Beast of All Read online

  The cool night air blew through the open window and caressed my hot skin. I wouldn’t shift to a falcon and fly away. Even if I could, no way would I let Christine live through this night. Every breath she took was one too many.

  My lips twisted as I envisioned my claws ripping into her smooth, flawless, spa-pampered flesh.

  “This won’t be quick,” I promised.

  Christine scowled and shifted her weight forward. She’d lunge low again. She always did.

  Before she launched another attack, the door flew open and slammed against the wall. Wick stepped into the room, his presence filling the doorway. Wearing only boxers, his muscle-rippled skin gleamed in the moonlight, and his bed-tussled hair stood in all directions.

  “What the hell is going on?” Wick boomed.

  Christine jumped. Her gaze widened. She hesitated before turning her glare to me. A second later, she moved.

  “No!” I screamed. I lunged forward, but she blew by me.

  Christine ran and dove through the open window. Her body hit the ground, one story down, with a heavy thump.

  I ran to the window and looked down. A prickling sensation enclosed my scalp and ran down my spine. Christine twisted to snarl up at me. She lurched to her feet and shook out her limbs as they cracked back in place with her fast Were healing. I stood useless by the window and watched her run off into the night. If I could shift, I would’ve followed, and she’d never get away.

  “No.” The sight of Christine alive and running while I stood pathetic and helpless to prevent it, boiled my blood and burned a place in my memory.

  Chapter Ten

  The truth is ugly

  “I prefer an ugly truth to a pretty lie.”

  ~Shakira

  Cool air from the open window travelled through the room. A warm hand clamped on my shoulder. I jumped.

  “Andy, what the hell is going on?” Wick demanded.

  I turned, muscles tense and ready to fight. His expression, a comical mix of anger, confusion, and concern, diffused the fire racing in my veins and cleared my red vision. I straightened and sucked in a number of deep breaths. “Don’t mate with her.”

  Wick hesitated. “I already called it off.”

  All tension unexpectedly released from my muscles, and my limbs grew heavy, and weak. “Good,” I sighed, and glanced back at the window. “I don’t want you hurt from the backlash when I rip out her heart.” With my bare hands.

  “What the hell?” Wick growled.

  Anger returned like the flip of an emotional switch. My pulse quickened as my vision clouded again. The very muscles craving a warm bath seconds ago, now screamed for action again. If my falcon had been present, she’d demand I peck out some eyeballs. “She’s the one. She’s responsible for…for Tristan’s death.”

  Wick’s eyebrows pinched in. “That makes no sense. She was thrilled you picked him over me.”

  My hands gripped the hem of my shirt and twisted. A loud ripping sound filled the room as I tore it to shreds, acting out what I’d really like to do to Christine. “He wasn’t the target.”

  Wick’s gaze widened. Then understanding hit. His mouth pinched. His jaw clenched. A growl rumbled from his chest, and his gaze flashed Werewolf yellow. His muscles tensed as if, with one word, he’d leap through the window and run after her.

  Good. Though I doubt he’d catch her now, even if he sent the pack to track her.

  “She tried to kill you,” he stated.

  Not sure why he bothered saying it out loud. Her actions spelled everything out.

  “Three times.” Twice through mercenaries, and now the last time on her own. And like a coward, she’d attacked me while I slept and was most vulnerable. I moved away from the window and the cool breeze.

  Wick’s hands folded into two clenched fists. He vibrated as burnt cinnamon rolled off him in waves.

  “This is my fault,” he said.

  Unexpected laughter barked out of me. “This is not on you. At all.”

  Wick cast me a pained look, and paced in front of me. “When you first lost control and started rampaging, I tried to get to you first. Even tried to tranq you, but the one shot I got in wasn’t enough, and you got away. When I caught up to you again, I was too late and without backup.” He shook his head as he looked down at his trembling fists. “I watched the SRD take you.”

  No longer flushed with rage, my skin grew cold and clammy. I folded my arms across my chest and looked for a sweater. Anything to buy time from my reeling thoughts.

