Chapter 10
Lissa watched as they left the main road for a winding side road, taking note of the turns in case she had to find her way back out. Nice-guy vibe or not, it was stupid to let anyone take you somewhere you didn’t know how to get back from.
After a few minutes Tank turned onto a rutted dirt track that led deep into the woods. Lissa hadn’t seen a house for the last ten minutes.
She really hoped her creep radar was working right, and Tank wasn’t a serial killer. Or running a meth lab, or part of a scary militia group.
She even hoped, with a small part of her, that this was maybe a place she could stay for a while. Like the People of Ursus, but with a better ending.
She stole a glance at the man next to her. He was lost in thought, his mouth set in a grim line. She could tell what Brother Damien had done made him furiously angry, but he was trying not to upset her by letting it show too much.
Bad guys usually didn’t care about stuff like that. So hopefully she wasn’t having radar dysfunction.
As if he felt her gaze, Tank glanced over at her. “We’re almost there,” he said. “Don’t be scared. Nobody here will hurt you.”
Awesome.
“Nice try, Hulk,” she said. “You do get that when you tell somebody not to be scared of what they’re about to see, that’s an automatic tipoff that it’s scary, right?”
He rolled his eyes and returned his gaze to the road. “Fine,” he said. “If that’s the way you want it, then scream all you want. No one will hear you.”
Lissa smothered a grin. “Now there’s the serial killer I know and love.”
Tank just snorted, but she could see the glimmer of a smile. It made her feel warm inside, making him smile. Unless he was a drug lord or a domestic terrorist—then, not so much.
After a few more minutes of jolting along they pulled into a large clearing. In the center was a fancy two-story log cabin that looked like some rich person’s idea of roughing it. It had a wraparound porch with steps down to a built-in grill area with a mini-fridge and stainless steel counters, which in turn opened to a stone fire pit with comfy chairs circling it.
Definitely not roughing it. Maybe Tank really was a drug lord. That would suck.
Tank parked randomly in the first open space, near a couple of old beater trucks. Lissa opened her door and slid out, assessing the place, trying to get a vibe for how dangerous it was.
The rest of the place was a little less upscale than the cabin, a little more redneck. There was a row of rickety wooden sheds along the edges of the clearing, and a couple of well-used trailers back among the trees. Judging by the scattered tools and piles of lumber, construction seemed to be going on everywhere. It looked like people were squatting in the sheds, except for one that had a thick wooden door with an iron bar across it, held closed by a giant padlock.
Crap. That was probably the meth lab.
“Come on,” Tank said, heading for the cabin. Lissa followed, wishing she had her knife. She’d slipped her pepper spray into her pocket when Tank wasn’t looking, though—the cops had given it back to her in the envelope with the rest of her things.
There was no one around except a handsome man with sandy blond hair, buzzed on the sides and long on the top, sitting on one of the chairs by the empty fire pit reading a book. He halfway glanced up as they walked past, but didn’t meet their eyes or offer a greeting.
“That’s Sloan,” Tank said.
“Hi, Sloan,” Lissa said cheerfully. He looked up, startled, and then ducked his head down again.
Friendly sort, apparently.
As they approached the cabin, a huge man walked out the front door. He was as tall as Tank, and though he was not quite as broad-chested, his muscles were still impressive. Lissa could tell this because he wore nothing but a faded pair of jeans with holes in the knees, slung low on his hips. His hair was a tangled black mane of dreadlocks, and he didn’t look friendly.
“This her?” he said to Tank. Tank nodded.
“This is Flynn,” he said to Lissa. She nodded to the man. What was this, the land of the fucking giants? They were the two biggest men she’d ever seen in person. And this Flynn was one of the scariest, which was saying a lot.
But not bad-news-run-away-quick scary. Not someone who enjoyed violence, but who employed it without hesitation when necessary. Someone you’d want on your side, because he’d crush your enemies to powder without blinking.
Flynn looked down at Lissa. His gaze was impassive, his dark eyes flat and emotionless, and she felt like he was looking all the way inside her. His nostrils flared, as if he were scenting her.
