White Tiger

Behind her, Lachlan struck at Kendrick again. Kendrick managed to drag himself up enough to grasp Lachlan around the waist and pull him down to him.

The two men grappled on the rocks, slipping and sliding, Kendrick trying to get a lock on the man’s throat. But he was hurt and Lachlan was whole, strong, unyielding.

Addie snarled at Lachlan and smacked him with the sword.

Lachlan scrambled up and spun around, his gray wolf eyes widening. “Hey, watch where you’re swinging that.”

Kendrick got to his hands and knees. Lachlan turned and kicked him in the stomach. Kendrick, blood dripping from his mouth, went down.

Addie shrieked. She held the sword in both hands and started beating Lachlan with it, not sure whether she hit him with the flat or the edge. Lachlan, a ferocious beast with a scarred wolf face, backed under her onslaught.

In a moment, he would turn on her, batter the sword away, and kill her. Addie knew that. But then he’d kill Kendrick, and Addie would prevent that for as long as she had breath.

“I’m a waitress,” she yelled at Lachlan. “I’m supposed to make coffee, not fight mythical beasts with magic swords. Why don’t you just go away?”

“Don’t play with that, little girl,” Lachlan said, his voice a guttural snarl. “Stroking Kendrick’s sword won’t get you anything from him. Why don’t you stroke mine instead?”

Addie’s rage escalated. She continued beating him, then behind her, she was aware of a long, low, growl.

The growl held the fury of ages, an old, old anger that reached back to its ancestors, who’d been forced to fight for the princes of the hated Fae. A white tiger, battered and bloody, rose from the debris, his ears flat, his body moving with the deliberate, slow, almost trembling stalk of a cat intent on its kill.

Lachlan howled, the primal cry of a wolf. He went for Kendrick, his massive arms spread, his claws primed to gouge his enemy.

Addie heaved the sword in her sore arms, brought it around, point-first, and drove it straight into Lachlan’s side.

Lachlan’s howl turned to a roar of anger. He grabbed the sword’s blade that stuck out of his ribs, then cried out again as the sword burned him.

The sword was still cool to Addie’s hands. She stared as Lachlan fought it but she didn’t let go.

Blood gushed from Lachlan’s side, but Shifters, it seemed, were tough to kill. Lachlan jerked himself around, the sword tearing from him, and lunged for Addie, his wolf mouth open and ready to rip into her.

Kendrick sprang. He was filthy with dirt, his front leg hung askew, and blood coated his mouth, but his spring was true and elegant.

He leapt directly at Lachlan, a cat moving in a precise arc to take down his prey.

Lachlan whirled from Addie to face Kendrick’s attack, but he didn’t have a chance. Kendrick landed on Lachlan without flinching, opened his tiger jaws, and tore out Lachlan’s throat.

Blood, hot and red, gushed from the wolf as he howled and scrabbled, trying to get Kendrick off him. Kendrick yanked his head back and spat blood. Lachlan’s hands slipped from Kendrick’s white fur, the howl quickly becoming a drawn-out cry of agony.

Kendrick shifted back to human, his naked body shaking under the glow of the sword, his face stark, his broken left arm folded across his chest.

But his eyes were green and steady as he turned to Addie. “Addison. The sword.”

Addie grabbed it, the blade coated with Lachlan’s blood. Kendrick snatched it by the hilt, tried to get to his feet, and fell back to his knees. Addie was next to him, her hand under his shoulder, helping him up again.

Lachlan was still breathing, blood all over his throat, chest, and face as he slowly shifted back to human.