  A distant memory, one of detecting Wick’s delectable scent during a rage-fueled rampage, flickered through my mind. At the time, I dismissed the possibility of Wick’s presence. Why on Earth would he care about the woman who broke his heart?

  The answer smacked me in the face.

  He never stopped caring. Heck, his spot on my rescue team confirmed it. My scalp prickled with warmth. My mouth grew dry. What should I say?

  “I appreciate the effort, I do,” I mumbled. “But what does that have to do with Christine?”

  “She was angry. I sensed her hatred through the pack bond. I thought she was pissed I tried to help you, and she was, a bit, but it must’ve also been from her failed attempt on your life. I should’ve seen it. I should’ve known.”

  “Still not your fault.” I took an extra-large sweater from the dresser and pulled it over my head. It smelled of rosemary and sugar. The clothing must’ve come from Wick’s personal stash.

  He shook his head again. “Even before I told her I wanted to wait on mating, she knew. She saw it, felt it, when I hugged you earlier. My heart’s not in it. Never was. And my wolf chose you a long time ago.”

  The mattress dipped as I dropped onto it. “Well, that answers why she attacked me tonight.”

  Wick nodded and sat beside me, fists still clenched. “Your death would’ve hurt me, but it wouldn’t have changed things with Christine. Those feelings were never there for me, not before you and I met, and not after. I guess, in my grief, I let her convince me otherwise. Seeing you again made me realize how pointless mating with Christine would be, and how unhappy it would make me. It would also destroy the pack.”

  “And she sensed it all through the pack bond.”

  “Exactly.”

  I reached out and squeezed one of his clenched fists. A pack bond didn’t work like mind reading, it transmitted emotions, not thoughts. Wick really had no way of knowing the extent of Christine’s hatred, nor her plans. “Still not your fault.”

  “I wish I believed that.” Wick stood and shook out his limbs. “Come on. I have another guest room.”

  I followed as he walked stiffly through the house. Sure, he could’ve handled the Christine situation better, but I couldn’t, and wouldn’t, hold that against him. My rejection had cut him deeply. Who made logical decisions when they were hurting?

  Certainly not me.

  The only thing I knew for sure, logical or not, Christine had to die. I wouldn’t rest until I made her pay, painfully, for the life she stole from me.

  Chapter Eleven

  A message from the dead

  “You want a physicist to speak at your funeral.…You want the physicist to remind your sobbing [loved one] about the first law of thermodynamics; that no energy gets created in the universe, and none is destroyed. You want your [loved one] to know that all your energy, every vibration, every BTU of heat, every wave of every particle that was [you] remains with her in this world… According to the law of the conservation of energy, not a bit of you is gone; you’re just less orderly.”

  ~Aaron Freeman

  The cold, unfeeling stone stared back at me. Tristan Leonardo Kayne. The date of his death, a red flag to the angry beast lurking inside. Freshly laid grass and soil covered the rectangular patch in front of the gravestone. The scent of his body, the citrus and sunshine laced with honeysuckle, had diffused away long ago. Departed with his soul and everything that made Tristan who he was.

  Did his parents name him a
fter Leonard Da Vinci? No wonder he never wanted to tell me his middle name. Although, he should’ve known I’d think it was awesome.

  I kneeled in front of the stark stone and placed the roses at the base.

  “You shouldn’t have left me.” I trailed my hands lightly along the smooth stone as if it was Tristan’s porcelain face. “You shouldn’t be dead.”

  Tears trickled down my cheeks, and I sniffed as my nose began to run. The moisture from the soil soaked into my black pants. Knee-high black boots protected me only a little from the dampness, and although the thick jacket with its fur-lined hood battled the cold, it did nothing about the ice emanating from within me.

  “You should be full of life and laughter.” I leaned forward until my forehead butted against the cold rock.

  Stan brought me to this place of death. He’d picked me up from Wick’s house and without a word, headed toward the cemetery. “You need to grieve,” he’d said. “Not as a beast on a death-mission, but as a human.”