She suddenly realized she still had blood on her hands.
After a minute, he gave a slight shake of his head, as if resigning himself to something he didn’t really want to do. “Bring her in,” he said.
Lissa knew it was probably really, really stupid to let herself be “brought in,” but she didn’t seem to have much choice at the moment. She needed to know what Tank knew about her condition. But she fingered her pepper spray inside her pocket and looked around for exit strategies, just in case.
As Lissa walked up the steps, Tank behind her, she suddenly heard a muffled yell from inside the meth lab. “Let me out!” Someone started pounding on the inside of the door.
Everybody stopped.
Sloan looked up casually from his book, gazed at the shed, and then at Flynn. “Should I let him out?” he said.
Holy hell, it wasn’t a meth lab, it was a prison. What was going on in this place? She glanced around for an escape route, but she was on the stairs, sandwiched between the giants with no way out.
Flynn took a deep, frustrated breath and blew it out. “I guess,” he said. “We can’t keep him in there forever.” He kind of sounded like he wished he could.
Sloan put a bookmark in his book, and then strolled over to the shed. He took down a big iron key from a hook on the outside wall, opened the padlock, stepped to the side, and waited.
Someone hurled themselves at the door. Without the lock for resistance, it burst open, and a man stumbled into the yard, landing on his face. “Fuck you, Sloan!” he yelled, spitting out dirt. He was completely naked, with bits of straw clinging to him, and he was clearly pissed off. Sloan just grinned.
The naked guy rose to his feet, glared at each and every one of them individually, gave Sloan the finger, and stalked off toward one of the other sheds.
Holy Moses, was everybody here scary as hell and hot as fuck? The pissed-off man had dark silky hair, and he moved like some kind of jungle cat. Lissa barely managed to close her mouth.
Sloan went back to his book, a little grin still hovering at the corner of his lips. Flynn sighed and shook his head.
“Trouble?” Tank asked.
“Just the usual,” Flynn said.
The usual what? What was usual about stripping people naked and locking them in a shed? Lissa glanced hesitantly over her shoulder at Tank, and he reached out and put his hand reassuringly on her back.
His touch made her feel calmer, but her senses were still on the alert for bad guy vibe. She wasn’t getting that, but she was getting…something. The demon was scratching at her insides, uncomfortable.
They went inside, Lissa’s nervousness growing. The inside of the cabin was beautiful, all warm wood, with an open floor plan, soaring ceilings and a loft. But most of Lissa’s attention was on this Flynn person. He was clearly in charge, and clearly the most dangerous in a sea of dangerous men.
Once they got inside, Flynn leaned his butt on the back of the couch, arms folded, biceps bulging. Tank stood by Lissa, his hand still just barely touching her back.
“So?” Flynn said to Tank. “What’s her story?”
Lissa knew one of the things scary guys respected was strength. “I’m standing right here,” she pointed out. “And my story is that Tank brought me here so he could supposedly tell me what’s wrong with me. Now would be good.”
Flynn was still speaking to Tank. “So you were right?”
Tank nodded.
Lissa snapped her fingers to get Flynn’s attention. “Still here, bud. Right about what?”
He ignored her. “Sheeyit. You gonna tell her now, or did you intend to wait for hell to freeze over?”
Tank snapped, “Well, I wasn’t going to tell her while we were standing in front of the Sherriff’s Department security cameras. Or inside my truck while I was driving. She was on the edge.”
Lissa put her hands on her hips. The demon was clawing at her, making her reckless. “You’re pissing me off, now. The edge of what?”
Tank turned to Lissa. She went cold inside at the look in his eyes, and she suddenly wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
He took a deep breath. “You’re not the Bear God’s consort, and you’re not a zombie.”
Flynn snorted. “For real? That’s what she thought?”
Tank went on, “You’re a shapeshifter. Brother Damien really could turn into a bear, and when he bit you, he put a bear into you. You’re a bear shifter. And so am I.”