11
everywhere, and God help anyone if who decided they didn’t want to get married or have kids.
Cougar-shifters were almost cult-like in their views, and they could be as relentless as any hunter.
Maybe that was the reason why Storm had liked Tony, even when the other man was being a prick. Storm was being hunted by other cougars the first time he and Tony had met.
Storm had thought he was being careful and was so sure that no one in his family could possibly know about the things he liked to fantasize about at night when he was alone. He’d never even kissed another man before and didn’t so much as keep a dirty magazine under his mattress, but somehow they’d found out.
Two cougars had been sent to hunt him down. Tony had recognized them for what they were and killed them with his rifle.
He’d always been a decent shot.
Storm could have gotten away scot-free after that, but the one-track mindedness of his kind demanded that he honor the debt he was in, even though his people had just thoroughly tried to kill him or beat him to within an inch of his life and drag him back home where he could be forced to mate with some of the females, all of which were his blood relatives.
At the time, Storm had genuinely thought that Tony was a regular hunter, a human who had no idea that shifters existed and not the kind who hunted paranormal creatures like him. He’d thought that Tony had only shot at the other cougars because of the way they were attacking a smaller, injured cougar like him, and maybe Tony had thought they’d attack him too once they noticed him. The three cougars had pretty much stumbled into his camp as Storm ran and the other two chased.
Storm’s mistake likely had more to do with the string of rabbits and pheasants Tony carried at his hip, as well as the fact that he was completely alone.
Hunters liked traveling in groups for safety reasons. It was a good
12
Marcy Jacks
idea, considering the big game they hunted.
Storm had presented himself to Tony, shifted, and then explained what he was and what he now owed the other man. Then he waited.
He’d expected to be shot on the spot like the others, and naturally, Tony didn’t believe him at first about any kind of honor debt.
Not until he’d told Storm to suck his dick, and Storm had done it without question. Hell, he’d been glad to do it.
Only then, by the way Tony spoke afterward, gloating about having his very own shifter servant, did Storm realize what kind of hunter Tony was, and it was way too late for him to do anything about it.
Tony refused to be separated from Storm ever since then. The man probably thought he’d hit the jackpot with his new shifter bodyguard. The only thing he couldn’t get Storm to do was kill other shifters. Storm tracked them when ordered and made Tony happy with lots of sex, which made the man forget all about what a worthless killer his bodyguard was, and that was it.
Until last November when a werewolf of all things killed Tony, freeing him from his debt.
He could still remember the look in that kid’s green eyes when they first met. It was a hard sort of look that was both eager and hungry.
The werewolf wanted him. For lust or revenge for Storm’s part in his friend’s kidnapping, or both, he couldn’t say, but Storm wanted no part in it.
It had been bad enough that Storm had worked with hunters, betraying his own kind while tricking himself into thinking that so long as he let Tony fuck him, he was keeping the man from being crueler to the creatures than he needed to be, but he didn’t want to become another punching bag for an angry shifter.
It was depressing when Storm realized that the kid had probably earned the right to take a few shots at him. Hell, even after he finally got out from under Tony’s thumb, he still couldn’t stop himself from
Hunted and on the Run
13
feeling a sexual pull toward the younger were that made him completely uncomfortable and feel the worst sort of shame imaginable.
How sick in the head was he? Had he really allowed himself to be so brainwashed that now he would just jump into bed with anyone and fantasize about fucking anyone?
“Found him, boys,” said a masculine voice, the owner of which stepped through the shrubs with the kind of grace that Frankenstein’s monster might have.
The man was middle aged, with short salt-and-pepper hair on top of his head and a wide belly that Santa Claus might have. The guy certainly looked jolly enough. He just didn’t have the beard.
Three more men, all of whom were of similar age, except for one, who looked closer to Storm’s age at twenty-nine, stepped through the shrubs with a lot more grace than their leader did.
“Jesus, you’re good at tracking,” said the youngest man, looking down at Storm with wide, curious eyes.
