White Tiger

So it was that she saw a shadow detach itself from the scrub just outside the arena, move to Kendrick, and Kendrick turn and walk away with the man the shadow belonged to.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Kendrick could barely breathe, could barely think as he followed the man in the hoodie away from the noise of the fights. When Ben had described seeing this person talking to the Feline Shifter he’d eavesdropped on in the bar, Kendrick hadn’t had any idea who it could be.

He did now.

Kendrick followed him through the brush until they came to more open ground. Stars sprawled, thick and white, above them, across the moonless sky.

“Kendrick Shaughnessy,” the man said. “You’re still alive.”

“And I thought you dead long ago,” Kendrick said, making his tone not betray the rage that filled him. “I remember killing you.”

“I survived.” The man shrugged. “Barely.”

He pushed back the hood of his jacket. The entire left side of his face was a scarred mess, left over from when Kendrick had raked it with his giant tiger claws.

“And now you hunt me?” Kendrick asked him, keeping his voice mild.

“Not necessarily,” the man said. “I came here at the behest of Shifters who needed me. Shifters who were tired of you.”

Only Lachlan McGregor, a half-human, half-Lupine Shifter would use a word like behest. He’d always been full of himself. And seriously evil.

What he was doing alive, Kendrick had no idea. The man had died—Kendrick had sworn that. Nearly twenty years ago, Kendrick and his group had killed Lachlan and breathed a sigh of relief to be rid of him.

Kendrick would simply have to kill him again.

“You ordered Shifters to fire bullets at me,” Kendrick said, maintaining the conversational tone. “Me and my cubs.”

“No, I didn’t. You know me better than that,” Lachlan answered, derisive. “The shooting was Ivan’s choice.” He scowled, his gray eyes filled with hatred. “Why did you kill Ivan? He was one of yours.”

“Because he was bent on hurting my cubs.” Kendrick moved carefully to a fighting stance, readying himself to shift if he had to.

Half Shifters weren’t necessarily weaker than full-blood ones. A half Shifter basically was a person who could shape-shift and had formidable Shifter strength, but who could easily blend in with humans. Half Shifters could pass for human and live among them without humans knowing any better. But Shifters knew. The scent was unmistakable.

“You’re saying my Shifters sent for you?” Kendrick asked. Lachlan had come at their behest. “Which of them?”

“Ivan for one.” Lachlan’s mouth was partly scarred over—he couldn’t move it well, and his words slurred a bit. Both his eyes were intact—bright, intense gray—though his left was surrounded by a shapeless mass of skin. “And others. They’re tired of you always promising them paradise and never delivering.”

Kendrick didn’t rise to the bait. It was an old, old argument between the two—which style of leadership would keep the Shifters safe?

“If you haven’t been dead, where have you been for twenty years?” Kendrick asked.

“Living.” Lachlan shrugged. “Staying with humans who took care of me. I owed them my life. That is, until they tried to turn me in to Shifter Bureau. Then I killed them, and left.”

Kendrick paused while more rage seeped through him. Lachlan could have made up the story to rile Kendrick, but he didn’t think so. Lachlan had approved of the old-style Shifter existence, where threats were dealt with only by violence.

Kendrick gave him a wintry smile. “And you decided coming here was your best idea? Now I can kill you again.”