Savage Transformation: Savage Australia, Book 2 Page 12

  Focus.

  The dark command cracked through his mind like a shot and he flattened his ears to his head. He shut her out of his senses, concentrating on the earth under his paws instead, the repetitive thump of his heart.

  Stop thinking about her. Focus on Einar. Remember why you’re here.

  Cold disgust twisted into his chest. He was here to catch a cold-blooded killer, not mate with the woman he was using as bait.

  Again his paws stumbled beneath him. Fuck. He’d mated with her. What had he been thinking?

  No thinking involved, Rourke. You wanted her. You took her.

  He curled his muzzle and growled again, the sound vibrating in his chest less animal, more monster.

  He could still taste her blood and sweat in his mouth. It fueled a heat simmering in his loins he knew would never be extinguished. Once dire wolves mated, the bonds connecting the two together could never be severed. No matter the distance.

  His ancestors—long long extinct—had not been subtle when it came to mating. The males took who they wanted, when they wanted them. No discussion, no arguments. The word rape did not exist when his kind first transformed, but it existed now. He may be the last dire wolf shifter alive, but that didn’t excuse what he’d done to Jackie. She may have been a willing sexual partner, she was a willing sexual partner—of that he had no doubts—but to mark her as his. To mate with her…

  And what of her thylacine mating rituals? There was scant intel on the Tasmanian tiger as an animal, let alone as a shape-shifter. Before he’d left the US he’d learnt all he could about her kind—tenacious predators, the top of the food chain in Australia until man’s arrival on the continent, ferocious defenders of their young, solitary. Nothing in his intel told him if thylacines mated for life. He’d marked Jackie as his own, tied his body and spirit to her, but what did that mean to Jackie?

  What did she think of him now?

  Christ, you’re fucked up, Rourke.

  He was. His thoughts smashed through his head like the debris from an explosion. Pummeling him, tormenting him. How was he to use Jackie now that she was irrevocably a part of him? He couldn’t use her as bait anymore. He couldn’t, even if he wanted to, which he didn’t. So how did he find Einar now? How did he lure his ex-partner out of hiding without the very prize the bastard hunted? What was his purpose if not to stop the very monster he’d set free on the world?

  How did he tell Jackie he couldn’t live without her?

  Fuck.

  The acrid smell of tar and gravel seeped into his breath and he ran harder, shoving the tumultuous confusion away. Weaving through the thinning trees, he leapt out of the bush, his paws thumping onto gravel-laced bitumen. The road.

  Tail flicking, he sprinted up the empty stretch, stare locked on the distant shadow of his hired car. He’d change into his spare clothes, holster his gun and when Jackie arrived he’d explain everything.

  Everything.

  He had no idea what to do next, but he knew he didn’t want her not in his life. He’d figure all the shit that came with his existence out after he told her that. After he told her dire wolves mated for life and his life was now hers. After he—

  A slick scent of flowers and sweat slipped into his nostrils and he skidded to a halt. His heart smashed against his breastbone and his hackles rose.

  Delanie McKenzie.

  Deep within his subconscious, his beast growled. It surged for control, blood-lust and fury fueling its fight.

  Marshall pushed his muzzle toward the silent shape of the Audi, tasting a ghost of the human female’s perspiration on the air. Einar had brought her here—or something belonging to her.

  He stood motionless, straining to detect any sound around him.

  The night was silent. He’d left Jackie way behind, her distant human footfalls so faint he could barely feel them through the earth. Even the nocturnal critters inhabiting the area seemed to have vanished. Escaping the monster moving about their territory.

  Which monster, Rourke? You, or Daeved Einar?

  Stare fixed on the car, head low, nerves strung tight, he moved forward.

  Four steps from the Audi, another scent licked at Marshall’s senses and his heart beat harder.

  Delanie’s blood.

  In a blur of painful distortion, he transformed, destroying the short distance between him and the car on human legs. He snatched his Glock from where he’d stashed it under the back driver’s-side wheel arch before chasing after Jackie. Flicking off the safety, he held it low in both hands, studying the immediate area around the car. Einar had wounded Jackie’s best friend. The scent of her blood was faint, almost undetectable, but there all the same.