“That I am,” the older man admitted. “To be fair, this one looks tired and haggard. Probably too old to be running. Maybe that’s why his pack abandoned him.”
Okay, these men were definitely not hunters of the innocent variety. They were out to kill him for some religious reasons or personal revenge for a wrong some other shifter committed against their family.
They must be new to this. Otherwise they would know that cougar-shifters didn’t stay in packs. They stayed near family members and other cougar-shifters who were related for the protection, but it wasn’t the same dynamic as how werewolves worked, and there was no alpha leader to answer to.
One of the hunters actually walked right up to Storm and nudged him in the side with his boot.
Storm groaned, but he didn’t move.
“Shit, he’s already half-dead.”
14
Marcy Jacks
Good, kill me.
In another show of bravery, the hunter came forward and took the bag of clothing and money that Storm had been carrying around. It had been right near Storm’s mouth, too. If he’d had the energy, or the will, he could’ve easily bitten the man. He could’ve taken a good chunk right out of him in retaliation, but he didn’t, and the hunter knew he wasn’t going to.
Storm must really look like roadkill.
“What happened to his eye? Did you shoot it, Dad?” asked the youngest of them.
He would only think that if there was blood on the place where his eye used to be. Storm hadn’t thought he was that injured.
“No. It probably lost the eye in a fight with another shifter. That’s fine, though. We can put a glass one in the head once we get the skin off.”
Fuck, they were still going to skin him. Storm might hate himself right now and want death to take him, but that was a shitty way to go, even for a traitor like himself.
He tried to get back on four paws, but now the hunters suddenly went from curious and amazed at their catch to stereotypically evil.
One of the older ones rushed forward and kicked him in the ribs.
It really shouldn’t have hurt that much. It shouldn’t have hurt at all. Storm was still a cougar for God’s sake, but the boot to his side knocked the wind out of him, and he fell back on his stomach.
“Now you just stay down and behave yourself, and everything will be over with as soon as we can get it all done,” said their leader.
Storm groaned, one of his paws stretching out lazily, his claws extending and scratching into the wet earth, as though he could drag himself away.
“You sure this is a shifter, Dave?” asked one of the other hunters.
“It might just be a real mountain lion.”
“I don’t want to kill a real cougar,” the youngest of the bunch chimed in.
Hunted and on the Run
15
Some hunters weren’t that bad. Storm thought briefly of Chance, one of the other hunters he’d worked with while he’d been serving his life-debt to Tony.
The kid still acted like a teenager from time to time, and he hadn’t been so corrupted by the life of a hunter that he was able to kill and torture as mercilessly as some other hunters out there.
The kid couldn’t even stomach an interrogation before he would turn green, go back to his room, or tent, or whatever, and plug some headphones in his ears before turning up his music as loud as it could go to drown out the sounds of screams.
That was another way Storm justified his actions with the hunters.
He’d wanted to be there for that kid, and whenever he could, he would always try and convince the boy, in any roundabout way he could, that he didn’t want to be there. There were better things for a young man to be doing with his life.
Storm had liked to think that when he’d saved the kid’s life, preventing those werewolves from ripping him to pieces, he’d made amends.
Fate, apparently, thought otherwise, or else he wouldn’t be here right now.
“He’s a real shifter. Saw him with my own eyes getting naked before he stuffed that bag with his clothes and whatever else he had on him. Then he changed into that,” Dave said.
“Wow, you saw it? Not on one of the cameras, but actually saw it?”
“Yup,” Dave said, not even looking at Storm anymore as he put down a huge duffel bag he’d been carrying and started rummaging through it. By the sounds of the metallic clinks inside, Storm could only imagine what kind of blades and hunting gear were inside that bag, waiting for him.
Fucking technology was everywhere nowadays. These idiots had probably gone to some spy shop, ordered some wireless cameras, and then stuck them in the trees.
16
Marcy Jacks
Every year it got harder and harder to be part of the paranormal slice of life.
