Secretly Mated (Ouachita Mountain Shifters 4) Page 4

  Owyn blinked, unable to believe what was happening, refusing to admit any of his kind could be so cruel.

  At that moment, the panther swung her head around, trying in vain to escape the sick bastard. Her pain-filled gaze caught on Owyn and his breath stalled again. Those big brown eyes, still holding on to shreds of hope, locked him into a path he could never regret no matter what happened after this night.

  Kill. Defend. Save.

  Owyn’s panther clawed at this chest, demanding to be let out. He couldn’t hold it in, and part of him felt relief that his animal wouldn’t stand for this injustice any more than the man in him could. He wasn’t a monster, and neither was Magic or Renner or Eagan or any of his clan. The monsters didn’t exist just because there was a wild, instinctual animal inside them. No tradition they’d been taught by their ancestors could make a monster. No mistake of youth could change who they really were inside.

  Monsters existed because of evil.

  And he’d make sure there was one less of them in existence.

  He gave the female a slight nod that held a whole world’s worth of promises. And then he rushed forward, his panther busting through his clothes with no effort at all.

  The lion jerked back from her, but he didn’t have time to shift. Owyn was on him faster than a blink, razor sharp claws slicing into his soft human neck as he pounced. The bastard fell backward to the ground, gurgling, as blood spilled from his wounds, eyes wide and flexing to those of his cat.

  Owyn slapped a huge dark paw at the guy’s head, a satisfying crack sounding just as his lion came forward to fight. But it was no use. He was already beat. No animal could save him now.

  Massive jaws snapping the shifter’s neck finished him off, and Owyn gave his head an extra tug, making sure it was over. His panther was finally satisfied when the lion’s head hung on his shoulders only by a flimsy spinal cord.

  With a snarl, he dropped the limp body, backing away. Quickly, he shifted back to human, breathing heavy with the weight of what he’d just done.

  Justice, his panther hissed.

  Turning, he faced the female.

  She whimpered, struggling to stand but getting nowhere with her efforts. Owyn held both hands in the air to show her he wasn’t going to hurt her, but then realized they were coated in blood. His arms too, and his chest.

  “Let me help you,” he murmured, inching closer. “I won’t hurt you. He’s gone, and no one will hurt you ever again.”

  She gave a weak growl in response, and Owyn had to believe she’d live.

  Looking around he found the scraps of his t-shirt. Collecting them, he bunched the fabric together and pressed it to her wounds. A hopeless attempt at stemming the blood flow. As careful as possible, he lifted her into his arms, securing the bundled shirt between his body and hers to apply pressure.

  Then he ran with her through the trees, back to the parking lot, past the vehicles and straight into the bar.

  “Help! Need help!” he barked. And whether it was the sight of all the blood or the sheer panic in his voice, all the chaos of shifters working off urges came to a screeching halt.

  The two burly bear bouncers stationed just inside the front door rushed forward but stopped when they saw the damage to the panther.

  “Cleaver!” one bellowed, his voice carrying over the music pumping through the speakers.

  “Aw, shee-ut,” the bar keep spat, tossing his rag on the counter and reaching for a phone. “Everybody out! Now! Now.” He pressed the phone to his ear while he barked more commands. “Get her on the pool table. Fuck the felt, we’ll replace it.”

  The two bears cleared a way for Owyn as patrons filed out, whispering and speculating about what had happened. He was probably at the center of the rumors. He could imagine them saying, “That’s what happens when you try to suppress your instincts.”

  Whatever. The truth was there if they ever cared to find it.

  “Doc,” Cleaver rasped into the phone. “We need you. Bring everything you have. Come now.” He eyed the panther where Owyn laid her on the pool table. “Might lose this one,” he said, and then hung up.

  Cleaver hopped over the bar as if it was nothing, hollering at the remaining bystanders to get the hell out. And finally it was just him, the two bears, and Owyn pressing the soaked rags to the panther’s wounds.

