My Feline Protector (Middlemarch Shifters Book 6) (5 page)

London huffed and puffed around the same corner and came to an appalled halt.

“Why are you stopping?”

“I’m not good with climbing stuff.”

“No different than climbing a tree,” Gerard said.

“I don’t do trees. I’ve never climbed trees.” She watched Henry give Jenny a boost up the rope webbing attached to the wall. Her sister crawled up the wall with ease. For an instant, she rested on the top of the wall, then disappeared over the other side.

“Keep running,” Henry shouted to her sister. “I’ll catch up.”

He sounded as if he was having fun.

“I’ll give you a boost and Henry will help you over the top.” Gerard grabbed her before she could argue. She let out a girlie shriek, instinct making her grab for the webbing.

“Do you need another shove?”

“No. Let me catch my breath.”

“Are you sure? I’d love a good reason to grope your butt.”

“Stop flirting with her,” Henry groused, although London was close enough to see the quirk of his lips. He stretched out his arm and offered his hand. “Grab my hand and I’ll pull you to the top.”

London doubted he’d be strong enough to pull her up, but her legs were so shaky they weren’t propelling her upward. She reached up and an instant later, he’d hauled her up and she perched on top of the wall. Then she made the mistake of looking down.

Chapter Three

Gerard grinned up at Henry and received a wink in return. “Go! I’ll be with you in a moment, English.”

“I hate this rope stuff and the way it moves.” Her prim accent held a touch of fear.

“It’s not far,” Henry said, his tone soothing. “There is a soft landing pad, so no one gets hurt. Close your eyes and go at your own pace. Gerard will come to help you.”

Gerard gave his friend a curt nod, and Henry jumped from the top. The air whooshed from the landing pad as Henry’s bulk hit. London whimpered, and Gerard climbed the webbing, arms and legs pulling, pushing. In ten seconds he reached the top and discovered London descending at the pace of a sick snail. He slid his legs over the top and maneuvered to her side. The webbing swung with his weight and she moaned, her limbs trembling.

“London, do you trust me?”

She trembled.

“London.” He spoke sternly to pierce her panic. “Do you trust me?”

She gave a jerky nod.

Pleasure suffused him at her response.
Not the time
. “Good.” And he turned her head to kiss her, really kiss her as he’d been longing to since he first spied her across the pub. The second she relaxed, he threw himself backward, wrenching her off the webbing.

She screamed against his mouth, but he didn’t release his grip. Curvy. Perfect. He couldn’t wait to investigate more of her luscious body. An instant later, he hit the landing pad, and grunted when London’s flailing hand almost gelded him.

“That will teach you,” Benjamin Urquart, one of the Feline council commented. The slight-built man wrinkled his pixie nose while his piercing green gaze brimmed with silent laughter and approval. “You have both completed this obstacle. You’d better get up before the next competitors arrive.”

“Stop moving, English,” Gerard whispered. “We’re safe and alive, but if you keep thrashing around, I won’t be able to perform once you succumb to my charm.”

“That might work with other women but it won’t with me,” she snapped as she rolled clear.

“I’d believe you if you hadn’t kissed me back.”

“I-I never!” An intense wave of pink bloomed in her cheeks.

“Yeah, English. You did. We will share a bed, eventually.”

Her mouth dropped open, and he stood, offering a hand to help her up. She accepted his aid and once they were both upright, he started running. “Come on. Henry and Jenny expect us to put in a good time. We can discuss this later.”

“You are impossible.”

“I’m charming and sexy, and I want to share my good traits with you.”

“Good traits?” She snorted but broke into a run at his side.

“Sounds as if there is another zombie territory up ahead.”

They ran past two mature pine trees, the sharp scent of the foliage clearing his lust. One kiss hadn’t put a dent in his craving for her. He was feeling a sneaking sympathy for his friend Sam, who had waited for years to claim his mate. Gerard’s human mind hadn’t accepted this soul mate thing but his feline was leading him around by the dick. His feline side wanted London Allbright with her cool English accent, rounded curves, fear of heights and indifference to sports. Not the woman he’d pictured but the instant he touched her nothing else seemed to matter.

“Not another hill. My legs are wobbling like a strawberry jelly.”

“You’re doing great.” The truth. She was trying and keeping whining to a minimum. “Have I told you I’m great with massage?”

“Yes.” She started up the slope, the moans and shouts from the zombie field becoming louder. “Where did you learn massage again?”

“One of my girlfriends worked in sports medicine, and she taught me the correct way to massage.”

“How many girlfriends have you had?”

Gerard considered the question and gave up counting once he reached ten. Those were the more serious ones that had lasted at least two weeks and longer. He didn’t count the casual pickups or one-night stands. What guy hadn’t had those? “A few.”

“Over five?”

“Eight,” he said, picking his favorite number. “I’m older than you.”

“I’m twenty-three. Twenty-four next month.”

“Twenty-nine,” Gerard said. “So it stands to reason I’d have more relationships.”

They crested the hill and halted to stare at the flat clearing below. Grassy with a stream running through, which split the area along the quarter mark. The zombies had trampled the grass and the stony ground near the banks of the stream appeared muddy. A plan formed.

“We should run through the stream. The other runners are going through the larger portion and the zombies are picking them off. We can take them by surprise if we slog through the water. It’s not deep.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s ankle depth and, at worse, cold. We’ll need to take care on rocks but once we’re past the zombies then we can run along the bank.”

“Couldn’t we creep through the trees around the clearing?”

“They’re roped off. Can you see the red barrier on each side?”

“Now you’ve told me. You have good eyesight.”

