He spotted an edge of a toilet and corner of a sink through one half-open doorway and ran that way. Just before he slammed the door closed, he saw the woman vault easily through the window, completely ignoring the blood dripping from her hands where she'd gripped the ragged window edges.
There is something seriously messed up with that chick!
"Hello? Jason, is that you?"
Jason registered the sound of his uncle's voice through his phone's tiny speaker. Relief flooded him as he brought the device up to his ear. "Uncle Raul! Oh, thank God! Me and Michel were talking on the lawn and these three people came out of the woods and shot Michel! He started having a seizure or something and he told me to run and-" He paused, realizing how pathetic that made him sound.
"Wait, someone shot Michel? Who? Who's there?" his uncle demanded right before yelling for Sean.
Standing on the toilet seat, Jason looked out a tiny window, trying to see what the hell was going on. His jaw dropped open. Where his lover once lay was a … dog? A big, brown, monster-sized dog? "Oh, my God! What the hell is that?"
"Jason!" his uncle shouted, regaining his attention. "What the hell is going on? Are you injured? Is Michel injured?"
"Wolf!" Suddenly, their attacker's claim and Michel's response began to make sense. "Wolf shifter?" he mumbled, his brain freezing as he finally realized what he was actually looking at. A massive brown wolf-my God, could that really be Michel? No, way!-lay on the ground, it's sides heaving as if struggling to breathe, and that Doctor Marlow guy who'd shot him squatted next to him smirking and saying something Jason couldn't hope to hear.
"There's a wolf outside," Jason finally said into the phone.
"Shit! Michel shifted? How the hell did that happen? He's a centuries old wolf shifter! How the hell did they get the drop on him?"
Jason cringed, hearing Sean's roared words. "We were, um, distracted," he admitted, answering the man even though he hadn't actually been on the phone.
"Distracted?" Uncle Raul growled, before gruffly asking, "Jason, did you have sex with him?"
Taken aback by the blunt question, Jason just stared out the window. The small man with glasses kicked the wolf, making Jason's gut clench. He whimpered.
"Jason!" Uncle Raul called insistently.
"Yes!" he snapped back, rage flooding him upon seeing the snide, smug look the man cast upon the downed animal-shifter-Michel? What the hell am I thinking?
"Did he bite you?" This question came from Sean, who sounded like it was yelled into the phone.
"No, he didn't-" Jason paused and brought his hand back to his neck. "Y-yeah," he whispered. Did that mean something?
"Listen to me, Jason," Sean said urgently. He must have taken the phone from Raul.
Jason tried to concentrate on his uncle's lover as something hard thudded against the thick wood bathroom door. "Um, okay?"
"Michel is a shifter. He shares his spirit with a wolf. You are his mate. That's why he bit you. He'd never hurt you, even in wolf form. Got it?"
Jason nodded, then realized the man couldn't see him. "Um, okay," he repeated again, uncertain why Sean told him these things and even if he should believe him. Were these people for real?
"Just hide, Jason," Uncle Raul snapped, redrawing his attention.
Jason felt his head swimming with all the confusing information.
"Do you hear me? Hide, Jason. Stay safe. Me and my friends are on our way. You hear me?"
"Uh huh!" Feeling the panic set in as he watched the bathroom door bounce, Jason could hardly focus on the phone call anymore. He heard his uncle shout again-maybe trying to get better confirmation-but just then, the hinges groaned and the doorjamb splintered, showering wood shards in every direction.
Jason squeaked and jerked away, bringing his free hand up to shield his face. The sudden movement caused his bare feet to slip on the slick wooden surface of the toilet lid. Jason reeled. He swung his arms, pin wheeling.
Completely losing his balance, Jason went down. Unable to control his momentum, he slammed his head on the metal basin of the sink. Stars danced across his vision, but then a second spike of pain burst through him-probably from hitting the toilet or maybe the floor-sending Jason into oblivion.
Chapter Six
Pain. Anger. Fear. Confusion.
Michel knew he was in his wolf form and knew he was in his home, but other scents and an odd itching under his skin set his protective instincts into overdrive. Strange humans were in his home, and he needed to protect it. Cracking his eyelid, he recognized his bedroom.
He thought about his human form. Nothing.
Fear sliced through him anew. Suddenly, he remembered the human's hands on him, holding him down, shooting him with darts and poking him with needles. Rage flowed through him as he recognized the scents in his house as those of the humans who'd injured him.
They'd pay for what they'd done to him … as well as to others of his kind.
Michel lurched to his feet, almost stumbling. Whatever they'd given him completely messed with his equilibrium. He took a few deep breaths, then stalked toward the door, pleased to find it open a crack. He stuck his paw into the opening and pulled the door open wider.
Prowling out of his bedroom, he sniffed around the room. He growled low in his throat, hating how the scent of strange humans permeated his home. It almost seemed like they'd rubbed against every wall, rolled on every floor, and touched every surface. It grated on Michel's territorial nerves, driving his aggression higher.
These humans will pay!
He'd shred them without mercy, tear them limb from limb. They'd attacked him and invaded his home.
Unacceptable.
The atrocities these humans cast upon his people couldn't keep happening … Michel would never allow it … especially now that these same scientists had invaded his home. He'd kill every last one of them.
Drool pooled in his mouth at the thought of sinking his fangs into the bastard who'd shot him, who'd held him down and ordered the fat four-eyed human to shoot into his veins whatever the fuck stopped him from shifting.
Michel understood that in time, his ability to shift would return. That didn't stop him from desiring vengeance.
A scent he sort-of recognized tickled his senses. His lips curled as he realized a guard must be close. Freezing, Michel scented the air, sensing direction. The living room. He headed that way. The cabin was small, and he worked hard to keep his nails from clicking on the hardwood floors. He wanted to catch this bastard unawares.
Creeping around the corner of the recliner, Michel looked around and just bit back a snarl. Across the room, stretched out on the couch, lay a human. From this far away, Michel couldn't scent which of the three it was, although, from the bone structure, he'd guess it wasn't the woman. For all he knew, the doctor could have more people with him than just the three he'd seen.
Michel paused and watched the male for a moment, monitoring the rise and fall of the human's chest. From the steady cadence, he slept, although fitfully, judging by the way the fingers hanging off the side of the cushion twitched.
Good. Anyone condoning the scientist's behavior didn't deserve restful sleep.
Michel stalked forward, one step at a time, closer and closer. Within six feet, he could make out floppy hair, which appeared light brown in the dim light, falling over the guy's face. He hid most of his face under his other arm. The position exposed his throat.
Baring his teeth, Michel leaped. He sank his teeth into the tender flesh of the man's throat. The man screamed. As soon as blood spurted across his tongue, Michel released his hold and flopped away in shock.
Mate!
Oh, shit! How did I forget I was with my mate when I was attacked?
He realized the scientist's drugs had fucked him up even more than he'd first thought.
Michel whined and dropped to the floor, peering up at his injured mate. Oh, God! I injured my mate! He'd done exactly what he said he wouldn't. Never had he wished he could undo an action more than this one. Even knowing he hadn't bitten deep enough to do permanent damage, seeing the blood trickling down Jason's neck tore at his soul. He wiggled closer, licking his lips. He needed to lick the wounds. His saliva would quickly heal the punctures without a mark.