Everyone reacts differently when attacked. Some drop to their knees and beg for mercy. Others cry. Some become enraged.

Only Stacey would laugh, clap her hands, and sing, “Run, run as fast as you can. I’m faster than the Gingerbread Man.” And then she darted at the guy holding the tranquilizer gun. A guy whose eyes widened as she charged toward him.

JF could understand why. Fur sprouting, body changing, Stacey let her lioness come out to play.

The beautiful feline, with her russet-tinged fur, hit the ground with four feet, only she never reached the guy who shot her full of drugged darts. Three by JF’s count. She slowed and wavered, the chemical cocktail strong enough to take down even a shifter.

So of course he shouted, “I told you someone darted me!”

It was, after all, a perfect “I told you so” moment.

They also tried to dart him again. But this time JF expected it, and dodged. It occurred to him he could change forms in a blink of an eye. In his whampyr shape, he could fight with more deadly force and grace; however, the odds of winning? Not so good given at least two of the guns aimed at him had bullets that would hurt.

He had a split second to decide—go full-on whampyr and attack, see just how good fighters the three men surrounding them were, or play the part of weakling and see what was truly going on.

Seeing Stacey collapse, the drugs working quickly on her, decided him. He couldn’t risk her getting hit in the crossfire. Nor did he dare change when he still had no idea what he faced. The two men with guns trained on him had no scent. None at all. Were they whampyr like him? He couldn’t tell, especially since they didn’t bear any marks on their skin.

Staring at them meant he didn’t dodge the dart aimed at his back. The drugs invaded his system, and he felt a slight lethargy. Only slight. His body had already learned to adapt from his last dosage. A whampyr trait that protected them from poisons.

They won’t take me down so easily again.

A part of him wanted to smile, the cold beast within eager to play. Except he wanted to know more before he tore off any heads. Decapitated bodies didn’t speak very well.

So JF sank to his knees slowly and then managed to collapse so that he at least partially covered Stacey.

Someone who wanted them dead wouldn’t bother with a sleeping agent, but it didn’t hurt to be cautious with her.

As to when he started to give a fuck what happened to her…perhaps he should blame it on a spider bite or something in the food. He didn’t know when or how or why it occurred, and yet he felt something for the woman. Something more than just hunger or lust. An emotion that overcame the anger at his past.

Who cared if a lioness had betrayed him a long time ago?

Did it matter if they were so different?

She’s mine.

So why wasn’t he going beast mode on these ambushing bastards?

Because sometimes caution was the better part of valor.

Stifling the monster within that wanted to feed, he let himself go completely limp and didn’t react when hands pulled at him, lifting him. JF heard their surprise.

“He’s not as heavy as he looks,” said Doofus Number One.

Well duh. Heavy bodies were harder to fly.

“She is,” grumbled Doofus Number Two.

Stacey wasn’t heavy. Just solid. And whoever complained was lucky she slept because he’d wager money that kind of remark would see someone disemboweled.

“What the fuck is she wearing?” asked Doofus One.

“I don’t know, but my girlfriend could probably make a fortune on stage wearing it.”

We should feast on their eyeballs. Playing the part of sleeping victim was all well and good, but if they dared to start stripping his princess, all bets were off.

They weren’t carried too far, the rustle of canvas indicating they’d entered a tent. Given he’d done a quick scout, JF was not too surprised to hear the rattle of metal.

Hitting the ground hard, the thin blanket covering it not a true cushion, he could now state with certainty that he knew the purpose of the cages. JF could smell the scent of those who’d passed before, such as the woman who’d just been recovered.

Slam. Click.

His cage shut behind him, but he didn’t hear a second click, indicating the other one had locked Stacey up.

“She’s awful pretty,” muttered the second Doofus.

Yup, definitely eating his eyeballs first.

“You know what the boss said about touching the merchandise. We can’t leave any traces on them.”

“I’ve got gloves.”

Then he’d eat his hands.

