In addition to that, as an Omega, Diskant was extremely important to all shifters. In claiming her as his, she had gained equal status. From the moment they’d emerged from the office, walking side by side, hand in hand, she’d been able to perceive the thoughts and curiosity of those around them. Everyone had wanted a glimpse of her, including the few females who remained at the other side of the bar.
Various cadences and dialects had echoed inside her head, both male and female. Diskant had mated, but unlike many in the pack feared he might, it wasn’t to a different breed of shifter but a human. She had braced for their anger but was shocked when she perceived their relief and ready acceptance.
It could be worse, thought one.
Thank fucking god, thought another.
Filtering through the voices, she’d deftly slid the pieces together. If Diskant mated a different breed of shifter his allegiance to the wolves would be compromised. Now, his loyalty and dedication to the pack was assured. They would protect her with their lives and, in turn, Diskant would see that the pack continued to thrive…
Even if it means he’s mated to a weak, human female who will give him half-breeds.
The stray thought had pissed her off and she’d lifted her head, frustrated when strange faces greeted her and she was unable to locate the source. When the combination of thoughts had become too disorienting and difficult to decipher, she’d erected a temporary wall to block them out, focusing instead on the reassuring vibes Diskant was somehow able to send. It wasn’t until they’d taken a seat at the table that she slowly let the barrier down.
Fascinated would be one way to describe how she felt as she listened to the thoughts of the intimidating shifters surrounding her—terrified would be another. With the exception of the green-eyed one seated in the center, the shifters were totally unlike Diskant and didn’t have an ounce of affection or softness within them. Instead she felt a lust for violence and retribution.
The one seated closest to her—Emory—seemed the most unstable. His mind was in chaos, a raspy, animalistic voice in her head that could only be described as bestial and continued repeating the same words over and over again.
Mary. Mate. Mine.
She studied him as the man tried to overtake the animal, observing quietly as her gift allowed her to hear the dual thoughts that occurred simultaneously.
Even as he spoke to Diskant and Trey, the wolf continued chanting those three distinct words that were made all the more powerful when combined. From time to time Emory would lower his eyes, stare at the table and order the feral half to shut up and give him a moment’s peace. In that moment she wondered if there were those who possibly went insane from the separate entities within.
Unexpectedly, her focus shifted.
Trey’s wolf had risen to the surface, so powerful she could feel buzzing against her skin—as if it were a magic of some kind. “I’m not handing my brother to them,” he snarled violently. “If they want him they’ll have to fight for him.”
Guilt hit her like a fist in the stomach, taking her breath away. There was so much pain in the thought, so much misery.
Trey felt responsible for his brother, accepting the blame for everything that had followed a violent scuffle years before. Disjointed flashes in her mind showed her the battle, fangs bared, claws extended.
An image of Trey standing over his fallen brother, looking down at his battered form, was crystal clear. Emory was coated in blood, developing massive purple and black bruises and horrible gashes, some of which were all the way to the bone. Emory’s shirt was gone, his body broken on a mound of green grass that slowly absorbed the flowing red liquid that seeped from the cuts on his torso and face. Lifting his head, he met Trey’s enraged stare.
“Kill me,” Emory whispered.
For a moment the temptation arose, until the man overcame the beast and Trey turned from his pack mate and brother. He couldn’t kill him, which meant this would only happen again, and again, and again. Until Trey finally allowed the wolf to finish what had been set into motion or Emory was the one standing over his body, delivering the killing blow.
The images in Ava’s head vanished when Diskant’s own bestial side answered the challenge projected unwittingly by Trey, clamoring to take over. For the first time she was able to place the shift in him, to feel the animal that rose to the surface. It was the wolf that was infuriated, suffocating all of the others, forcing them back and away. It wanted to protect a pack mate, to face the enemy eating away at his Alpha, to shred and demolish flesh and bone with unyielding jaws and lethal teeth. Diskant tried to stem the flow of emotions, to put the beast back in a cage, but he was already on edge, feeding from all the shifters in a close proximity. So it wasn’t as simple as taking control.
She reacted without thought, driven by a new, undeniable instinct.
Lifting her hand, Ava grasped Diskant’s fingers and began running her thumb along his balmy skin, using careful, soothing motions. She moved closer to his side, snuggling against him, and felt something brush against her mind, a velvety caress of satiny fur that was so different from the coarse hair of the wolf. She whispered encouragement to the animal who was both cunning and playful, teasing it with the gentle motions of her fingers and the wriggling of her body.
The wolf didn’t settle but had been replaced by an entity with equal prominence. The large cat—a jaguar—shoved the lupine aside, basking in her touch, reveling how good it felt to be petted and stroked.
She heard the corresponding purr from Diskant’s chest, felt his shock as something occurred that he had no control over, and had to mask a smile when he spoke to Trey and his voice was hoarse. “Did you contact all of the Alphas about the missing shifters?”
The men continued speaking but it wasn’t the words she listened to. As soon as the large, predatory cat under her spell was appeased she focused on the emotions and fears of the men at the table, taking more from their emotions and reactions than she ever could from what they offered through spoken language.
Trey felt fear, concern and uncertainty—for his pack and his brother. The man at his side, Nathan, experienced much of the same but she was aware that in some way he was nullifying the stress placed on Trey, taking on the burden of anger and rage. Emory, of course, was a garbled mess and had been for some time. He missed his mate like the desert missed the rain. He wasn’t whole without her, would never be complete until they were reunited.
Yet beneath Emory’s anguish was an unshakable hurt that ate at him. As much as he longed for his mate, he was terrified of the reunion, horrified by her reaction the night she viewed him with claws and fangs. Her terror had hurt him in ways no physical blow ever could, devastating him to the point that he’d allowed several of the bullets to pierce his skin before he’d fled.
Ava allowed his recollection of the past to consume her as images flashed in her head. She could see a face—Mary—gawking at Emory with wide brown eyes full of horror. Her honey-blonde hair was darkened by the heavy rain that plastered the strands to her face, her full lips parted wide, eyes large and horrified. She rocked to and fro, hands limp at her sides until he moved toward her and she lifted her arms in a defensive gesture. Her scream pierced his eardrums, the wail high-pitched and terrified. Running from any predator was dangerous, especially a shifter, but that was exactly what she did. He’d almost followed, but he’d maintained control.
Barely.