  He stared down at the whimpering female as her eyes drooped shut. She wasn’t going to make it. If the doctor didn’t get here fast, they were going to lose her. He couldn’t watch another female fall because of a shitty mating. He couldn’t.

  Hurry, doctor. God, please hurry.

  Chapter Four

  Christina Davis, MD, shoved her slippers on, phone still glued to her ear, Cleaver’s last words echoing hauntingly over the dead line.

  Might lose this one.

  No. Not if she had any say in the matter. She knew the pain of failing someone in the most final and certain way. She’d watched family members mourn a loss that she could have prevented if only the circumstance had been more forgiving. If only there was a second more time on their life’s clock, or if the blade hadn’t nicked that one artery, or if… if… if.

  She’d do anything to never feel that pain again, to never cause that pain again.

  She grabbed her bags full of supplies. The one for more simple injuries, and the one with sutures and fluids and hopefully a fucking miracle.

  If Cleaver was rattled, whatever she was walking into was bad news.

  She pushed through the rickety door of the shed she called home. It wasn’t nice, but it was free, in exchange for her services whenever Cleaver needed them. And best of all, it was safe. For now, it was safe.

  Until she could figure out a better way to avoid her future mate. Whoever he was.

  Running full speed across the small yard Cleaver used to store junk he didn’t need anymore, she flung open the gate separating his personal property from the business of his bar. She squeezed past several used kegs to the back entry and gave the heavy door a shove. Rushing through the kitchen, one of the bags slipped from her shoulder, knocking an empty pitcher to the floor.

  Not important. She’d clean it up later.

  In the bar, she was met with the undeniable scent of blood, coppery and thick. Surprisingly, the place was empty except for Cleaver and his bear bouncers huddled over two others at the pool table.

  “Talk to me,” Christina barked, hurrying around the bar and kicking a stray chair out of the way. The bears cleared out and she set her bags on the table, her brain already cataloging wounds and assessing the situation.

  A panther. Female. Young, but several years into adulthood, lay sprawled on the table. The green felt beneath her was quickly turning a blackish red from the blood seeping from her wounds.

  “Help her. You have to help her.” The frantic voice belonged to the naked male hovering over the injured cat. His skin was slicked in red and his eyes were peeled wide with determination.

  Christina nodded calmly. “Okay. But you have to help me help her. What’s your name?”

  “My name? My name? What the hell does that matter? She’s the one that needs the help.” His voice rose with each new sentence.

  “His name’s Owyn,” Cleaver spoke near Christina’s ear. “From the Ouachita’s.”

  The Ouachitas. A mountain cat like her.

  “Okay, Owyn. I need your help to understand what happened here so I can know how to best treat her. You follow?” she asked, lining up the supplies she’d need. She waited for him to nod before turning to one of the bears. “I need water. Several buckets of it. Soap. Towels, and some clothes for Owyn here. And what the hell with that music? Turn it off, will ya?”

  She couldn’t be piecing this poor female back together to the tune of Achy Breaky Heart. It just wasn’t right. She was a touch superstitious, and Billy Ray Cyrus seemed like bad operating juju.

  The bear nodded gravely and stalked off to fetch her supplies.

  Christina gave Owyn a raised ey
ebrow glance.

  “The bastard ripped her up before I got there,” Owyn said, as she drew up a dose of tranquilizer for the female. “H-He was trying to force her to mate. I think she clawed him first and he did this. Fuck. I was just leaving. Getting in my truck, but I heard her and knew something was wrong. Followed the cries, and found him trying to use her to heal himself while she was bleeding out.”

  He stopped talking when Christina inserted the syringe in the female’s muscle. Darting a glance to Cleaver, she sent a message with a single look. They needed to find the asshole that did this.

  Cleaver gave a tiny nod, and turned to Owyn. “What direction did he take off to?”

  From the corner of her eye, Christina could see Owyn’s head as it shook back and forth, and she stifled a growl. If he even thought about covering for the sick bastard who’d inflicted this kind of injury… well, she’d have to count on Cleaver to make things right.