“I guess if we use a rubber…”

That was quite enough. JF’s lip peeled back as he prepared to act, only a sharp rebuke, “Touch her and I’ll cut your dick off myself,” stopped him.

He knew that voice, but usually it simpered.

“We were just kidding, boss.”

Boss?

“Get out of here. Now,” was the barked order. “Get ready. We’ve got a chopper arriving for a shipment in the next fifteen minutes.”

Shipment of what?

“On it.” Followed by a rustle of canvas and a muttered, “Bossy bitch.”

Silence fell with only the hum of machines filling the air. Breathing in through his nose didn’t indicate any scent other than Stacey’s. Were they alone?

He pried open an eyelid to find a pair of familiar blue eyes staring at him.

“Hello, Jean Francois. I am surprised you came for a visit so soon after this afternoon.”

Since the gig was up, he sat and looked Jan in the eye. “What’s going on here?”

“Science. The medical wave of the future.”

“What kind of science? What are you doing taking people prisoner?”

“Is this the part where I’m supposed to launch into a villainous monologue about how my shitty childhood made me turn to a life of crime?”

“It would help.” But wasn’t necessary. There were only two real reasons people committed crimes. Money, which went hand in hand with power, or passion. Since he didn’t know Jan, and he doubted Jan knew the other guests, he doubted passion had anything to do with her actions. Especially given the clinical nature of the equipment in the tent.

“Let’s just say you and your so-called sister in the cage over there have something people will pay dearly for. And I am in the perfect position to provide it.”

“Experiments on your own kind?”

“My kind?” She snorted. “I am nothing like the animals I put in these cages.”

At that, he frowned and sniffed. Frowned some more. “Where is your scent?”

“I have none, courtesy of a special cologne.” She smiled. “It’s called nothing. As in not human, not shifter, nothing. It comes in an aerosol, and it’s very popular with the mercenary groups.”

“So you’re using the people you capture to develop a non-scent?”

“Of course not. The recipe for it is actually based on a flower that grows only in a few volcanoes. But this is my favorite place to collect it, given the Lleyoniias were kind enough to leave the instructions to the nothing scent behind in this one.”

“If you use plants to make it, then why the cages? Why capture Shania and those other girls that went missing?”

Jan’s expression brightened into an Aha moment. “So you are here to investigate. I thought so. You and that woman failed at the whole sibling thing.”

Probably because he couldn’t keep his hands or eyes off Stacey. “You won’t get away with whatever you’re doing. People have begun to notice the odd happenings on this island.”

“Then I guess we’ll have to shift camps. We can get samples from the animals elsewhere if needed.”

“Samples of what?”

“Blood. Semen. But the most popular thing on the market right now is eggs. Shapeshifter eggs. Did you know they can be used in a variety of medical procedures? They make the best stem cells for treatments.”

“You’re harvesting eggs?” From unwilling and unknowing hosts. Even he was appalled. “How can you do that to your own kind?”

“Not my kind,” she spat. “What has you and all those other animals fooled is the scent I wear. Again, another recipe I found when I stumbled across a cave in the volcano.”

“You’re not a lion shifter.” The news took him by surprise. He’d never had his nose fooled before.

“Bingo. He finally gets it. I’m surprised it took you this long. Then again, you’re not a shifter either. But you are something more than human. I just haven’t figured out what. What I do know is you’re nothing at all like the woman.” She pointed to the limp Stacey. “The blood samples we took this afternoon—”

“Where did you put the samples?” Knowing she’d taken some of his blood brought a chill, mostly because the first rule Gaston made him learn after his creation was to never let anyone keep his blood. There were secrets in his blood. Secrets the world couldn’t find out.

“Aren’t you just the demanding one. In case you hadn’t noticed, you’re in the cage, which makes you the prisoner.”

“You can’t keep me here.”

“Oh, but I can. These bars are silver imbued and shifter resistant.”

As if he cared. He’d escaped worse places than this. “What are you planning to do with us?”

“After we take some more samples, we wipe your memories and put you back, none the wiser.”

“I won’t forget.”