  Although misery and stiff air clung to his pores, Stan seemed a lot better than he had in a long time. He left me at the gravesite to visit his wife’s, almost on the opposite side of the cemetery, for his own grieving.

  The tears flowed unhindered down my face and dripped off my nose and chin to splatter on the grass. I breathed deeply. Grass and loam. Grass and loam.

  A sob shuddered through my body, and my lungs constricted. As if someone tied a rope around my heart and tugged it tight, the pain intensified and burned.

  I’d never feel Tristan’s arms around me again—no kisses along my neck, no warm hand holding mine, no body heat to caress my back as we lay spooning in the early hours of the day.

  I twisted a little to take in more of the surroundings. Tristan’s pride had chosen a plot on the top of a hill, where the sun hit for most of the day. Tristan loved sunshine. He loved basking in its warmth. The pride made an excellent choice.

  Pain lanced through my lungs as they constricted again. I drew in unsteady breaths. Tristan was gone, and it was all my fault. Did his pride blame me? Hate me?

  Probably.

  They should.

  The cool air drifted by, bringing messages of the land and the emotions of others visiting the cemetery. I closed my eyes and envisioned Tristan beside me. What would I tell him? What should I say?

  “I love you,” I whispered.

  His face would’ve brightened like it had the first and last time, the only time, I said those words to him.

  “I miss you,” I sobbed.

  The cold ground provided little comfort as I curled up on Tristan’s grave, unable to say the one thing I should—goodbye.

  Unwilling.

  Time passed. The sun faded. The air turned from refreshing to cold. The birds sang their lament to the dying light. How long had I lain here? How could I possibly leave?

  The grass rustled as a couple made their way toward me. Their familiar citrus and sunshine scents gave away their identities—Angie and Olly, from Tristan’s pride. Olly, second in command, liked me as his Alpha’s soon-to-be mate. Angie on the other hand… Well, she didn’t.

  I stiffened on the cold ground as I continued to lay curled up on Tristan’s grave. Had they come here seeking revenge?

  Their scents were closed off and gave nothing away of their intent.

  “If you came to kill me, don’t bother,” I mumbled into the dirt. “I’m already dead.” Inside.

  They stopped walking a few feet away. Olly stiff and motionless. Angie huffed and shuffled her feet.

  “We’re not here to harm you.” Her soft, bell-like voice trilled, but for once, it didn’t grate against my skin, and I no longer had a mountain lion in my head hissing at her.

  I half-rolled over. They stood far enough away to offer respect, instead of appearing intimidating or threatening.

  A pint-sized doll with unnatural curves stared down at me, her perfectly coifed hair, slicked back and more severe than usual. With a grim expression and stiff posture, Angie didn’t appear to have murder on her mind. She had loved Tristan, and I always suspected she loved him as more than her Alpha, but we’d never physically fought over him.

  Olly shifted his weight from where he stood beside Angie. A beefcake with no neck, Olly looked like he spent every spare minute in the gym. In actuality, he spent day and night working for Tristan and his security company. Heat rose off his shaved head into the cold air, and his soft gaze flicked briefly up to meet mine.

  With their heads bowed and hands clasped behind their backs, they showed me something I’d never seen from them before—deference. They postured as they would toward their Alpha or their Alpha’s mate.

  My eyes stung. I blinked rapidly and staggered to my feet. Brushing my pants with both hands did little to knock off the wet dirt, but I had to try.

  “We came to give you this.” Olly pulled a thick, business envelope from his jacket’s inside pocket and held it out.

  “Thanks.” I stepped forward and plucked the envelope from his hand. It smelled of Tristan. I clutched it to my chest.

  Angie cleared her throat. “I know we never got along, but you should know—” Her voice trembled and cut off.

  My head snapped up.

  Angie’s full lips trembled and her eyebrows dipped down. She blinked rapidly. She took a deep breath, stared at her feet, and continued. “You should know, Tristan loved you. Very much.”

