Maximus

He jerked upright at the sound of screeching tires, having already forgotten all about the story Charlie was telling him. Before the noise had even finished he was striding toward the door. If that was Haley, then she was in a hurry.

Had something gone wrong? His heart quickened as he realized maybe she’d been wrong about the police. Anger ignited deep within him as he vowed to kill anyone who had harmed her, or even dared lay a finger on her. Human or not, they would suffer if she wasn’t perfectly okay. Calling his bear to the surface, ready to unleash it upon anyone, even in the city despite it being against the law, he walked across the bar. The set of his shoulders warned anyone from trying to stop him. But before he got there, the door burst open and Haley came inside.

She’d come so fast that the outer door hadn’t closed before she opened the inner, and sunlight streamed in around her. Patrons cried out in dismay as they were revealed in their full glory by the evil brightness, but Maximus’s growl silenced them all immediately.

“Are you okay?” he asked, closing the distance and taking her up into his arms.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she panted. “But behind me. There’s a red pickup that’s following me. Two men were—”

The loud rumble of a truck reached his ears, and he nodded. “They’re here. They’ll be coming inside soon and…” he trailed off as the noise suddenly doubled in volume.

“Hold on!” he shouted.

Haley was still in his arms as he put his back to the wall and ran forward. He got two steps before the brick imploded behind them. In a last-ditch effort to save her life, he tossed Haley at Walt. The bartender’s eyes went wide at the sight of a truck coming through the bar wall, and they went wider still as Haley soared into him. The two fell to the ground behind the bar, even as Maximus was flung forward, chunks of brick pelting him viciously as the wall slammed into him.

The impact flung him to the floor, but he was caught up in the wave of debris as the truck came to a halt, giving its dying momentum to anything that could move. Bricks, tables, chairs, and more hit him like a bulldozer, pushing him hard into the side of the bar itself. He felt a sharp pain in his side as a rib gave way, hissing in discomfort.

Getting to his feet, he jumped up and over the bar, coming down on the other side with his feet on either side of Haley and Walt, who were still tangled up. He hauled them both to their feet as the truck doors opened behind him.

“Get her out of here,” he said to Walt, his voice firm and commanding, like a drill sergeant issuing orders.

The shaken bartender simply nodded. “Got it.”

“Go,” he said to Haley. “I’ll follow when I can.”

One of the newcomers called out to him. “Hand over the girl!”

He snorted. Like he had any intention of doing that.

“But Maximus—”

He cut off any further protest by pulling her close and kissing her hard. His lips pressed against hers and he felt the fire flow through him as she hesitated for a second, and then returned it tenfold.

“Come back to me,” she said fiercely, and then pushed him away.

“Couldn’t imagine doing anything else,” he returned, even as he was rounding on the attackers.

“How endearing,” one of them crooned mockingly.

“You die first,” Maximus said, pointing at the tall, broad-shouldered shifter in a…He stared. “Are you really wearing that?” he asked sarcastically, trying not to laugh.

The attacker paused, looking down at his outfit. “You’re about to die, and you’re criticizing my wardrobe choice?”

Maximus did laugh. “First off, I’m not going to die. And secondly, I think everyone should be criticizing your wardrobe choice. Why he didn’t tell you that you look ridiculous, I don’t know.” He was pointing at the other attacker, who at this point had just stared sullenly at Maximus, dull anger burning his eyes.

“He’s stalling,” the second one said at last, his eyes narrowing slightly as he evaluated Maximus.

“True, but I’m also not lying,” he said. “That outfit is horrific. Do you not agree?”

The tall and brooding shifter shrugged. “I wouldn’t wear it, but that doesn’t really matter, now does it?”

The first shifter was looking back and forth between them. “What? You don’t like it?”

Maximus snorted. “Son, a lime green V-neck that drops almost to the middle of your chest and salmon-colored pants is just…no. I’m not a fashion-forward sort of person myself,” he gestured to the dark gray T-shirt and black pants he wore, “but even I’m pained by it.”

Fashion Forward—as he’d become known in Maximus’s mind—glared at both parties. “Can we kill him now?”

“If you’re done,” Brooding replied dryly.

Maximus looked around. The other patrons had mostly withdrawn from the bar, though one of them was hanging around at the entrance.

Close enough.