“You’d better hope you do because otherwise you will die. A tragic accident in paradise. Happens all the time with the tourists.” Her smile proved quite cunning.

For some reason, it made him brash. “I can see why Stacey hates you. You are a sly bitch.”

“And you have a really unhealthy relationship with your sister.”

“On account she’s not my sister, and you messed with the wrong people.” He stood, his shoulders brushing the top of the cage.

And still Jan smirked, thinking she held the upper hand. “Do your worst. We had a bear shifter in here a month ago, big bastard, and he couldn’t even bend the bars.”

“But I’m not a shifter,” he growled as he let the beast rise, the skin on his body turning dark, his teeth elongating, and his wings popping free. He didn’t stop at his hybrid shape either. Despite knowing a lack of feeding would leave him weak, he kept on shifting, his body thickening, horns spiraling from his forehead. His breaths emerged in a puff of smoke.

Goggling him, Jan didn’t retreat. The stupid woman still didn’t understand she now breathed her last.

Soon she would grasp just how badly she’d fucked up when she chose to mess with him.

JF grabbed hold of the bars, hearing the hiss of skin being crisped by the silver alloy in them. He didn’t care. He pulled, and at first, nothing happened, and Jan’s shocked look turned into a smirk.

Then there was a creak. A groan of metal bending and her eyes widened as the bars began to twist. A whampyr who let the beast through all the way was not restricted by the laws of physics when it came to strength but, rather, could call on magic, that ethereal force that bound all living things, and use it. Use it to enhance his strength and will. Not for long, not without blood to fortify him, but long enough to break free of this puny cage.

At last Jan realized her mistake. “Someone get in here with a gun!” Jan shouted. Silly girl. She should have instead started running. He did so like to chase.

JF was done playing opossum. I am not a prisoner or a mere mortal to be trifled with.

He was better than her. Better than anyone. And he had to act now, destroy the blood she’d stolen. Destroy her before she could reveal any of his secrets.

In the distance, he heard the whirring of a chopper. Would it carry reinforcements?

Best take care of those in camp now.

Time to hunt.

He slid through the gap he’d made in the bars, and finally Jan moved, running from the tent shouting for help. “Someone shoot him!”

She called for a rain of bullets. Painful, but not deadly. Not unless they blew up his head.

While the front entrance beckoned, he avoided it. No point in making himself a target. He shot straight up, claws extended to tear himself an opening in the roof of the tent. He balanced on the metal pole ridge holding the canvas up, using it for a short moment before launching himself into the sky, the screams by Jan, the shouts of the men, and the loudening roar of the chopper making for chaos. The best kind of distraction for a stealthy creature of the night.

Swooping from the sky, the man JF slammed into never saw him coming. He used the other male as a cushion for his landing, his knee ramming hard in the spine, his hands grasping him by the head and twisting.

Crack.

One down. No mercy. Leaving them behind meant possibly facing them again later at a less opportune moment.

JF scooped the rifle and took once again to the skies, holding himself aloft with mighty pulls of his wings, hearing the roar of the chopper as it began its descent into the bowl, and the wind caught at his wings. He alighted on a ledge, the slim rocky shelf enough room for him to balance and take aim at a man running toward the tent holding the cage and Stacey.

Oh no you don’t.

Pop.

His shot took down the fellow, and Jan screamed more in rage than anguish.

The chopper landed, and he took aim at it, the shot ricocheting off the whirring blades. A pair of men poured out of it, armed and ducking immediately behind objects for cover.

Since JF found himself exposed, he took to the skies and might have enjoyed himself picking them off, except someone had the brilliant idea of turning on a huge spotlight, the same one they’d lit for the helicopter to land and aimed it upwards—which explained the rumors he’d heard from staff about the strange lights in the sky. People preferred to believe in the inexplicable rather than search out the truth.

The bright beam caught him, and a bullet soon followed the heat of its passage, narrowly missing his wing.

He dipped and swirled, looking for openings. But there were several of them firing blindly into the sky, making it difficult for him to attack.