  Marshall peered into the blackness, narrowing his focus down onto that faint scent.

  The woman was scared. Her fear laced the coppery ting of her blood, singeing his nostrils. Despite how weak the scent was, he could still smell her fear. It squeezed his tight throat. In his gut, he hadn’t believed Einar would harm the human, but it looked like his gut was wrong. His partner was a callous being capable of untold atrocities—and many Marshall could tell of—against paranormal creatures, but he’d never deliberately hurt a human before until now.

  To do so meant Einar wanted Jackie Huddart badly. Delanie was his trap.

  Marshall’s throat squeezed tighter still. He wasn’t going to let Einar get her.

  Shooting his dark surroundings a quick look, he hurried to the Audi’s trunk and popped it open. He didn’t have much time. Jackie would arrive soon and he had little doubt she would not detect her friend’s scent. If he didn’t go and retrieve Delanie quickly, Jackie would. Or she’d go after Einar herself if she discovered he was there waiting for her. Marshall couldn’t have that. He couldn’t put Jackie in that kind of danger. He had to move quickly.

  Studying the direction Jackie would emerge from, he shoved his legs into the spare pair of jeans he’d packed earlier. Ignoring the shirt and shoes, he tucked his Glock into the back of his waistband. He didn’t need a shirt and he would run faster and more quietly in bare feet.

  With another look at the dark terrain, he took off, following Einar’s and Delanie’s scent. Tracking them off the road and into the scrubland. Trailing their path over the vegetation. Heading north. Closer to the ocean’s edge. Farther away from the road and any signs of civilization.

  Marshall’s lips curled in a cold grin. Einar thought he was laying a trap for the Australian cop?

  Einar was wrong.

  Dead wrong.

  Jackie stopped running.

  She stood motionless, nose lifted to the air, her heart beating so loud she could hear nothing but its rapid thump.

  She narrowed her eyes, pulling in a deep breath. “Oh, my God.”

  Hot, prickling anger flooded through her and before she could choke it back, a raw sob burst from her lips.

  Del. She could smell Del’s blood. Strong. Powerful. The scent of her best friend’s blood filled her nose, slipped down her throat.

  Closing her eyes against the distracting night, she drew another breath, deeper this time.

  Fear and sweat threaded through the scent and Jackie’s heart rate doubled. He’d hurt her. The bastard had hurt her.

  Her thylacine stirred, furious.

  Forcing both herself and the creature within her to be calm, she pulled another breath, seeking the source direction of the scent of Del’s blood.

  South.

  Wherever Marshall’s ex-partner was now, Delanie was south and that’s all that mattered.

  What if she’s not? What if it’s just her blood?

  Shutting out the chilling though, Jackie opened her eyes and, without hesitation, transformed into her Tasmanian tiger form, bursting into a dead sprint. Moving through the bushland on all fours, faster than she could ever run in human form. South.

  Delanie was south and close.

  Very close.

  So close Jackie could almost taste her on the soft breeze.

 
She had to be.

  I’m coming, Del. I’m coming.

  She ran south. Heading for her best friend.

  Chapter Eight

  The scrubland turned to sparse vegetation. Squat, spreading plants covered in prickly leaves and spiky flowers crunched under Marshall’s feet, cutting into his soles. Low, spindly bushes snared at the legs of his jeans, tugging at his gait.

  He gripped his Glock tighter, lengthening his stride. Delanie’s scent was growing stronger. Much stronger. The closer he drew to the beach, the more potent the female’s scent became. It filled his every breath now, not just a tickling tease in his nose.

  Scanning the darkness before him, he searched for any visual sign of her. With her scent as strong as it was, he should be able to see something.

  Nothing. Yet.

  The scratchy growth beneath his feet turned to gritty sand, and the constant sound of waves breaking made him frown. Where was she? On the beach? What kind of trap could Einar set on the beach?

  He narrowed his eyes, a sense of unease began to itch in his gut. This felt wrong. He slowed his sprint, straining to hear anything that would tell him where Delanie and Einar were.

