Shifters of Grrr 1 (56 page)

Without waiting for the
yāoguài
to complete their circle of death, closing in on him like a python squeezing the life from its prey, he crouched low and then leapt right, swiping Tiger’s paw as he thrashed through the air. Tiger’s claws snagged two throats. Pitch-like blood sprayed, fanning across Sheng’s flank. He spun upon landing, anticipating the group of three poised to attack.

This time, he bared Tiger’s fangs, waiting for his enemy to strike first. He had to receive a blow or two, despite the fierce protest of Tiger.

He hadn’t come to win.

Sheng braced himself as one serpent demon sprang forward, striking his back. Growing up on the streets, he’d learned to take a punch, and he gritted his teeth against the pain. But Tiger roared in fury, swiping against their foe and slaughtering it. Tiger seized a second serpent’s neck in its jaws, clamped down, and shook it lifeless.

As Sheng released the
yāoguài
, a sharp sting struck his side. Instead of succumbing to the wound, Tiger fought with renewed determination.

The beast was a survivor, that was for certain.

Backing away from the onslaught of the remaining three serpents, Sheng stuck his hand under his jacket to prod his wound. Warm slickness leaked from the slash, soaking his shirt. He removed his hand and it came back smothered in blood. His legs lost their balance for an instant before Tiger pumped renewed strength through him.

Enough blood.

In fact, the sheer amount would likely propel Lucy into a panicked frenzy, and he placed his chips on his gut instinct Rabbit would freak out too.

No way would Rabbit let Tiger die.

He studied the three remaining demons slithering about. They seemed to survey him instead of strategizing their attack. Hell, he might even let them go free. Tonight.

The ground behind him rumbled, augmenting vibrations that escalated from his feet into his torso. He clamped his jaw as his teeth clacked together.

Shit.

The grin melted off his face.

He’d come to battle minor
yāoguài
not
those
.

With careful motions, he pivoted around because, for fuck’s sake, no one made any wild movements when
they
came out to play.

His gaze narrowed on the approaching targets. After dialing Kassian, he brought his phone to his ear. It rang four times before the bastard picked up.

“Two grand on the alpha. Not yours.” Kassian’s accented voice quipped.

Betting against Tiger? Real funny. “Where the fuck are you? Could really use some backup.”

“You sure, mate?” Ox’s scoff echoed. “Because from here it looks like you’re enjoying yourself.”

“Yeah, well, I won’t be in two minutes. Get your ass here. Now.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

After pacing around her apartment for an hour, Lucy finally laid her head on her pillow. She wasn’t sleepy in the least. In fact, her body was pumped up on adrenaline, agitated as though she’d drunk far too much coffee. Her right foot jiggled, and her fingers wandered along her body, searching for the source of this pent-up energy.

Drastic measures.

A shudder slunk down her spine as she recalled the lethal determination in Sheng’s eyes. He hadn’t given her the chance to ask for more help or even bothered with teaching her.

She was utterly failing at everything.

Mom, Dad…the promise Sheng made to her of justice drifted beyond her reach like the last rung of a ladder she could never lift herself to seize. But this opportunity meant too much for her to give up. She’d just have to try harder, dammit.

Her fists clenched at her sides. Why couldn’t she connect with Rabbit in the way she was supposed to?

A block? Yes, a mental one or maybe a spiritual one. Even though she’d caught glimpses of the other spirits, the whole concept of being chosen by an animal and harnessing a spirit’s essence was a boundary her mind couldn’t seem to cross.

Lying in the darkness didn’t bring her any closer. She huffed and thumped her limbs against her blankets. The noise echoed.
Huh?
She held still, and the thudding repeated. She sprang upright and slid her legs off the edge of the bed.

Thud, thud, thud.

Her heart raced as she padded to her front door.

Sheng? She closed her hand closed over the knob and peered through the peephole.

Thud, thud.

