Monsters existed because of evil.
And he’d make sure there was one less of them in existence.
He gave the female a slight nod that held a whole world’s worth of promises. And then he rushed forward, his panther busting through his clothes with no effort at all.
The lion jerked back from her, but he didn’t have time to shift. Owyn was on him faster than a blink, razor sharp claws slicing into his soft human neck as he pounced. The bastard fell backward to the ground, gurgling, as blood spilled from his wounds, eyes wide and flexing to those of his cat.
Owyn slapped a huge dark paw at the guy’s head, a satisfying crack sounding just as his lion came forward to fight. But it was no use. He was already beat. No animal could save him now.
Massive jaws snapping the shifter’s neck finished him off, and Owyn gave his head an extra tug, making sure it was over. His panther was finally satisfied when the lion’s head hung on his shoulders only by a flimsy spinal cord.
With a snarl, he dropped the limp body, backing away. Quickly, he shifted back to human, breathing heavy with the weight of what he’d just done.
Justice, his panther hissed.
Turning, he faced the female.
She whimpered, struggling to stand but getting nowhere with her efforts. Owyn held both hands in the air to show her he wasn’t going to hurt her, but then realized they were coated in blood. His arms too, and his chest.
“Let me help you,” he murmured, inching closer. “I won’t hurt you. He’s gone, and no one will hurt you ever again.”
She gave a weak growl in response, and Owyn had to believe she’d live.
Looking around he found the scraps of his t-shirt. Collecting them, he bunched the fabric together and pressed it to her wounds. A hopeless attempt at stemming the blood flow. As careful as possible, he lifted her into his arms, securing the bundled shirt between his body and hers to apply pressure.
Then he ran with her through the trees, back to the parking lot, past the vehicles and straight into the bar.
“Help! Need help!” he barked. And whether it was the sight of all the blood or the sheer panic in his voice, all the chaos of shifters working off urges came to a screeching halt.
The two burly bear bouncers stationed just inside the front door rushed forward but stopped when they saw the damage to the panther.
“Cleaver!” one bellowed, his voice carrying over the music pumping through the speakers.
“Aw, shee-ut,” the bar keep spat, tossing his rag on the counter and reaching for a phone. “Everybody out! Now! Now.” He pressed the phone to his ear while he barked more commands. “Get her on the pool table. Fuck the felt, we’ll replace it.”
The two bears cleared a way for Owyn as patrons filed out, whispering and speculating about what had happened. He was probably at the center of the rumors. He could imagine them saying, “That’s what happens when you try to suppress your instincts.”
Whatever. The truth was there if they ever cared to find it.
“Doc,” Cleaver rasped into the phone. “We need you. Bring everything you have. Come now.” He eyed the panther where Owyn laid her on the pool table. “Might lose this one,” he said, and then hung up.
Cleaver hopped over the bar as if it was nothing, hollering at the remaining bystanders to get the hell out. And finally it was just him, the two bears, and Owyn pressing the soaked rags to the panther’s wounds.
He stared down at the whimpering female as her eyes drooped shut. She wasn’t going to make it. If the doctor didn’t get here fast, they were going to lose her. He couldn’t watch another female fall because of a shitty mating. He couldn’t.
Hurry, doctor. God, please hurry.
Chapter Four
Christina Davis, MD, shoved her slippers on, phone still glued to her ear, Cleaver’s last words echoing hauntingly over the dead line.
Might lose this one.
No. Not if she had any say in the matter. She knew the pain of failing someone in the most final and certain way. She’d watched family members mourn a loss that she could have prevented if only the circumstance had been more forgiving. If only there was a second more time on their life’s clock, or if the blade hadn’t nicked that one artery, or if… if… if.
She’d do anything to never feel that pain again, to never cause that pain again.
She grabbed her bags full of supplies. The one for more simple injuries, and the one with sutures and fluids and hopefully a fucking miracle.
If Cleaver was rattled, whatever she was walking into was bad news.
She pushed through the rickety door of the shed she called home. It wasn’t nice, but it was free, in exchange for her services whenever Cleaver needed them. And best of all, it was safe. For now, it was safe.