The Tiger's Ambush (Kit Davenport #3)
Tate James
1
The front door slammed open, and a huge figure filled the frame, his face shrouded by a heavy hood.
“Who the fuck are you all, and what the fuck are you doing in my home?” Menace echoed within the man’s growl.
Looks like Vic is home sooner than expected. Answers, at last!
As we really hadn’t expected him back so soon, I found myself sitting there like a fucking deer in headlights.
“You must be Victor,” River took charge, stepping forward into the path of the man whose house we’d invaded. The act put him in the lead and hid me from view. While I had showered off the evidence of our lovemaking, he had re-dressed in his dark gray suit pants and crisp white dress shirt, barely a crinkle in sight. The way he moved seemed relaxed, but there was a small, telling tightness around his beautiful eyes with their mismatched shades of gold.
“I asked you a question,” the man in the doorway boomed. Though he pushed into the room, his face remained hidden beneath the deep hood. “You’re in my home. Who the fuck let you in here?”
Giving myself a little mental shake and relocating my metaphorical backbone, I rose from my seat and moved out from behind River so Vic could see me.
“Hi, sorry, this is really awkward. Nicholai and Granny Winter set us up here. They weren’t expecting you back for another two weeks…?” My words trailed off as the man snorted a loud laugh.
“Holy shit,” he snickered a cold, humorless sound. “It’s you.”
“She’s not Bridget,” Cole snapped, coming to stand a little in front of me, as if I needed his protection. He, too, had magically managed to locate clean clothes and looked deliciously dangerous with a black long sleeve top covering his impressive fighter’s build. Victor barked another sour laugh.
“I know that; I’m not blind. Any fool can see this isn’t Bride. That bitch knows better than to show her face around here, anyway.” He advanced farther into the room, and light hit the lower half of his face, revealing a strong jaw and tightly scowling lips.
“So, you finally found your way to Harrow, eh? I guess that explains why I could smell Nicky on my way through town. I take it he’s the one who led you here?” The man’s voice had dropped a little of the accusing anger but was still a far cry from friendly.
“Uh...” A bit lost for words, I floundered. This was not what I’d been expecting after all the drama, magic and mayhem of the evening. Silly me, I’d thought maybe we would get a small reprieve from the madness.
River took over once more. “Yes, Nicholai, or N as he called himself at the time. How did you know she isn’t Bridget? The old bird in charge was adamant she was Bridget. Even tried to have her killed.” He glowered at Vic in a rare display of emotion for someone usually so in control. More and more lately, I had noticed his control slipping and something…wild slipping through.
Vic grunted. “I’m not surprised. Mother gets a little tunnel vision when it comes to Bride.” He heaved a sigh. “I guess you want some answers.”
Throwing back his hood, I stifled a short gasp. The side of his face which had previously been covered by a hood was covered in what looked like burn scars, and one eye was completely clouded over. His red hair was cropped short, where it hadn’t been eaten away by scar tissue, but even at a glance, it was almost certainly the same shade of foxy copper-red as my own.
Lumbering over to an empty armchair, he sat down heavily, then raised his scarred eyebrow at us in challenge.
Seriously, Kit? Quit staring!
Clearing my throat nervously, I darted my gaze away, hopefully before he noticed my severe lack of manners and social grace.
“Um, yeah. That’s why N sent us here. He said you could give us answers that he couldn’t?” I chewed my lower lip but met his stare. It dimly occurred to me that, as shifters, the same rules of dominance that animals follow probably applied, and I would be damned if I came across as a submissive.
“Don’t you think I should be the one demanding answers here?” He glowered, narrowing his eyes at me. Maybe he could still see from the damaged one after all. “You’re in my house without my permission.”
“And we do apologize for that, sir,” Wesley interjected, with a friendly, non-threatening smile. “Granny Winter and Nicholai told us to stay here until you got back from, ah, vacation.”
Everything about Wesley screamed trustworthy, from his wide blue eyes behind square framed glasses to his floppy, boyish blond hair and oversized hoody, and Victor’s body language eased a fraction from the high-strung tension he vibrated with upon entering.
“Yes, fair enough. I’d like to speak with the both of them as well. You, boy,” he said, pointing at Austin, who stood near the door like a gargoyle guarding a church. “Go and get them. I want to hear my mother explain herself.”
Austin made a noise of disgust. Whether it was at being ordered to fetch like an errand boy or at being called boy, I wasn’t sure, but his reaction made me snicker.
With his dark hair cropped up the sides and disheveled on top, his emerald-green eyes glittering with anger, and his generally just looking sexy as fuck, he didn’t look like any errand boy I’d ever seen.
Woah, Kit. Simmer down girl; when did we start thinking about Austin like that?
If I was honest with myself, probably way back when he talked me out of my panic attack during our brief stay as Simon and Dupree’s captives at the Blood Moon testing labs.
Not that I would ever, ever tell him that. The last thing that asshole needed was any more ammo to torture me with. Although, he seemed to have eased up on the Kit-hate lately... must have been all the kidnapping and explosions.
“Don’t give me that look, pup. Go do as you’re told.” Vic’s command was combined with a flick of his wrist, which seemed to have perfect timing with the front door slamming open, almost as though he had just—
“Did you just do that?” I blurted, staring at Vic a bit more cautiously.
“Do what?” he asked, but a smug smile playing at the scarred side of his mouth suggested he had somehow opened the door with a vague hand gesture.
Austin raised an eyebrow at me, of all people, as if asking what I wanted him to do. Shrugging, I deferred to River, who nodded at the door, telling Austin to go.
“Maybe while he’s doing that, you might be able to answer a few questions for us?” River asked the scarred man, his polished British accent careful and even.
Vic tilted his head, as if considering River’s suggestion, then turned his shrewd gaze back onto me and tapped his chin with a long, scarred finger.
“Well, sit down then. You may as well get comfortable; it’s quite the tale, girl.” He paused. “What are you called, anyway?”