The truck whirled until the bed met the side of the roadhouse. The beast was flung off, but the huge thing gained its feet, and a nightmare horror stared into the broken cab at Bowman.
Someone had engineered a monster, but it was not put together from parts. This thing was whole—born, not made—with the giant claws of a bear, the maw of a wolf, and the face of a lion. And it was very, very big.
The impact with the truck had cost the beast, though. Blood ran down its side, and one of its arms dangled uselessly. It pulled at the driver’s-side door of the broken cab with its good hand and managed to rip the door off. Then the wave of Shifters—wolves, big cats, and one huge, angry grizzly—were upon it.
The creature threw the pickup’s door at the crowd, then turned around and ran for the woods. Ran fast. The Shifters sprinted after it, but they stopped just inside the edge of the trees, sitting on haunches or standing with hackles raised, in both fear and frustration.
The beast had vanished. The stench of it faded on a cool breeze, and the sounds of a normal night started up again. A car drove by on the highway beyond, as though nothing were out of the ordinary.
Cade, now in human form, yanked open the still-intact passenger door. He was naked, smelling of sweat, fighting adrenaline, and fear. “Holy shit, Bowman.”
Kenzie came to the driver’s side, reaching in through the opening that used to be the door. She was naked too, the parking lot’s lights sending golden light over her full breasts and their dusky tips. She had a strong body, skin taut over muscle, and curves Bowman lost himself in whenever he touched her. Curves that hugged him now, swallowing him in softness.
A hell of a lot more appealing than Cade, he thought wryly. Kenzie stroked Bowman’s hair, her long-fingered hand moving over his pounding skull, soothing, cutting through pain.
Behind him, Cade slammed both fists on the top of the dented cab. “Son of a bitch. Do you know how much work it will take to fix this? If I even can fix it. Hell, if the frame is bent . . .”
“Cade,” Bowman said, his voice rasping. He leaned into Kenzie’s touch, the scent of her warm over the tang of the dying truck.
“What?” Cade snarled, leaning in to listen.
“Shut the fuck up,” Bowman said.
He dropped his head back and slipped into blissful, empty darkness. The last sensation he felt was Kenzie’s hand on his hair, and the softness of her body as she bent down to kiss him.
* * *
“Anyone want to take any guesses what that thing was?”
Bowman lay back against his pillows in his bed, one hand behind his head. He looked awful, his face blotchy, healing cuts all over his exposed skin, but his voice was plenty strong. His leg was in another splint, one for humans this time, sticking out over the covers.
Kenzie knew Bowman felt better. He’d snarled at her when she’d tried to make him eat the chicken soup she’d made, so she’d snarled back at him, plopped herself down on a chair, and ate it herself.
Cade and Jamie had come to report. Marcus, the other tracker, hadn’t, and Kenzie knew he’d spent the night with her cousin Bianca, whom he was dating—dating in Shifter fashion, that is. After a crazy night like last night, Kenzie didn’t blame the two of them for holing up together and not coming out for a while.
Cade had a bandage wrapped around his muscular arm, and Jamie had one around his middle—cracked ribs. The two were nearly as robust as usual, though, Bowman being the one the most hurt. Kenzie had escaped severe injury by being quick, a fact she absolutely would not rub in with the trackers in this room.
No one could answer Bowman’s question, so he went on. “Any trace of it?”
“Nope,” Cade said. “We’ve been looking. Disappeared like it never existed. Like we imagined it.”
“Nothing that stinks that bad is an illusion,” Bowman said. In spite of his injuries, he was still the strongest person in the house, which Kenzie knew with every part of her. Only the presence of Cade and Jamie kept her from sliding out of her clothes and snuggling in beside him. She needed contact with him as a Shifter for her pack leader, as a mate for her mate, as a woman for a man.
And what a man. Bowman’s upper torso, exposed above the sheet, was tight, sun-touched skin over smooth cords of muscle. The hard planes of his pectorals were dusted with black hair that curled around her fingertips whenever she touched him in bed. His dark nipples beckoned her tongue—she loved the pebble-smooth feel of them.
More wiry hair covered his solid forearms, fading to smooth skin on the inside of his wrists, where he liked to be licked. One firm, blunt-fingered fighter’s hand rested on the covers, while the other braced Bowman’s head, making his short dark hair stick straight up on one side. He’d leave the house like that if Kenzie didn’t grab him and smooth down the unruly hair. Bowman rarely looked into a mirror.