A smarter whampyr might have taken off. After all, he was no longer caged; he was free to go. Leave. Save himself.

Saving himself, though, meant leaving Stacey behind. He wouldn’t even contemplate it. If he left, then it would be because she came with him.

And then there was the fact they still had his blood.

I’m not going anywhere. Not until he’d taken care of business.

He fired and heard someone yelp. Then he was the one hissing in pain as a bullet finally tore into him, grazing his wing, but it distracted him, caused him to falter, and another bullet tore through the paper-thin parchment-like skin, upsetting his balance.

Since the sky was no longer his friend, he dropped, hitting the ground feet first with a hard thump. He fell into a crouch and tucked his wings close, feeling the throb of the hole as flesh knitted together, the hot thrill of blood coursing through his veins.

The beast inside pulsed and pushed, begging to fully come out. Few knew it, but the form JF usually morphed into was a hybrid version of his whampyr. There existed a deeper, darker part of him still.

Don’t wake the monster. Because once woken, only blood would appease.

Men with guns, led by a smirking Jan, converged. “Don’t kill him. I want some more samples first.”

JF let them get close, his head bowed, the picture of subservience. Broken, bleeding, and beaten.

Or so they thought. He still had one more trick up his whampyr sleeve.

When they got within reach, he smiled, wickedly and without mirth, as he pulled at the world around him, sucked at everything he could find in the air and the ground. His horns tingled, storing all that sweet power. When he was full to the brim, he grabbed it and thrust it out of him in a dark cloud, a fog of night so deep no light could penetrate.

But he didn’t need to see to hunt.

As a shield, it did wonders, but he couldn’t use it for long, and so he moved quickly, tracking by sound. A whimper, a scuff of shoes, panting breath. His teeth snapped at his prey, gnashing their flesh, releasing blood, blood that he drank. He guzzled it the hot coppery fluid, feeding the monster that hungered. Replenishing the leeching strength from his big body.

When the fog dissipated, it was to see bodies on the ground, broken and torn. Eyes staring sightlessly. His enemies vanquished while he pulsed with power.

I want more.

He looked around and noticed a particular body was missing.

“Where are you, Jan?” He was still feeling peckish.

The fact that she wore the nothing scent made it easy for him to follow her. It was the one path that negated everything around it. It led to the far side of the crater, the open area marked for landing.

The chopper hadn’t wasted time. While some men might have joined the hunt, others loaded the chopper. The stack of crates nearby was gone, and the big metal bird was leaving. At the window, Jan’s pale face peeked, a middle finger pressed against the glass in a final salute.

Good riddance. He’d had quite enough of her.

She raised her other hand and waved a familiar belt.

Stacey’s utility belt.

Bitch took my princess.

The beast consumed him at that point, roared through him, pulsing and bursting every atom he had left.

Unleashing a mighty bellow, he shot off after the chopper.

His wings flapped, hard, and yet he was no match for a machine. The helicopter drew away from him, taking not only his enemy but also his woman out of reach.

Frustration made him scream, the primal sound of rage echoing around the inside of the volcano, so loud the very walls vibrated.

He cried out again.

Rumble. Another tremor rocked the volcano’s inner lining.

Rock cracked.

Crumbled.

A large chunk from the lip dropped and hit the chopper, mangling a blade. The metal bird began to list drunkenly in the air, losing altitude, and JF arrowed toward it, willing himself to move faster.

He couldn’t move fast enough. The helicopter slammed into the side of the volcano, and something ignited.

A whoosh of flames engulfed the chopper, so quickly and fiercely that the screams lasted only seconds before dying out. Before everything inside that chopper died.

The burning heap of metal plummeted, as did his heart. He sank more slowly to the ground, staring in horror at the wreckage. A smoldering ruin with no survivors.

She’s dead. I killed her.

He shouldn’t have cared.

Princess…

No.

No. No. No. A hole gaped in chest, and he yelled as he pounded at himself.

Only as the echo died away, leaving behind only the snapping crackle of flames, did he hear it far off in the distance.

A piercing shriek.