  A faint beat thumped through the air, so soft he almost missed it under the sound of the crashing waves to his right.

  He cocked his head, listening.

  A heartbeat.

  But whose?

  He continued forward, moving in a half-crouch over the sandy dirt, Glock ready. The thin moon cast the stretch of beach in pale light, turning the white sand to a silver swathe, illuminating nothing but the obvious. There was no one there.

  But you can smell her. She has to be here. Her scent is—

  A black shape lurched in the shallow waves, rolling backward and forward in the water’s pull.

  Marshall froze.

  He fixed his stare on the rocking form. Narrowed his senses onto its waning heat.

  His mouth went dry and his pulse smashed into rapid life.

  Shit. It’s—

  “Delanie.”

  He lifted his head, turning his nose into the wind, trying to pull some hint of his ex-partner from the gentle off-shore wind playing over him.

  Nothing. Except the stink of fish, seaweed, brine and Delanie.

  Marshall returned his stare to the lolling form in the surf. There was no sign of Einar. Not on the wind, the sand, the surrounding scrub. He knew his ex-partner. He knew him well. Very well. There may not be a sign of him, but he was here. Somewhere. This was a trap. A trap for Jackie.

  Then he won’t be expecting you, will he?

  He burst into a dead sprint, propelling himself across the sand, letting his dire wolf flow through his muscles even as he held tight control over his human form.

  The cool water splashed over his feet and ankles, soaked the hem of his jeans as he ran through the waves. He dropped into a crouch beside the motionless female and grabbed at her shoulder, rolling her onto her back and pulling her face from the water.

  “Delanie?” He whispered her name, scanning the scrub line for signs of Einar.

  She didn’t respond, and he dared to tear his stare from the black surroundings to shoot her a quick look.

  Wet red hair strangled her face in tangled strands, covering her eyes and nostrils, clinging to her cheeks and lips. The waning moon turned her flesh a ghastly white, and if it weren’t for the weak thump of her heartbeat vibrating through her body, he would have thought her dead.

  Another shallow wave rolled up the shore, lapping into Marshall with gentle force. Delanie lurched to the side, limp and boneless, the wave lifting her from the sand and carrying her forward until she bumped into his legs.

  Shit. Whatever Einar had done to her, she was out cold.

  With a harried glance at the blackness skirting the beach, he shoved his gun into his jean’s waistline at the small of his back and snared Delanie’s right wrist.

  Worry gnawed at his control. If his ex-partner was planning on snapping the trap, now would be the time to do it, when Marshall had both hands full.

  Hauling Delanie out of the water, he threw her over his shoulder and straightened to his feet. Every muscle in his body tensed, expecting the bullet or cross-bow bolt or knife.

  None came.

  The uneasy itch in Marshall’s gut grew stronger. What was Einar playing at?

  Stop fucking worrying about it and get the woman to safety.

  Left arm hooked around Delanie’s leg, right hand anchoring her to his shoulder by her wrist, Marshall spun toward the scrubland and ran.

  The sand stuck to his wet skin, clung to his damp jeans, turning the material to course sandpaper that rubbed at his calves and ankles. He ignored it, running up the beach, Delanie’s weight pushing into his shoulder.

  Something hot and damp seeped into his skin and he pulled in a quick breath.

  His beast growled, already too close to the surface. Blood. Fresh blood.

  He ran faster, the feel of Delanie’s blood trickling down his arm and back pushing him harder still. The longer he had her slung over his shoulder, the longer the wound in her stomach would weep. He had to get her dry and warm.

  Hard, compressed sand gave way to soft and loose the farther he ran away from the water. The tiny grains moved under his pounding feet like liquid, throwing his balance continually into turmoil. He gripped the unconscious woman harder, his stare fixed on the bush just beyond the pearly strip of beach. He’d expected his ex-partner’s attack by now. Einar would have taken full advantage of his vulnerable situation, but there was neither sign nor scent of him.

  The itch in his gut grew wild. Shit. This all felt wrong.

  This wasn’t the trap, Rourke. You know that, don’t you. At least, not the trap for Jackie.