His eyes were drawn to something in the ceiling above him, and an idea struck him. Fashion Forward advanced swiftly, but Maximus was ready for him. As the gaily clad shifter neared him, he reached up into the ceiling, his fingers gripping what he’d seen, and he pulled. His biceps bulged, and for a second nothing happened. Then there was a loud cracking sound as wooden supports gave way, and a metal beam came crashing down, along with a large portion of the ceiling, burying the two under a cascade of debris.

The angry one of the pair burst from under the wood and insulation, flying almost straight at Maximus. The move caught him completely unaware, and the pair went down hard, crashing through tables as they bounced and rolled. Maximus pushed off with his hands, flipped to his feet, and lashed out with a backward kick that caught his assailant in the stomach, driving the air from him.

But before he could take advantage of it, Fashion Forward emerged from the rubble and with a mighty roar swung the beam right at Maximus.

“Yipes!” he cried, letting his knees go limp as he fell to the floor, narrowly escaping the beam as it whistled overhead.

A corner of it nicked his partner as he started to stand up, driving him to the floor as a huge gash opened on his shoulder.

Maximus was already on his feet as the beam came back around, closing inside of its range. He didn’t slow down, but instead stuck his right arm out to the side rigidly and clotheslined his opponent, dropping him to the floor immediately. The shifter dropped instantly, and the beam clattered as it fell, landing on his leg and partially crushing it. The shifter howled in pain, but judging by the way he threw the bar aside, Maximus didn’t think it had broken.

He halted his momentum, but before he could set himself to turn, something heavy shattered over his back, staggering him. Looking over his shoulder he saw the first shifter, Brooding, standing upright. He’d just thrown a heavy wooden table at him.

“Really? Who throws a table?” he muttered, standing up.

Across from him, the other two did the same. There was no more time for subtlety or tricks. He just needed to end this. Maximus closed carefully, keeping his guard up. He danced lightly on his feet, ducking blows and lashing out at either one as often as he could. It soon became clear that, while both of his foes were highly trained, they weren’t overly experienced in fighting together. They came on individually, and not as a team. One on one, he was confident he could take either of them, though they were good enough that he would know it was a fight.

With the odds stacked against him though, he knew it was only a matter of time before they began to mesh with each other and one of them landed a blow. He was used to fighting multiple opponents—numerous clashes amongst his brothers had seen to that. It was the only thing that was giving him a chance. If he could only find an opening, something he could exploit. Then he could win.

A fist caught him in the side of the head, and then a second one hit him in his broken rib. Maximus stumbled, momentarily blinded by pain. It was too late. They’d gotten on the same page, and now several more blows crashed into him, driving him to one knee, his hands crossed over his head as he tried to ward off their blows.

BOOM!

The great blast thumped by over his head, and suddenly the blows ceased. He looked up to see only the shifter with the atrocious outfit above him. The green shirt was ripped and torn now, stained in several places by blood. Maximus rose to his feet as the shifter backed off, turning to face someone else.

“Get out,” said a familiar voice.

“Walt,” Maximus coughed. “No. Get out.”

But it was too late. Fashion Forward hurled the wooden debris he’d snatched up from the ground. It took Walt in the chest, blood splattering everywhere as the bartender was spun to the ground. Maximus roared his anger as yet another innocent suffered because of him and launched himself at the sole remaining shifter. It was a one-on-one fight now, and he came at the Institute lackey in one unceasing wave, never letting up until his blows started to get through.

He knocked him down at last, and broke half the teeth in the unlucky shifter’s mouth with a knee to the jaw. That left him reeling. Maximus reached down, picked him up, and tossed him clear across the bar until he thumped down on top of his partner, who was rolling around on the ground, holding the mangled remains of his stomach together, trying to staunch the bleeding. Maximus eyed the wound as he stalked over. On a human it would have been mortal, likely almost instantly.

But shifters were tougher than that, and they healed faster. This one would survive the wound, but it would require time for him to heal. Time Maximus wasn’t intending on giving them.

“You killed Walt,” he said icily, his anger cold and brittle.

Then he went to one knee, taking the wounded shifter’s head in his hands. The man tried to struggle as he realized what was coming next.

“Surrender,” he said, giving the man the option, even though he desperately did not want to.

