He almost wished the fuckers would show up. He was tired of sitting on his hands and waiting for them to make the first move. They’d been caught unawares too many times and faced close calls. He wanted to turn the tables on the assholes and make them pay for everything they’d done.
Threaten Hailey? Put a bounty on Lilah’s head? Threaten Kyla with the hell they’d put Sage through? Even Dash suffered a bad leg break while they tracked Lindley on his dumbshit suicide mission.
His pride needed the win. Not just a temporary one, either. A full-throated howl of victory.
Fuck, he could use one himself. He was tired of feeling like an insect caught under a magnifying glass.
The consortium fucks weren’t the only watchers, either. His father hadn’t yet left town. The man still took up space in Bearden, pulling the same shit he’d pulled with Sage. Quietly watching, no pressure, just waiting for the dropping of the guard for his moment to strike.
He’d mulled over that damn offer to wash the slate clean and return home. Every twist and turn of the pieces made it seem like a last resort. Alton had lost his second and his designated heirs. They faced threats and needed a little extra violence that a feral beast could bring. And every part of him wanted to reject it outright.
But those final words? Offering him a safe harbor if he needed it? That was the caring father he remembered, not the alpha that forced him into exile.
He’d been fighting for so damn long. Other lions, hunters, anyone who needed a punch to the face. The big push came after Hannah’s death, but he’d let his temper run him from the start. She’d been the balm he’d needed to settle his unquiet spirit. Without her tethering him back to what was good and right, he’d been utterly adrift in a sea of fury.
Maybe once he’d have given the offer serious thought. Or maybe he’d have had the exact same reaction and told the old man to get the hell out of his den. Trent was right about one thing, though. He had to tell Sage everything. He just didn’t know where to begin.
He hesitated with his paw just above the ground, ears flicking to catch the noises in the night.
Something was off.
Listening, breathing, watching, he took an inventory. The cold wasn’t deep enough to drive all the noisemakers into their burrows and hiding places, so the nighttime chorus sang around him. A tiny breeze shook the ends of his mane. Peeling back his lips, he picked apart the baked earth scents of his pride and the deep forest of the Ashford bears.
There. A footfall.
Rhys crouched low to the ground, eyes and ears trained on the spot where he heard the soft scuff. Another followed the first, drawing closer.
Below him, four lions marched in single file, each carefully stepping in the footprint of the lead male.
A silent snarl curled his lips. Dumb fucks. They went through all the trouble of concealing themselves, but still made the mistake of sneaking past Crowley lines.
Rhys launched himself off the ground and landed right in their middle. He took advantage of their initial confusion rake his claws across the soft connection of belly and back leg. The other lion roared with pain, but jerked aside before he could make the limb utterly useless.
Another lunged at him, and he whipped around to drag his claws down the bastard’s face. The three at his back used his distraction against him, digging sharp points into the patchwork of scars on his hide. He’d earned those for defending one woman. Adding more in the defense of another suited him just fine.
He shook them off, then whirled again. Bite, he turned. Swipe, he rose up on his hind legs and slammed down on the back of another.
This wasn’t like fighting the Crowleys. His pride took him on solely to keep him from losing his shit entirely and going on a rampage. Killing blows weren’t part of the mix, but the lions he faced didn’t feel the same loyalty. He stood between them and their target. They wanted him dead.
He’d fight to the final, bloody second.
Rhys jumped for the closest lion. He landed a hard swipe before the fuckers converged on him again. He roared as claws and fangs ripped and tore at him. They knocked against him, trying to trip him up.
Rage carried him into the next step even as his blood wet the ground. He knew if he went down, there would be no getting back up again. He had to keep going. There wasn’t any room for weakness. Not when his mate’s life was on the line.
Another savage lash of his paw. Another spin to land his fangs into the shoulder of the lion behind him. He was slowing, taking more hits than he delivered, but he kept fucking going.
Then a roar threatened to burst his eardrums. Another, and the bastard trying to drive him to the ground disappeared. He scrambled under a paw aimed at his face to see a lion and a bear ripping into the group.
Dash and Colette had arrived as backup.
The massive black bear barreled straight through the middle, scattering the lions trying to pin him to the ground. Dash skidded to a stop at Colette’s side, swinging around with a roar of his own.
The assholes turned and fled.
Fuck that.
Rhys dug deep for an extra burst of energy. He lunged after the nearest lion, catching him with his claws along the back of his leg. The fucker went down in a heap, but he bolted for the next, leaving the clean up to Dash and Colette.
They did not get to prowl through his territory, attack his mate, then disappear. He’d hunt them down and make them
