Silver-Tipped Justice(11)

He eased the door open and peeked out. Tim spotted the large stone fireplace first. A fire crackled behind the screen, making shadows dance in the corners of the room. Two chairs faced the fire, the front two legs resting on a throw rug covering the space between them and the hearth. Between the chairs was what looked like a milk crate, turned on its end. A checkerboard was on top of it.

He looked around the rest of the room. A kitchen with a small, two burner stove, an equally small refrigerator, a double sink—which he found surprising—and a respectable amount of cupboard and counter space. His gaze paused on the front door. His boots rested beside it on the hardwood floor.

Licking his lips and inhaling, Tim knew he wasn’t alone in the cabin. He wasn’t sure where the others were, probably behind one of the two other doors, making Tim think this was a twobedroom cabin. Could he get away? He had to try. He’d just turned back toward the bed and his coat when another door opened.

“Hey, Brook, look who’s finally up.”

Tim froze at the sound of the deep voice, then slowly turned back around. His jaw dropped open when he recognized the man. Years ago, Henri had been an enforcer for his old shifter flock. The man leaned against a kitchen counter, grinning at him, which was creepy as the smile didn’t reach his cold blue eyes.

From one of the chairs before the fire rose another figure, and Tim fought the urge to back away. Brook, one of his ex-flock’s trackers, swept a cool gaze over him. “So he is.” The disdain and dismissive flick of one large hand gave Tim the distinct impression that he’d been assessed and found lacking. “About bloody time.”

Henri snickered. “You must have hit him harder than you thought. He’s speechless.” Pointing to a coffee pot fitted over one of the burners, Henri asked, “Want some coffee?”

Brook headed toward the kitchen, saying, “I do. Hand me a mug.” Henri did as requested, and Brook grumbled, “And Tim’s always been weak. I didn’t hit him any harder than I’d have needed to for any other shifter.”

When black spots danced across his vision, Tim finally remembered to breathe. He warily moved toward the table. He hadn’t seen either of these men for decades, and wondered why they were bothering him now.

“Have a cup of coffee,” Henri said, setting a steaming mug on the table in front of him. The shifter sprawled in a chair across the table. Brook leaned against the counter and stared out the window, ignoring them both.

Slowly, Tim pulled the chair out and settled into it. He reached for the coffee mug and curled his chilly fingers around it, hoping the warmth would seep into him. “What are you guys doing here?” he whispered. “What do you want?”

Henri shrugged. “You’ve had your fun. Alpha Pierre says it’s time for you to come home.”

Tim frowned. “I am home. Alpha Pierre doesn’t want me in the flock. He made that clear over sixty years ago when he cut off college funds and left me stranded in the states.” His anger grew at the memories. “And if that wasn’t clear enough,” Tim snapped, his voice rising, “the fact that he sent two enforcers to chase me out of town, beat me to a bloody pulp, and warn me never to show my face in France again sure as hell did it!”

“Stop humoring him, Henri,” Brook snarled, stalking toward the table.

The loathing filling Brook’s expression caused Tim to clutch the mug closer. Where Henri might at least be a fair man, mellow and relaxed, Brook was cruel to the point of being sadistic. In the twenty years of living with the flock before coming to

remember

the states for college, Tim couldn’t a single instance where Brook had shown mercy.

Henri lifted a brow and took in Brook’s curled lip. He lifted a shoulder, then waved toward him with a hand, as if to say go ahead.

Brook’s smile was cold, almost reptilian. “We’ve always known where you were, Tim,” he said. “As long as you avoided other shifters, Alpha Pierre was happy to leave you alone.”

“But I’m not part of a flock or—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Henri cut in. “It’s a real pity your mate finally tracked you down. Now your life is forfeit. Once Pierre and Jean get here, we’re headed back home where your time will be up.” He shrugged, as if he told people they were going to be executed all the time.

So much for being the nice one, Tim mentally grumbled. Wait a second!

“My mate? What the hell are you talking about?” Tim gasped. “Pierre said I wouldn’t have a mate because I’m…well…different,” he finished lamely.