White Tiger

“Dying is better?” Kendrick demanded. “Or living imprisoned?”

“We made ourselves prisoners. You know we did. We want out.”

Kendrick said nothing. When he looked up at Addie again, she saw stark grief in his eyes, not outrage, that this man, whoever he was, had turned against him. As though the betrayal had been Kendrick’s fault. He flicked his gaze away once more, back to the man at his feet.

“It’s over, my friend,” Kendrick said.

“I know.” The man could barely speak. “I’ve lost. I accept my defeat.”

“Your defeat is your death.”

“I know. Please, Guardian, don’t let me linger here.”

Addie knew she should call the police, an ambulance. She should haul ass to her locker, grab the phone, and call. No way could she or Kendrick save this guy on their own. The man was going into shock, his eyes unfocused, body shivering, breath ragged.

But Addie couldn’t move. She remained fixed in place, staring at the tableau—the bloody man on the floor, Kendrick above him, gazing down at him in anguish.

“Robbie,” Kendrick said, without looking up. He held out his hand.

Robbie immediately lifted the big sword, laying the blade gingerly across his other palm so he wouldn’t drag it on the floor as he carried it to his father. Kendrick gave his son a look of thanks as he closed his hand around the hilt. Robbie backed away as though he knew what Kendrick was about to do.

No! the thought shrieked in Addie’s head. No, he can’t just kill this guy . . .

Kendrick dropped to one knee. He put his hand on the man’s forehead, his arm shaking but his bloodstained fingers rock steady. The man’s body relaxed, his eyes softening as he sighed with relief.

“Thank you,” the man said. “Forgive . . .”

Kendrick gave him a nod, then stroked the man’s hair, as he might do with one of his sons, to comfort him.

“Goddess go with you,” Kendrick said softly.

Then he rose, raised the sword overhead, and plunged the blade into the dying man’s heart.

CHAPTER THREE

Addie cried out and leapt at Kendrick, but too late. The sword went straight through the man’s chest.

The man grunted in pain, then his eyes cleared, and he looked suddenly happy. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Those were the last words he spoke. His body shimmered with a silvery light and then, before Addie’s eyes, the man dissolved into dust. The dust fell to the floor, swirled into a fine mist, and was gone, out the open door.

“Holy shit, you killed him!”

The words sprang from Addie’s mouth before she could stop them. Kendrick, who’d bowed his head, the sword’s point resting on the floor, looked up at her, his green eyes luminous with tears.

“He gave me no choice,” he said.

“What about the others out there?” Addie’s voice went up a notch. “Did you kill them too?”

Kendrick took one stride to her where she stood frozen and terrified. “You need to go, Addison. Take the cubs to safety for me, as you promised.”

“But—”

“Your police will come. I can’t let them find my sons. Please.”

Addison had never heard anything as heartfelt as the plea. Kendrick was afraid, scared for the kids, angry, dangerous.

And naked—had she mentioned that about seven times already? His body was hard and tight, strong, formidable. She kept her eyes averted so she wouldn’t see anything too personal, but not looking was one of the hardest things she’d ever done.

He was right, though. This was a small town. News traveled fast; any trouble was instantly reported. If Robbie, Zane, and Brett had been normal kids, she wouldn’t worry about the police so much, but they were Shifter, and their dad had just killed a man—possibly all the shooters. She knew enough to realize that cops would take the kids—the cubs—and keep them who knew where. Maybe never let them go again.