  More tears leaked out of my eyes, but I ignored them. Tristan had said those words to me. Only twice. They were the last words to slip past his beautiful lips.

  “You helped him continue on after Ethan’s rule over us. You helped the whole pride heal, whether you know it or not,” Olly added, his tone deep.

  Angie sniffed and nodded. “He was happy when he died.”

  I sucked in a breath.

  “He was happy it meant something.”

  I winced. My skin prickled, and my lungs shrank. Tristan sacrificed everything for me. Was I even worth it?

  “If there’s anything you need,” Olly said. “Let us know.”

  I nodded and bit my lip. Either that, or start crying again. The Wereleopards inclined their heads in another show of respect before turning and walking away. I clung to Tristan’s letter the entire time I watched Angie and Olly carefully navigate around gravesites, and make their way to the cemetery’s exit.

  Glancing around provided no intel on Stan’s location. With my phone safely nestled in my pocket, I could call anytime. I glanced at the letter. My hands grew clammy, the sweat moistening the envelope to give it a sticky feel.

  With a deep breath, I forced my tense muscles to relax and ripped open the seal. The cemetery’s lighting, the early evening light and my Shifter nature provided me with the means to read the handwritten words.

  ****

  My Love,

  If you’re reading this, than my suspicions have sadly come to pass. I think I was meant to be in your life, but only for a limited time. You needed to heal, and I hope I provided the support and love necessary. I’m forever grateful to have spent my last days in your arms and last moments of life in supreme happiness.

  What you didn’t know about me, and what I dreaded telling you before we mated, was my age. I am, was, very long in the tooth. Some would say too long. I have lived to see all three of Catherine de’ Medici’s sons become kings of France.

  Though we hate to admit it, leopards are no different than house cats in some ways. We leave to find solitude when it’s our time to depart this Earth. Before my leopard set eyes on you, he longed to leave and find our final resting place. My time has long been up, but Ethan prevented me from ending my life, and then I met you.

  Andy, you breathed new life into me, and my pride. You gave me a purpose, a goal, and time to set things right. My pride almost broke under Ethan’s rule, and because of you, we all had time to heal and mend the ties that bind us together. As much as I would like to believe I’d stay by you, and grow old with you, my biggest fear was
leaving you mateless when you could’ve had a longer, perhaps happier, life with another.

  My prolonged absences weren’t solely spent searching for answers about your biological parents. I tried to leave and spare you more heartache. But I couldn’t stay away. Please forgive me for my selfishness. I wanted to stay with you, surrounded with your love, until the end, even though I knew I shouldn’t, even though I knew I should’ve left you alone for another.

  Instead of leaving you for my final resting place, I hope I go out with passion, with grace, and as a fighter. We never know when Feradea will call for us, but I know whenever she calls for me, it will be too soon, even if it’s right.

  Remember, a mate isn’t half of one soul, but a match for it. The chances of coming across a gift like you in a lifetime, even one as long as mine, are extremely rare to say the least. To find two, is almost unheard of. Don’t squander the offering fate has given you, against all odds.

  Find happiness. Find love. Live a long, full life, and know I will always love you.

  ~Tristan

  ****

  Sometime during my read, I’d sat down next to Tristan’s tombstone. My hands dropped, and the letter fell. I shut my lids over stinging eyes. My thoughts spun. Time slowed around me, as if only the letter, now blurring through tears, existed.

  He’d wanted to die? He tried to leave me?

  I blinked back tears. My breath formed little white puffs in the frigid night. I ran my hand down Tristan’s gravestone, ignoring the tears as they now streamed down my face.

  Please forgive me for my selfishness. The words of his letter replayed in my head, over and over as the cold continued to attack my skin and seep into my bones.

  Whenever she calls for me, it will be too soon, even if it’s right.

  Tristan was gone, and I could do nothing about it.

  Except accept it. Cherish the moments, though short-lived, that we shared together, and try to do as he suggested—live a long, full life.

  No way would I attempt living a full life right away. Christine needed to die. Vengeance needed to be served. But there was something I could do now.