  “I…”

  “Son, don’t fuck with my patience,” Cleaver growled. “He can’t hide from my bears. They’ll find him with or without your help. And after they deal with him, they’ll come for you—”

  “I killed him,” Owyn blurted, bringing Christina’s head up in surprise. “Goddamn. You think I’d protect a male like that? After everything, you think I’d stand for… for… this?” He glared at Cleaver like he wanted chicken for dinner and falcon would do.

  Shit. She didn’t need the distraction of two males fighting right now. She needed to focus.

  “No,” Cleaver said finally. “No, I know you better than that.”

  He nodded to one of the bears, and Christina knew they’d be taking care of whatever was left of the dead male’s body. And if all the blood Owyn was wearing was anything to go by, there probably wasn’t much of a body left.

  Using one of the buckets, Christina scrubbed her hands clean. Shifters didn’t catch infection the same way humans did, but her med school habits were still intact. Better safe than sorry.

  When she was done, she nodded to Owyn. “Your turn. Get some of that blood off you. I might need your help, and you can’t do it looking like that.”

  He frowned but did as she directed.

  Carefully, she peeled away the blood soaked cloth he’d been holding to the female’s torso, and fought the urge to hiss at what was revealed. Three deep claw marks, approximately ten inches long, stretched from her ribs to her lower belly. They were deep enough they’d never heal on their own. And at a cursory glance, she suspected the patient might lose her uterus. Or at least the use of it.

  Christina went cold, realization stunning her. Her blood might as well have been ice water.

  He’d aimed for her womb. The male that did this intended to ruin the panther’s chances at young. She’d denied him, not wanting to mate for whatever reason, and his response was to ruin her for any others.

  It was chilling.

  Please don’t let my male be as cruel as this one. Please.

  “Cleaver, hand me that gauze. You cleaned up yet, Owyn? Gonna need all hands for this.”

  “Almost, doctor. Hang on.”

  She nodded. He seemed a touch more level as he pulled a shirt over his head. The panic was gone, replaced with determination. He looked ready to fight off a whole pack of males if need be. But really she just needed him to keep the wound clear of blood while she and Cleaver did the patch job.

  The next few hours were touch and go, while Christina worked her way through the wounds, stitching and binding, and Cleaver kept a watch on the female’s vitals. Her animal would do the majority of healing on its own, with time, if they could stem the bleeding.

  The bears returned, saying nothing, but giving Cleaver a look that meant business. “It’s taken care of,” one said.

  Cleaver nodded. “We’ll try to locate the family, but seriously, they probably aren’t missing him.”

  They set a bundle of random items on the counter. Some clothes, and a cell phone it looked like.

  “Found this stuff in the woods. Might belong to her.”

  Christina tied off the last of the sutures. “Here,” she said to Owyn after applying thick dressing to the stitches. “Apply pressure. Not too much, just a little. It’ll keep blood from seeping between the stitches.”

  Owyn pressed his hand over the dressing while Christina cleaned up.

  “Now what?” he asked. “Is she in the clear?”

  Christina glanced at Cleaver. The older shifter was quiet. Cleaver was a kaleidoscope. He had so many different facets he was hard to pin down. But right now he was pensive, calm, and in charge, even if he wasn’t doing the commanding.

  “Now we wait,” Christina announced. “See what her panther can do for her. But she’s young and she’s strong. I believe she’ll walk away from this attack with only some scars.” She pressed her lips together to stall the words. “Inside and out.”

  Cleaver crossed his arms over his wide chest. “What do we know about her?”

  The bears started rattling off details.

  “Name is Tana. She’s new around these parts. Doesn’t belong to a clan.”

  “Fresh,” the other bear said. “Barely more than a young. Maybe a few years out.”

  Damn it. Too young to be rendered infertile. Christina was stricken with sadness for the female.

  Cleaver frowned. “What about her mate? What do we know of him besides that he’s an asshole. And dead.”

  The bears glanced at each other. They were brothers. Maybe even twins. They shared the same grim expression, the same flare of anger in their eyes.

