throw my clothes back on. Erik’s potion is in a black metal cauldron on top of his altar. I look down into t

he dark green goo and make a face at the foul odor wafting off the top of it. And we have to drink this shit? Ew.

I can’t imagine trying to carry a cauldron full of liquid in the trunk of my bike, so I whip open the cabinet next to the altar and grab the first mason jar I see. I dump out the contents onto the floor—something seed-like and hopefully not deadly—then carefully tip the cauldron over the jar. The potion globs into the glass like a moss-colored gallon of chunky sour milk. Once it’s secure, I cradle the jar in one hand and grab the guys’ clothes and boots on my way out the door.

They converge on me as I leave the house, already back in their human forms.

“Did you kill anyone?” I ask, dropping their boots on the ground and handing Malix his clothes.

Kian rolls his eyes. “They’re all breathing.”

“Then I can let you breathe,” I snarl, throwing his clothes at his face.

Malix pops his arms and head through his t-shirt. “I appreciate the fact you hate each other, but we gotta go, kids. They ain’t gonna sleep forever. We need to be long gone when they wake up.”

As they make quick work dressing and stepping into their boots, I find a gun nearby in the grass and check the chamber—only two bullets used, plenty left in the cartridge. I make sure the safety is on and shove it in my waistband.

You just never know when you might need one. Especially with me running around with these lunatics.

Potion in hand, we kick off on our bikes at the end of the dirt road, then get the hell out of there.

Chapter 20

By the time we hit the interstate, dawn is rising over the mountains in the distance and casting the desert in shades of amber and purple. I’m not wearing a watch, though it’s not like that’s ever stopped me. I can tell it’s that purple time of day where late night is bleeding into early morning, and the birdsong answering somewhere in the distance only cements my certainty.

Once we reach empty road, we open the throttle and fly. We make it three miles before I start to breathe easier—five miles before I look in my rearview mirror and assure myself no one followed us. Maybe they were all knocked out or they were just too terrified to chase us when they woke up, I don’t know. But they let us go.

Which is what a person should do when they’re facing a threat they don’t understand. Like Kian said, something that could eat them. Historically, humans didn’t make the best decisions.

I cling to the handlebars with adrenaline still pumping through my veins. As far as I know, we don’t have a plan at all beyond the mason jar inside my trunk. I can’t really worry about that right now. The important part is to put as much distance between us and the humans as possible.

It sucks that things went down the way they did. Humans aren’t meant to see supernaturals. I can’t even imagine how terrified they were to see us battling shadows in the motel parking lot. Clearly, it caused a ripple effect of fear that couldn’t be stopped. A ripple effect that led a bunch of big ballsy men to track us down with guns.

Most people just aren’t ready to know the truth. They were so frightened of us that they put their own lives in danger…

Except, they didn’t, did they? As hard as Kian pushed back on my order not to hurt the humans… none of the feral shifters did. I mean, they didn’t exactly take it easy on them, but neither did I. We knocked them out, shook off enough of them to have some breathing room, then fled.

So what does it mean that the feral shifters listened to me? What does it mean that they didn’t hurt the humans?

Could they have goodness in them? Could they have a conscience?

Could they be reasoned with?

My plan since they pulled me from the forest and tied me up in their bed was to team up with them just long enough to get the antidote. Then I was planning to try to take them down again by whatever means necessary. Earn their trust, then annihilate them using the information I gathered in our time together. Anything it takes to stop the apocalypse.

But what if they’re capable of changing?

They aren’t exactly forthcoming with details on their life, but from what I’ve gathered so far from the hints they’ve spilled, they’re under orders from their alpha, who “made” them. Whatever mission they’re operating under, it has to do with that alpha and the fact that they’re filled with shadow magic.

I think of Frost, looking forlorn in Erik’s library as he told me how much the shadows inside him hurt. How the pain that magic causes is enough to make them want to destroy the barrier between the worlds and pull the shadows closer. To ease the agony.

A hawk flies by overhead in the dim light, his wings spread so wide he looks larger than life. I glance up at him and convince myself he’s a good omen.

It’s a rare thing for me these days, but for just a moment, I allow myself to feel a flicker of hope.