“Reashallow will never give up,” he spat, his voice thick with pain. “He’ll keep coming.”

Maximus nodded. “Then I guess I’ll have to kill him too.” His arms wrenched, and with a great flex of his muscles, he snapped the shifter’s neck.

A moment later he stood up from the green-clad shifter, letting the suddenly limp body slide to the floor. His shoulders heaved several times as he took in great lungfuls of air, regarding the two corpses regretfully. He hadn’t wanted this. Killing wasn’t something he enjoyed, or wanted to do, even though he’d done it often enough. Looking over the bodies for a few more seconds, he closed his eyes and asked for forgiveness.

That done, he knew what he would have to do next. He wasn’t looking forward to it, but the man had likely saved his life. Maximus owed it to the human to be there for him in any way he could, even if it meant staying with the man while he died. Inhaling deeply, he straightened his shoulders and turned back toward the bar.

He stopped dead in his tracks as he saw Haley looking at him, horror written on her face.

“Haley,” he began, but she just shook her head.

A groan sounded from where Walt had gone down. Both of them looked over, and to his complete surprise, Maximus watched the human rise to his feet, holding one hand to his shoulder.

“How are you alive?” he asked breathlessly. He’d seen the debris hit him in the chest. The wall was splattered with his blood!

“I think the dull end hit me, not the pointy end,” the human said, slumping against the back of the bar, knocking several bottles of booze to the ground. “Hurts like the devil though.”

Both Haley and Maximus rushed to his side, easing him into a booth where he could sit comfortably. Maximus looked at the wound. It was long, but not nearly as deep as he’d initially feared. “You’re going to have a nasty scar most likely, but you should live,” he pronounced.

“Good to hear. Now go on, get out of here.”

Maximus frowned.

“The dang shifters drove their car through my wall. You don’t think someone hasn’t noticed and called the police?” Walt said. “Trust me, they’re coming. I’m going to live. I’ll say they were fighting each other. I shot one after he killed the other. Simple as that. They’re shifters; the police won’t care.”

Maximus knew that was true. Shifter-on-shifter violence wasn’t something the human police cared about. As soon as they identified them as shifters, and no humans were killed, the investigation would be closed. The bodies were held for five days and then incinerated if they weren’t claimed.

That’s just the way it was.

“Thank you,” he said to Walt. “I owe you my life. I’ll make sure you’re repaid for that. Somehow.” He rose.

“Yeah. I didn’t do it for that,” Walt said.

Maximus paused halfway to a standing position. “Why did you do it, Walt? That was the stupidest thing I’ve seen someone do in a long time, though I greatly appreciate it.”

The bartender smiled. “I did it because of what you told Charlie.”

“I intend to follow through on that,” he said solemnly.

“See that you do, son. See that you do. Now get out of my bar.” Walt coughed, wincing hard with the pain, but he waved the two of them off. “I said go.”

Maximus nodded. He looked at Haley, but she was still staring at Walt.

“Come on, we need to go,” he said, reaching out to take her hand.

Haley jerked as he touched her, and snatched her hand away. Sadness flooded him at the realization that she wouldn’t even touch him. That the idea of holding his hand now repulsed her so much that she would avoid it. Maximus knew why it was, and he couldn’t exactly blame her. But he wished she would let him explain.

“Haley. The police are coming. They won’t let us go this time if they know we were here. We need to go. Now.”

She looked at him, but there was nothing in her eyes. They were empty, staring right through him. Then she moved past him, making sure to keep several feet between them, and headed for the hole the red pickup had plowed into the wall.

“She’ll be all right,” Walt said softly with a smile. “She doesn’t get it.”

Maximus stared at him, wondering how he knew.

“Marines. Two tours overseas,” he said with a wistful shrug. “Sometimes you just don’t have a choice. It’s either you, or them. Not everyone gets that. But she’s smart. She’ll come around. Don’t give up on her.”

He smiled thinly. “I never have, and I never will,” he said firmly, giving the interesting old bartender a firm nod before making his way across the half-collapsed bar in pursuit of Haley.

She may be mad, disappointed, repulsed, horrified, or any number of other things. But he didn’t care. He would give her the time and the space, until she came around and asked him the one question that mattered. Until then, he would do whatever it was she needed him to do.

After all, that’s what a mate was for.