“Gypsy horse.” He couldn’t keep the distaste out of his voice. That and the Friesian were the only two horse breeds he recognized, because he had had no choice about learning them.
The Gypsy horse moved into the moonlight, carrying her rider without any effort, which wasn’t much of an accomplishment, since the rider was sixteen years old, barely five-and-a-half feet tall, and weighed maybe a hundred and twenty pounds. If she was soaking wet and wearing all her clothes and carrying both of her tomahawks.
He opened his mouth and closed it. Julie was wearing a bluish T-shirt with the words Wild Magic stitched on it and a pair of jean shorts. Her long bare legs stood out against the horse’s black hide. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail, leaving her long neck exposed. A neck that would be frighteningly easy to snap even for a normal human.
The cat was checking her out. She was a kid. He was looking at her like she was dessert. Nothing good was going through his head.
Derek bit off the words, fighting a snarl. “What the fuck are you looking at?”
The cat grinned, baring his teeth. “Bonus.”
So that was the cat’s plan: Kill him and get Julie. Good plan. If Derek had both hands tied behind his back and his feet chained to the ground.
Julie waved at him and winked at the three shapeshifters. “You shouldn’t corner Big Bad Wolves like him on a dark street. It’s bad for your health.”
“What the hell are you doing here?” he growled. She shouldn’t be here. Not in the middle of the night and not in front of this house. He didn’t want to tell her what had happened in the house.
“I’m working,” she said.
“Why are you dressed like that?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Dressed like what?”
“That.”
“There is nothing wrong with the way she’s dressed.” The cat smirked, flashing white teeth. “I like it.”
Laugh it up while you can. “Shut up. If I decide to ask for your opinion, I’ll say, ‘Hey dickhead,’ so you don’t get confused.”
The cat snarled back. “What the hell makes you think you can tell me what to do?”
Julie sighed. “Look, I don’t have time for one of your man things, where you stand around and insult each other. The city has a Guardian, and I’m her Herald. I have a task, and you’re between me and my destination. Clear your asses out of here or be destroyed.”
“What the actual fuck is going on here?” the jackal asked.
That was about enough of it. Derek stepped forward, moving out of the shadows into the moonlight.
The cat’s eyebrows crept up. “What the hell happened to your face?”
“Oh shit.” The wolf raised his hands, backed away, and sat down on the ground. “I submit. I meant no offense. Tell Curran I meant no offense.”
The cat and the jackal stared at him.
“What’s your problem?” the jackal asked.
“That’s the Beast Lord’s Wolf.” The wolf raised his hands palms out. “And that’s the Beast Lord’s daughter. I’m out.”
“I’ve seen the Beast Lord,” the cat said. “He’s black, his mate is Asian, and they don’t have kids.”
“Not that Beast Lord, you moron,” the wolf said. “The first one. The ex-Beast Lord.”
“Wait,” the jackal said. “There is another Beast Lord?”
They were idiots. He was about to fight two idiots.
“You can’t challenge him,” the wolf said.
“The hell I can’t.” The cat bared his teeth.
“If you fight him, it’s to the death,” the wolf warned.
“I don’t care.”
“Tooooooday.” Julie drew the word out.
“I’ll fucking kill you!” the cat declared. “I’ll rip your throat out and feed it to you.”
Yes, he’d never heard that one before.
Julie sighed again and glanced at him. “This is taking way too long. That was a declaration of murderous intent. We’re clear. The big one is yours; I’ll take the ginger.”
They moved at the same time. He was a shapeshifter and she was human, so he won the race. But, he reflected, sprinting toward the cat as one of her tomahawks hurtled through the air and sliced into the jackal’s chest, the gap between their reaction time was getting uncomfortably short, and not because he was slowing down.
In front of him, the cat’s human skin tore. The cascade of pheromones hit Derek, the chemical catastrophe of magic that signaled the change from human to an animal. The cat hopped back, buying time as his body split, bones shooting up, flesh spiraling up the new bigger, thicker limbs, and golden fur sprouted over it, packed with dense dark rosettes. A leopard. That’s why all the smirking. A big cat against a wolf was usually a done deal. Especially a big cat who could maintain the warrior form, a meld of beast and human.
The wereleopard landed upright on huge paws, claws out, hulking. Big jaws. At least a hundred and fifty pounds heavier, and that weight was muscle and bone. Stupid stance, though, arms out. Very little or no training. Probably relied on his strength, speed, and size. It wouldn’t be enough this time.
He was well within his rights to kill the leopard. Derek belonged to Curran, who had formally retired from the Pack, taking his people with him, which put him outside of Pack structure. He had no position within the Pack’s hierarchy. The only thing Derek could be challenged for was his life, and Pack law said he could end his attacker without fear of retribution.
The cat swiped at him. Derek ducked under the slice, but the claws grazed his shoulder in a burning flash of pain. The scent of his own blood lashed him. Fast bastard. Derek carved a long gash across the cat’s ribs as he darted under, spun around, and sank a solid kick into the small of the cat’s back. The cat’s spine crunched. The wereleopard leapt away and spun around, golden eyes glowing.
If he killed the leopard, the relationship between the newcomers and the Pack would be strained. Jim would be pissed. He needed a few seconds to figure out if he gave a damn.
On the left the jackal launched himself into a spectacular jump, aiming for Julie on her horse. He hurtled through the air, eyes wide, mouth open. She tossed a handful of yellow powder into his face. The reek of wolfsbane streaked through the street. His eyes watered. The jackal collapsed on the ground.
The cat leaped at Derek, going high, claws of his right paw raised for the kill. Once you were airborne, there was no way to change the direction.
Derek let go of the knife, sidestepped to the left, grabbed the cat’s right forearm with his right hand as the wereleopard flew by, and drove his left hand into the cat’s right thigh, channeling all the power and momentum of the wereleopard’s leap into a flip. The cat practically flipped himself. The wereleopard’s back slapped the ground. The air burst out of his lungs. Derek dropped down, swiped his knife off the pavement, and buried it in the cat’s gut. Sour stench wafted up into his nostrils.
The cat snarled and swiped at him. The big claws tore at his chest, shredding his T-shirt. Derek broke free. The cat jerked up, lighting quick, and turned into a whirlwind of claws. Derek dodged, backing away, noting each graze that stung his shoulders. The leopard chased him, eyes mad, pupils so wide the gold of his irises had shrunk to a thin ring. When the cats snapped like this, there was no fighting them. You had to block what you could until you got some distance.
“I kirrl you!” the cat yowled.
Speaking in warrior form indicated real talent. That’s why the small pack had been allowed to join. Jim had plans for the leopard.
A cut. The cat was swinging wildly, his response sharpened by the wound in his stomach. Derek had been like that, too, years ago, until he learned to register the pain without it feeding his anger.
If he killed the cat, Jim would be pissed off, but more importantly, Curran would regret the waste of talent. The Pack still mattered to him, even if he said it didn’t.