Bree exhaled a heavy breath, ignoring all the eyes she could feel zeroed in on her. Her cat hissed when they sensed Mateo cautiously approaching. No, no, that would be very, very bad.
Vinnie tapped on the surface of the bar to get her attention and then gestured behind Gerard. “Go take a minute in the break room.”
She didn’t need to be told twice.
Bree slipped off her stool and disappeared behind the bar. But she didn’t go to the break room. She headed straight for the rear exit, pushed open the heavy door, and stepped out into the dimly lit back alley.
Exhaling a sigh as the cool night air fluttered over her skin and ruffled her hair, Bree sat on the step and let her head fall back to rest on the door. She’d been dealing with Moira’s crap for years. It was never her words that got to Bree, it was that she so often insisted on making a scene.
Moira liked to have an audience, liked attention and drama. Bree was the opposite. Having her dirty laundry aired where all could overhear it … yeah, that was never fun.
She faintly heard the opening and closing of the side exit door, and then the sound of footsteps advancing up the side alley. Elle? Probably. Or maybe Alex. Hopefully not him. If it was Mateo, she’d absolutely lose her mind.
A gust of wind swept over her, bringing with it the scents of rotting garbage, damp cardboard, and something that didn’t belong. Fox.
Her eyes flipped open, and she righted her head. Bree jumped to her feet just as two objects sank into her skin, making her hiss in pain. Furious, her cat shot to full alertness and lunged for the surface, wanting to shift and deal with the threat.
Bree looked down at her arm and thigh. Darts. The metallic scent of drugs tainted the air. Oh, shit.
The culprit stepped out of the shadows, a tranquilizer gun in his hand. Bald. Stocky. Mustache. He’d been sitting at a corner table in the Tavern, she remembered.
Motherfucking motherfucker. It would be senseless of her to call for help—it was far too loud in the Tavern for anyone to hear her.
A strange feeling of lightness fluttered through her; a feeling she couldn’t quite put into words. Goddamn drugs. She knew she’d soon pass out. She also knew she’d take this asshole down before she did.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “I just need to—”
She launched herself at him, shifting mid-air.
Ears flat, the little cat rumbled a furious growl and wrapped around the arm that held the gun. She bit deep into arteries and severed muscles, tasting blood. He cried out, and the weapon dropped to the ground with a clang.
He shook his arm, trying to dislodge her. The cat held tight with her teeth and claws as she attacked him—biting, clawing, mauling, hissing. Some of her human-half’s clothes still clung to her body, but the cat didn’t let them hinder her.
A fist slammed into her skull once, twice, three times. The cat just sank her teeth deeper into his arm, scraping bone. He roared in pain. That only spurred the feline on.
He tried to pry open her jaws. The cat let him. Then she scrabbled up his arm, wrapped her body around his head, and curled her bushy, black-ringed tail tight around his throat.
Her vision clouded by sheer rage, she rumbled a dark growl as she shredded his face and tore strips out of his scalp. His screams and curses were muffled by her thick, silvery-gray fur. He stumbled and teetered, shaking his head hard. The cat didn’t release her prize.
The air rang with snarls, hisses, growls, and agonized cries. She relished the scents of his pain and panic. Relished the taste of his blood in her mouth.
Hands grabbed her tight and tried yanking her away. They failed.
Those same hands beat at her body, trying to make her release him. They failed.
Adrenaline pumped through her, but so did the drugs. Her vision began to blur. Her limbs began to feel heavy. A sense of wooziness crept up on her. The cat knew she was weakening.
She needed him to shift—his fox was smaller and would be easier for her to defeat. But the male remained in his human form.
He twisted and charged at the wall; slammed her against it. Again. And again. And again. She only dug her claws deeper into his face for purchase. That wrenched yet another scream from him.
He retaliated hard. Punched at her head and throat. Raked at her back and flanks with sharp claws. Pain rippled through her body, but her tough hide and thick fur helped protect her.
The cat ignored the pain. She kept on savagely attacking him even as she continued to weaken. But then he sharply twisted her hindleg, sending a streak of fire shooting up her leg and spine. She yelped, and her hold on him slackened.
He snatched her away from his face with a roar of anger and threw her at the wall. Her skull hit the brick with a crack. Agony crashed into her head, and dots obscured her blurry vision.
She landed on her feet. But her legs, weak from the drugs, quivered so hard they almost went out from under her.
Woozy and tired, the cat nonetheless focused on her prey. She hissed. Coiled. Sprang so fast she was a blur.
The human toppled backwards, hitting the ground hard. He screamed as she dug her fangs and claws deep into his face once more. She viciously bit and—
The cat then felt something hard and cold nudge her flank. The gun. He shot her again.
Striding back into the Tavern, Alex frowned. Bree was nowhere to be seen. She wouldn’t give even a hint of a shit what Moira—who was still ranting outside to Elle—thought about anything. But he knew that being the center of all that attention would have left Bree feeling awkward and uncomfortable. He wanted to check on her; wanted to be sure she was okay.
Alex stalked over to the bar and slapped his hands on the wooden surface. “Where is she?”
Gerard gave him a wary look. “Break room. Vinnie told her to go have a minute to herself.”
Alex skirted the bar and followed her scent down the hall. But it didn’t lead him to the break room, it led him to the rear exit.
“Where’re you going?” Gerard called out, trailing after him.
Alex shoved open the door, and an array of smells assaulted him—Fox. Drugs. Blood. Pain. Fear.
Red-hot fury slammed into him as he caught sight of a large male—his face and arm both shredded and bleeding heavily—trying to drag a weak but thrashing pallas cat along the ground. Son of a fucking bitch.
Gerard yelled Vinnie’s name at the top of his lungs as he rushed back inside, but Alex barely heard him over the sound of his beast roaring in his head. The animal rushed to the surface, forcing the shift.
The wolverine narrowed his small, piercing eyes at the male who’d dared to touch his cat. The hairs on the beast’s back lifted as he bared his sharp teeth and stuck up his bushy tail. A long, deep, rumbly growl rattled out of him.
The fox shifter dropped the cat. “Oh, shit.” He ran.
The wolverine charged. His large, webbed paws thundered along the ground. The fox was fast, but not fast enough. The beast pounced, crashing into the male’s back, and shoved him to the ground.
With guttural growls sawing at the wolverine’s throat, he savagely attacked his prey, sinking his long, curved claws deep into the male’s back. He sliced through cloth and skin over and over, stomping so hard on the fox’s spine he fractured bones.
Blood oozed from the vicious, deep gashes that crisscrossed the fox’s back. The coppery scent of it rushed into the beast’s lungs. It fueled his fury. Incited and goaded him to attack again and again.