She jumped, throwing her hand across her mouth to stifle a yelp. The sound had come from the terrace. She wended through the kitchen, slid a long blade from the knife block, and gripped it tightly in both hands.
This better not be some shitty prank.

Thud, thud. Thud. Thud.

The pounding grew duller. What the hell?

The doors were locked, the windows bulletproof. Xiaodan had spared no expense to ensure her safety.

She tightened her already cramped grip on the knife and flicked the switch to open the curtains.

As they glided apart, bright moonlight streaked inside.

Lucy gasped.

A slick substance smeared the glass. A figure slumped on the ground, leaning against the doors. The darkened form tilted its head at her and she caught the blue-gray glinting of Tiger’s eyes.

Sheng!

The knife clinked to the ground. She rushed to the doors, unlocked them, and wrenched them open. “Sheng?”

His body sank forward into her apartment. The heady drug of panic flushed through her veins, making time both rush forward and seem to halt.

Like a dream.

This had to be a dream.

Because that dark stain could not be blood. Not his blood.

She stooped to his side, hunching over him while cupping his face. “Sheng? Sheng, answer me.”

One indrawn breath from him eased the edge off her terror. He squinted at her through hooded eyes. “Hey, Lucy.” His British accent deepened as his words slurred, but not because he’d been drinking.

Shock. Pain. These made a man incoherent. She’d witnessed this response to suffering during the Red Death, caring for neighbors before the government had banned all personal contact.

His head lolled, his eyes drifting shut.

“No. Don’t fall asleep, Sheng. Stay with me.” She slapped his cheek once, then harder until he jerked his eyes open. “Where are you hurt?”

His eyes flashed with admiration, and she would’ve thought him impressed by her calm tone if he didn’t appear so far gone. Panic wasn’t a state she accepted in herself. She’d rather work her way out of anxiety. “What happened?”

His breathing rasped as he stroked her cheek. “Hurts so bad.
Hmm.
” Okay, he must be incoherent, because she could’ve sworn he was hitting on her. Divulging emotions he felt but refused to share.

She gave his hand one quick squeeze. “I’m going to call an ambulance. I’ll be right back.”

“No.” His hand tightened around hers. “No ambulance. They’d put us in cages.”

Oh. She hadn’t considered that. Images of the Chosen blood smears Mei had shown her ran through her mind. “I’ll call Mei.”

“No.” He coughed hard, struggling to sit. “Has to be you. No time.”

Has to be me?
“I’m not a doctor.”

He didn’t answer, likely because his voice was too hoarse, but he pointed to his clothes, glistening beneath the vibrant moonlight.

She considered protesting, but she should at least survey the extent of his injuries first. He’d come to her. There had to be a reason why.

He trusts me.
The notion tugged at her chest, but she shoved it aside. Leaning over Sheng, she skated her hands along his body, seeking the source of the blood. A sticky, inky substance splattered his clothes, but the crimson blood condensed like an epicenter on his right abdomen.

“I have to get this shirt off you. I should get some gauze or something.” Oh, man. She struggled against the tremors spreading through her hands.

Sheng grunted. “Bathroom. Under the sink.”

Thank goodness he knew his way around her apartment better than she did. No time to analyze that.

She darted from his side to the bathroom cupboard and scanned for the kit.

Gotcha.

After she seized the small medical kit, she rushed back to Sheng’s side. Flipping the lid open, she plucked out the scissors and went to work snipping away his blood-soaked t-shirt. Her breath hissed as she peeled the cloth back, revealing an ugly long slash. It dribbled blood in time with his shallow pants.

As she brought the scissors to his jacket, he stopped her with a growl. “Don’t you dare.”

“Wow. Someone likes their leather.” She set down the scissors and glided her hand across his shoulder to slide off the sleeve. “This is going to hurt more.”

“That’s debata—” He hissed as she freed his arm, and she ignored his cursing while she tugged down the other sleeve. Grimacing, she tossed aside the soiled garments.