“There will be a scrutineer making sure we navigate the clearing. Come on. I can see Henry.”

“Jenny?”

Gerard scanned the runners and spotted her number as she dodged a big zombie. “Yeah, she just lost a life. Let’s go. Clear on the plan?”

“Yes. I will get wet and muddy.”

Gerard chuckled at her forlorn tone. “I hear they have photographers at the finish line.”

“Say it isn’t so,” she muttered as she followed him.

She tripped and fell into him, almost knocking him off his feet. The proximity, her scent beneath the mud and the hint of blood from the scratch on her cheek drove him crazy. He held her until she regained her balance then a fraction longer to soothe his feline. “Okay?” His voice emerged rough and raw, the sound pushed past his protruding canines. Bloody hell. Sam had informed him of the loss of control, and Sam’s cousins, Felix and Leo, had backed him up, yet Gerard hadn’t believed them, not a word.

“Sorry. My feet didn’t go the way my brain told them to.”

As the path widened, he grasped her hand, his feline appreciating the physical contact while it kept his English lady from falling. His feline genes gifted him with a good sense of balance and surefootedness. “Faster,” he said, increasing his pace.

“There are more zombies here.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll get past them.” He scanned the clearing and noted a zombie climbing over the red tape and rejoining the pack. Blood coated his white shirt and faded jeans while his hair lay in dusty dreads against his head. Whoever had done the makeup had done a brilliant job. These zombies looked like the real deal.

“Through this entrance,” the scrutineer ordered, straightening from his lean against the trunk of a tree.

Gerard yanked London through and sprinted for the stream, dragging her behind him. The water came to knee height, and it was bloody freezing. London moaned as the frigid water seeped through her leggings.

“Come on, English. We need to move before they come after us.”

A whistle blew without warning. “You!” the scrutineer hollered. “You’re going out of bounds.”

Then a mournful howl filled the air, raising the small hairs at his scruff. Gerard’s head snapped around to search for Henry. “Fuck. That doesn’t sound good.”

London tensed, the howl containing so much pain that tears sprang to her eyes. A second howl followed before the echoes of the first died.

“Come on,” Gerard shouted and dragged her from the stream.

He plunged through the mass of zombies, clearing a path with his determined bulk and sharp curses. Most of the zombies were staring in the direction of the howl, which was coming from the trees.

“What is it? What’s going on?” London demanded.

“Henry needs us,” Gerard snapped. “Faster.”

The zombies recovered from their trance and hands grabbed at their ribbons.

Another howl, louder and full of anguish, echoed through the clearing, and Gerard tossed zombies out of his way.

When she couldn’t keep up, he dragged her with determination and she lost her footing.

“Get the fuck out of my way.” Gerard growled and the circle of zombies took a collective step back.

With their way clear, Gerard yanked her to the red tape surrounding the clearing. He stepped over, forging a path in the long grass. The howls were softer now, and it was easier to pinpoint their location.

London dug in her heels, not sure she wanted to approach this creature—whatever it was. It sounded in so much agony.

“London.” Gerard’s tone held demand, and she obeyed before she stopped again.

Another howl rang out and Gerard released her hand with a curse, plunging through the tangle of undergrowth.

“Henry.”

London frowned. He’d mentioned Henry before, but he wouldn’t make this hair-raising noise. Goose bumps formed on her arms and legs, and she glanced over her shoulder, scanning the gnarled trunks of the trees, the profusion of green ferns and the dead leaves underfoot. It was darker under the trees. Creepy.

“Fuck,” Gerard said, and it was the shock in his voice that got her feet moving again in his direction.

“What is it?”

“Stay there, London.”

Something in the way he said her name instead of his teasing
English
made her disobey. Something was wrong, and she—

London gasped and rushed forward.

Jenny lay on the ground, a knife protruding from her chest and bright red blood covering her pale blue T-shirt.

Gerard grabbed London before she could get to her sister. “No,” he ordered, his tone sharp. “We can’t help her now.” His tone gentled. “We’ll call the cops and they will help her.”

Tears blurred her vision, and even though her heart railed against his instructions, her mind forced her to accept the truth. She and Jenny would never have another argument because someone had stabbed her sister in the chest. Someone had murdered Jenny.

Isabella Mitchell appeared behind them. “What is it? What’s wrong? I smell blood.”

Gerard glanced at Henry, saw the glassy-eyed shock on his friend’s face as he knelt by Jenny, then looked past a pale London to Isabella. “Do you have a phone?”

“Yeah.” Blonde Isabella, Leo Mitchell’s mate, pulled a satellite phone from her jacket.

“You’d better call the cops.” He shifted aside a fraction so she could see Jenny Weaver and the knife protruding from her chest.

She nodded and made the call.

Gerard appreciated a calm woman who didn’t rattle easy. He turned to London. “Stay right there, London. We don’t want to destroy the scene.”

“Is-is she d-dead?”

“I’m sorry, English.”

Henry lifted his head and another one of those eerie howls filled the air.
Crap
. Too many humans around for Henry to lose control.

Isabella edged closer, taking care where she stepped. “Saber and Leo are on their way. They’ll take care of Henry,” she said. “Did he do it?”

“No,” Gerard snapped, glancing at his friend again. “They’d only just met, but he was halfway in love with her.” Henry didn’t react to his words, which worried Gerard. He’d never seen Henry act like this, not even after the bad times they’d faced together in the army.

“Who is this?” Isabella jerked her chin in London’s direction.

“London Allbright,” London said in a tight voice.

Gerard heard the tight-held emotion in her, the hovering tears and wanted to hold her. He couldn’t though, not when Henry needed him.

“Isabella?”