Dave actually pulled out a regular hunting knife. He unsheathed it from its leather holster and then tested the blade against the tip of his thumb.
“Nice and sharp,” he said, licking away the drop of blood and getting to his feet. “He probably won’t even feel the initial cuts. Todd, Bobby, grab him and tie him to that tree there.”
“Shouldn’t we give him something so he can’t fight back?” the youngest asked again.
“No, he looks good and helpless enough. We can do this without wasting any drugs.”
These guys were most definitely amateurs. The leader was right, Storm was too weak, but they were still amateurs.
“What about painkillers?” asked the youngest. Storm was still trying to figure out what his name was.
Their older leader snapped at him. “Goddamnit, can’t you just do this one thing without questioning everything I do?”
“But―”
“Do you think these fucking unnatural freaks gave Annabelle any pain killers before they ripped her hands and legs off and ate them in front of her?”
“No,” the man answered gruffly.
“That’s right, no. They killed my little niece, your cousin in case you forgot. Only nine years old, and now she’s in pieces in a grave somewhere.”
The older man’s voice broke as he neared the end of his rant. It was only when Storm heard stories like that that he understood why hunters did the things they did, became so sadistic and cruel toward Storm’s kind.
Sometimes Storm thought they might just deserve to be wiped off the face of the earth, too.
David pointed his knife down at Storm. “This thing is no different
Hunted and on the Run
17
than the other ones. He’d rip your face off and eat it in a heartbeat if he thought he could get away with it. It needs to be put down.
Understand?”
The hunter nodded. “Understood.”
Dave made a gruff sound in the back of his throat. “Good, now you go and―”
Whatever else he’d been about to say was cut off when a giant wolf leaped out from seemingly nowhere and landed on top of him, pushing the hunter down onto the ground.
The hunter hadn’t been prepared for the attack, and he screamed and flailed as the wolf had its merry way with him, teeth clamping down on his hands and arms as David tried to fight him off. He screamed, attempting to throw the wolf off of him, but no human, no matter how strong or well trained, could easily throw a werewolf off them in a fight.
Storm managed the energy to lift his head and take a look at the chaos that had suddenly occurred. The other hunters officially forgot all about Storm as they screamed and ran to their leader. They thought they were safe when they found Storm, weak and tired as he was, so no one was holding their guns.
The werewolf, because that was the only thing it could possibly be with a size like that, finally stopped playing around with its new toy and bit Dave on the neck. It sank its teeth so far down into the flesh that when it pulled away one second later, jumping off its prey, Dave’s face was still, blood not even spurting from the wound at his neck because his heart had stopped.
His head was bitten almost clean off. Storm could see the white bone of the neck. Disgusting.
The werewolf was so fast that Storm could hardly follow him with his eyes. He moved like a ninja, dodging swings of machetes, and when one of the hunters finally got his act together, he leapt out of the way of bullets with all the ease and grace of a dancer.
Not bad for a dog.
18
Marcy Jacks
It seemed as though Storm blinked, and the only hunter left alive and standing was the youngest one in the group. The werewolf bent its head, the hackles on its back rising to attention as he slowly approached the last of his prey.
The guy only had the hunting knife in his hand that his father had given him before the wolf had jumped on him. That wouldn’t be nearly enough to save the guy.
He wasn’t childlike the way Chance was, but Storm didn’t want the wolf to kill him. More of that code of honor his abusive, honor-crazed family had drilled into him.
The guy might’ve been about to kill him, but unlike other hunters, he hadn’t want to make a torture session out of it.
Storm had appreciated that.
“Don’t kill him,”
he said, so dazed out of his mind that he wasn’t sure if he spoke the words out loud or not.
The wolf stopped anyway, its ears twitching.
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“Because…”
He didn’t know how to voice what he wanted in a way that would make the wolf understand, or even do as he asked. The day Storm had run away, werewolves had spared his and Chance’s lives because they owed him that. This werewolf didn’t owe Storm anything and could very well decide to kill the hunter out of spite.