“Okay.” She collected herself, speaking in low tones to soothe both her anxiety and his. “I’ve got this. It’s still bleeding, but it’s not too deep. Here, um, lie back.” She snatched a pillow off the couch behind her and tucked it beneath his head, stealing a glimpse at his pupils. He was semi-alert, responsive to her questions, if nothing else.

Good, right?

Ripping open a package, she patted the gauze across the wound. “Stitches?”

That’s when he focused on her, his eyes burning with intensity. “No, I just need you.”

She swallowed hard. What the heck was he talking about? “I don’t know what to do, Sheng. Do you? Can you tell me what I’m supposed to do next?”

Clean the wound, stitch it, shove antibiotics down his throat? He’d lost a lot of blood, but maybe not enough to be in serious danger. Infection was a better killer than most wounds. “Do I have any alcohol?”

“
Báijiǔ.
Kitchen. Top right cupboard.”

She stopped from shaking her head at his familiarity with her apartment and retrieved the vodka-like Chinese liquor. After she popped it open, he snagged the bottle from her grasp and brought it to his lips, chugging the alcohol.

“Hey! That’s not for you to drink.”

He paused with the bottle near his lips. “Damn sure makes me feel better though.”

Great, now he was joking. Well, at least his light mood eased the anxiety sparking through her veins. People didn’t jest when they were suffering serious trauma…or did they?

Trepidation spiked right back through her bloodstream. “Okay, smartass, what’s next?”

“Now you heal me.” He sighed and slumped his head back down, the
báijiǔ
bottle slipping from his grasp. She snatched it before the clear liquid spilled onto the floor.

“And I would do that by…” She paused, hoping he’d finish her sentence.

“Let Rabbit out.” His words came out detached, as though he drifted off again.

No. No, no. “Sheng!” She slapped his cheek again.

He flinched, mumbling. “Rabbit can heal me. Part of the circle. How Mei fixed your arm.”

From anyone else’s lips, she would’ve considered that babbling nonsense. But her arm… Her arm. She rubbed the spot she’d believed had been broken.

“My arm did break?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Why did you lie to me?”

“Would you have believed me if I told you the Chosen had healed your broken arm?”

True. Likely not. She didn’t really believe it now. “How does the Rabbit heal you? Sheng? Tell me, please.”

He groaned. “The circle. Complete the circle, the energy goes round and round.” He twirled his index finger in the air before closing his eyes.

No. Was she losing him?

“Rabbit, Rabbit,
Rabbit
.” She chanted the word beneath her breath.
Dig deeper, Luce. Figure this out.
She refused to watch him bleed out right in front of her.

Save him. Catch that damn bunny.

She stared between her hand and Sheng’s face as his skin paled from its bronzed hue to a tone much closer to hers. Right. No time to think, just to do.

“Out, Rabbit.” She clenched her teeth, searched within herself, and yanked the beast by its ears. “Heal him.”

Rabbit shirked back but she didn’t allow it to bolt from her grasp. Not this time.

Leaning forward, she brushed her fingers against Sheng’s wound. The gauze had halted the bleeding, but the cut was nasty. A spark flared as she made contact with his skin, and she pressed her fingers into his torso to stop her hand from jerking back.

He rolled his eyes open, dark narrow slits that gleamed—Tiger aroused.

Energy fogged over her, slinking, winding, as Rabbit slowly cloaked her with its essence.

But Sheng? Nope. Tiger emerged from his body, cloaking him with fluid grace. Like the hologram tipped forward, she no longer saw Sheng. Instead, a massive beast sprawled before her.

Her jaw slacked open. “You’re beautiful.”

Tiger was. Pale blue-gray eyes, glinting with a metallic sheen and so full of wisdom, were set in a face both fearsome and majestic. The stripes of black streaking its face were striking. Most unusual was how his Tiger didn’t possess any orange fur. Sections of white offset the black stripes, but most of its fur was slate gray.