  “Mean as fuck, from what we’ve heard. And not from around here.”

  “From Memphis way. Only came here to scent out his mate. He’s been giving everyone around the bar a hard time. Anymore shit, and we were going to kick his ass to the curb.”

  “No need now,” the other bear said, crossing his huge arms over his chest and nodding at Owyn. “Big guy over there took care of him good.”

  “Real good,” his brother agreed. “Bastard’s head was hanging by sinew.”

  Cleaver eyed the Ouachita cat where he stood, holding the dressing to the panther’s stitches. “That right?”

  The bears nodded in unison, but Cleaver looked troubled.

  What was Owyn’s story, Christina wondered. It was odd to see a feline male so defensive of a female. Sometimes mated males would fight for their woman, but often they couldn’t be bothered.

  A sad truth about her kind.

  But this one, he’d killed to keep the panther safe even though she wasn’t his. To keep her from being forced into mating. Or to avenge her near fatal injury.

  Either way, it made him a mystery.

  “She have any family?” Christina asked. They couldn’t very well leave her lying on the table while she healed. She needed someone to look after her.

  “No. None that we know of. She had a room down at Deb’s.”

  Deb’s Den. They rented rooms by the hour, week, or month. Whichever suited your need. The cockroaches stayed for free.

  Christina turned to Cleaver. “She needs somewhere safe to stay. Deb’s is no place for her to recover. Not with these kinds of wounds.”

  He shook his head, looking regretful. “We don’t have room. You’ve got the back shed. The boys and I fill the upstairs. There’s just nowhere for her to go. It’s not like I own a mansion here, Doc.”

  He was right. They were cramped as it was. But maybe she could give the female her bed for a while. Maybe trade places with her until she was back on her feet. Christina shivered at the idea of staying at Deb’s. As tiny as her little shack out back was, it was the Ritz Carlton compared to Deb’s bed bug palace.

  “She can come home with me,” Owyn offered, that determined glint still in his eye. “Back to the Ouachita’s, to live with my clan.”

  Oh, hell no.

  Christina wasn’t placing her with a cat clan. No way, no how. Tana wasn’t going to survive this brutal attack just to be claimed by another
cruel male. Or worse, be ostracized for her inability to bear cubs… if in fact, it came to that.

  “No,” she snapped, and then turned to plead with Cleaver. “No, we can’t let this happen. Sending her off to live with a clan full of others who could do the same thing her mate tried to do? No, Cleaver. Please.”

  A low growl ripped from Owyn’s throat.

  “My people would never treat a female like this. We protect our own. Never let harm come to them. She would be safe with us.”

  Safe. Christina wanted to be safe. Cleaver and the bears protected her for now, but what had happened to Tana proved that she wasn’t truly safe here. If her mate found her, caught her in the woods… if he was cruel hearted as Tana’s was…

  There were so many ifs. But one thing was sure: safety was an illusion.

  She crossed the room to face Owyn.

  “And what makes your people so special? That you would swear no harm comes to your women? I don’t believe it just because you say so. I want proof if I am to send an unconscious, injured female to live with a clan of cats who could very well make her life miserable.”

  Owyn frowned as she stepped closer until they were almost chest to chest. She had to show him she wasn’t afraid of him. The emergency was over and now his animal was front and center, sniffing out hers to find a weakness. She had to show up. Prove she wasn’t a submissive… or he’d eat her alive—metaphorically, of course—and take Tana home with him.

  They stared off.

  She was eye-to-chin with him because he was very tall. Not many men could claim a height advantage on her, but Owyn was one. His jaw was chiseled where he clenched it. He held Tana’s dressing with one blood stained hand, and made a fist over and over with the other. The borrowed t-shirt he wore stretched across his muscular chest making him look even larger, and for the first time, she noticed the scrolling letters of a tattoo on his neck, along the ridge of his collar bone.

  A name. Mandi. And a purple and teal ribbon curving in and out of the letters.

  A woman’s name. A ribbon that must commemorate something.