  Cold dread flooded through him, turning the itch into a maelstrom of fury. Shit, his ex-partner knew he was here. And had played him.

  And there’s nothing you can do. You can’t leave Delanie. She’s bleeding, she’s unconscious and she’s likely got half the Pacific Ocean in her lungs.

  He bit back a guttural curse. Shit. Shit, shit.

  The low scrub tore at his wet jeans as he ran into the bush. Something sharp sliced into the sole of his right foot. He grunted, stumbling a little before righting himself and increasing his pace. Hot disgust fought with the cold dread eating into his control. How could he have been so goddamn stupid?

  If Einar wasn’t here watching Delanie, then that put him somewhere else. Somewhere…

  An icy fist squeezed Marshall’s heart and he sucked in another deep, sharp breath. Hoping, praying.

  There wasn’t a hint of Jackie’s scent on the air. Which meant she wasn’t following him.

  And she would be following you, Rourke. If she detected even a whiff of her best friend’s scent back at the car, she would be following you. If she’s not, it’s because she can’t.

  “Fuck!”

  The word sounded more like a snarl.

  “Divide and conquer, Rourke. Divide and conquer.” Daeved Einar had lived by the adage, repeating it often to Marshall when they’d first been assigned as partners. Einar used the principle well. In fact, he was a master at it. More than one alcove of demons had been decimated thanks to his ability to separate the strong from the protective number of the weak. Marshall himself had been impressed with the technique—until he’d started to witness what Einar did to the strong once vulnerable.

  “Fuck.”

  He turned his run into a sprint, Delanie’s boneless weight pressing heavier on him with each step. Sweat beaded on his forehead, trickling into his eyes in stinging rivulets, but it was the woman’s blood slicking his shoulder and arm that worried him. It painted his flesh with its sticky heat, flowing with alarming speed from the unseen wound in her belly.

  If he didn’t get her off his shoulder soon, she’d likely bleed to death.

  Shoving the grim thought from his mind, as well as the unnerving fact she hadn’t made a sound or even twitched since he�
�d found her, he raced through the night. At this point in time his best option was getting her back to the Audi and—

  And what? Call an ambulance? Leaving her to possibly die while you go looking for Jackie? While you hunt Einar?

  Marshall’s dire wolf growled deep in his soul. The latter option appealed to it. Greatly.

  A burning prickle up his spine and in the base of his skull made him grind his teeth and he forced the beast back down, restraining it—barely. He couldn’t shift now. He had an injured woman to look after and if there was anything he’d learnt about Jackie Huddart in the last twenty-four hours it was this—if he abandoned Delanie McKenzie to come after her, if he left Delanie unattended, bleeding and unconscious, Jackie would rip his throat out herself.

  The last thing he wanted was his life mate pissed at him.

  Life mate.

  The word flicked through his head and he stumbled. His life mate. The woman he was bonded to forever—both physically and spiritually. Unplanned, unexpected but so goddamn right he couldn’t think about her without his core existence growing warm. His life mate separated from him by the one man who would take great pleasure in bringing her more pain than imaginable. The one man hell bent on killing her. Butchering her for his own demented, unhinged enjoyment. And Marshall had led that one man to her as surely as if he’d wrapped her in a bow and handed her over. The simple bait-and-terminate operation was now a nightmare beyond any he could have foreseen.

  Shit, could this mission have gone any more off the rails?

  Before he could consider an answer, the sticks and rocks beneath his feet gave way to rough gravel, followed instantly by crumbling bitumen. Marshall swung his stare from left to right, a shallow punch of relief sinking into him. He was back on the road.

  He dragged in a long breath, his chest tight.

  Let there be a hint of Jackie. Please, God and all things holy, let there be a hint of Jackie.

  The silent prayer was bitter and unanswered—Marshall and all things holy had long since parted company. The air hung heavy with eucalyptus oil and other plant life his Texas senses were not familiar with, its cool dampness undercut with the faint tinge of the distant ocean, but there was no hint of the Sydney detective. In either human or Tasmanian-tiger form.