Sex with a first time female shifter was said to be the most primal experience a shifter could have. Most males longed for the opportunity, but never got the chance. Now here this girl was flaunting her status. This wouldn’t end well.
Ronnie came back up front just as her sister stormed up to the bar. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Oz could read lips just fine.
“Hey, hey.” Ronnie caressed the young waitress’ cheek. “What happened?”
The girl looked out toward the lion shifter’s table. “Those guys are creeps.” She rubbed her arms, then touched the door. “Look, I need some air. I’ll be right back.”
Ronnie squeezed her sister’s arm before the girl walked through the swinging door. Then she cut her glare toward the men before getting back to work. No doubt calculating a painful death for each and every man. He smiled from behind his drink. This one had a mean streak, he could tell that without reading her mind.
The lion wasn’t laughing anymore; he dried himself with every napkin at the table. Finally, he threw the wet wads on the floor and pushed away from the table. Causing the legs of the chair to make a screeching, nails on blackboard sound. He nodded his head toward the lion dressed in military fatigues at the door.
The guy had been a statue all night. No drinks, no women, no socializing at all. He had to be a bodyguard or a sentry. Had Oz not been watching the lions so closely, he would have missed the subtle head movement. The large man eased his leg down from the wall, unfolded his arms and slipped out of the front door.
Ronnie kept looking between her watch, the back door, and the thirsty patrons in a steady cycle. It had only been ten minutes, maybe less, but the increasing worry on her face made him tense. A scuffle broke out at the door, Oz watched the men tussle and fight over a woman who didn’t seem interested in either one. When he’d looked back, she was gone. He looked away for one minute - one damned minute! Where did she go? Of course, no one but him noticed that she was missing.
Oz squeezed through the patrons to make his way to the bar. When he didn’t see her, he closed his eyes and expanded his mental prowess to hear everyone’s thoughts at the bar. She’d given everyone an extra drink on the house before sliding out the back door. He opened his eyes, holding back a hiss as he glowered at the defensive lineman sized African-American man at the end of the bar. The bear shifter wanted his woman. He had a detailed plan on how he would corner her and force her to her knees. Just as he moved to teach Yogi some manners, a psychic blast knocked him to his knees.
Help!
If he hadn’t gripped the edge of the bar, he probably would’ve been laid out flat on his back. He looked around in a quick 360, but no one, male or female, seemed to be in distress. There was no doubt about it, whoever screamed out needed help. Right now.
Oz staggered out a side exit door. To others, he might seem drunk by the way he swayed and held the wall. It would take a minute for him to gather his equilibrium after being hit mentally with a blast that singed the edges of his brain and rocked him like an atomic bomb.
The snow had stopped, but a light fog had settled over the area. He looked both ways, but no one seemed to be in need of help. Rarely did an assault happen in front of witnesses. He heard a scuffle nearby as he neared the side of the building. He ran, his heavy boots splashed through a slushy, melted ice puddles. As he neared the other side of the building, the meaty sound of flesh hitting flesh rang out clearly along with a female voice crying out. The woman’s sobs spurred him around the corner just in time to see Ronnie stagger back, holding her cheek.
Oz’s fingers slid inside his duster, grabbing two throwing knives. With quick efficiency, he flicked them toward the man who’d dared to lay a hand on his woman. Then everything seemed to happen so fast. Another man back-handed Ronnie and he must have used his shifter strength or at least some of it, because her head snapped around so quickly. Oz was afraid the bastard had broken her neck. The back door of the old Suburban closed, and the vehicle sped away. He watched as Ronnie’s head bounced on the concrete.
Oz slid to a stop, knees dropping in the filthy puddle as he lifted her. “Hey.” The words were just above a whisper.
He jostled her a little when he lifted her up. A wisp of air caressed his face when he leaned over her; she was still breathing. He pulled his hand away from her head, and it was covered in blood.
“Sonofabitch.” Those bastards would pay for this. “Baby-girl, I’m going to move you.”
She needed some kind of medical attention, but he knew he was her only hope. He slipped his arms under her knees and behind her shoulders, carefully lifting her up. The toe of his black boots wedged into the small opening of the back door of the bar. A bloody size thirteen boot print was left behind after he kicked it wide open.
Chapter One Hundred
The back stockroom was a mess. Oz knocked empty cardboard boxes and trash bags out of his way, then he spotted a long metal table covered with what he presumed was new inventory of wine and
