“Hop on,” I order. As soon as Canyon scrambles onto the back of the bike, I throttle it forward, away from the commotion.
A few cheetahs dive in our direction, but I weave around them. Deke makes fun of my crotch rocket, but for speed and maneuverability, nothing compares. I end up swerving past the warehouse, right as the three bookie shifters come out. The bird shifter blinks behind his huge glasses and twitches, producing a cloud of white feathers. His buddy clutches his gray hair.
The third one looks delighted. “Jay-sus,” he says in a thick Irish accent. “It’s anarchy.”
And it is. The parking lot is a mass of howling cat shifters and scorched pavement, ridden with flames.
I’ll have to text an apology to Jared and Trey.
“Hang on,” I bark to Canyon and rev the bike to leap a low concrete barrier and then another. We dodge a cluster of werepanthers sitting on the hoods of their pimped-out Honda Civics. They hiss but don’t make a move to follow us.
There’s only one road in and out of this commercial block. We catch up to Deke and the others as the van turns onto the main road.
“Whoohoo, home free,” Canyon whoops.
A roar blasts at our back. Canyon hunches against me.
“Oh no,” he says, his voice cracking midway through.
I risk a glance back.
Hannibal’s behind us on a bike of his own. His sunglasses are back on his face. His jeans are torn and stained at the knee, but there’s no other evidence that I shot him. The bullets might as well have been dual mosquito bites for all it stopped him.
He roars again, coming for us. He’s on a huge hog that looks modified somehow. For all its bulk, the bike’s wicked fast.
“Hold tight,” I say to Canyon, and he does. He’s ridden on the back of a bike before, thank fates. I zoom up to Deke in the van. “Hostile,” I shout. “Hostile six o’clock.”
“Ten-four,” Deke growls. He leadfoots the van onto the main road, but he won’t be fast enough to outrun Hannibal. I zoom back behind the van, guarding the rear.
“What do we do?” Canyon shouts.
We? “You were supposed to go with your brothers,” I snarl.
“You needed help.” Canyon’s arms tighten around me as we lean into a curve. “Never leave a man behind.”
“You're not in the military.” I glance behind us again. Hannibal is gaining.
“That's only because they won't let me join,” Canyon bawls into my ear.
Fair enough. “Where did you get the Molotov cocktails?”
“Some guy was making them. I took them off his hands.” Canyon twists and reports. “He’s catching up.”
We’re on a long stretch of road. No civilians. I could stop the bike and stand my ground, give Deke a chance to escape, but that’ll put Canyon in danger. I lost my gun when I shifted.
I’m out of ideas.
“What is that shifter?” Canyon asks.
“I don't know. He hid his scent with clove oil.”
“So that's why I couldn't smell him. My nose went numb.”
“Yeah.” My voice is growing hoarse with all the ridiculous shouting, but I want to continue the conversation. I want Canyon to understand. Not sure why I want to teach the kid, but I do. “He's hiding something,” I explain, leaning into another turn. Deke has to slow the van to make it, and we lose another few yards to Hannibal. “He doesn't want us to know what he is.”
“Fuck,” Canyon mutters softly.
Hannibal’s almost on us.
The van doors fly open. Hutch and Bern are there, bracing on either side of a rocket launcher.
I nod to them, but keep my bike between them and Hannibal, right in the enemy’s line of sight.
We go around another curve. Deke whips through it. Hannibal’s a few feet away, his noisy hog ripping the air. Once we’re on a straight stretch of road, Deke slows.
“Clear!” Bern shouts, and I zip Canyon and I out of their way. The rocket sizzles past us. There's a boom and the heat of an explosion hits the back of my neck.
Canyon laughs.
I pull alongside the van, holding steady.
“Did they get him?” I ask.
“They got his bike,” Canyon says.
“Even better.” I grin and give Deke a thumbs-up. He nods, and we slow to cruising speed. Hannibal’s roar echoes at our backs as we speed away into the night.
Chapter Two
Channing
“I can’t believe you let them shoot a rocket launcher,” I say to Deke. The van’s pulled over on the side of the road, and Canyon has rejoined his brothers.
Deke grunts.
I’m wearing the high-tech boxer shorts developed by the military to cling in place, even after we shift. I pull on an extra pair of sweatpants I keep in my bike’s cargo hold along with my wallet. The space is too small to fit much else, so I still need a shirt, jacket, and boots.
Hashtag shifter problems.
“I guess it turned out okay.” I stuff the thin military suit into the cargo hold and shut it. “You going to be okay to get these guys home?”
Deke glowers at the triplets, who are retelling their parts in tonight’s mission to each other, adding more blood and guns. “Where are you going?”
“Private mission. I already cleared it with Rafe.” I keep my tone light, but my chest tightens, and I catch the ghostly whiff of a lilac and lavender scent.
Deke frowns but says nothing.
“Hey, Deke.” Canyon gallops to his side. “Can I shoot the rocket launcher next?”
Deke glares at me as if to say I can’t believe you’re sticking me with werebear-sitting duty. “No.”
“But what if that guy Hannibal comes back?” Hutch asks.
“You run,” I say. “You’re probably faster than him on foot.”
Canyon opens his mouth, and I snap, “That's an order.”
“Sir, yessir!” Canyon and his brothers stiffen and toss sloppy salutes.
“See,” I say to Deke. “You’ll be fine.” I mount my bike. My feet are gonna freeze in the wind, but what am I going to do?
“Where are your boots?” Canyon asks, zeroing in on my bare feet.
“Lost ‘em when I shifted over the fire,” I answer, leaving out the rest of the explanation. Because I had to save your ass. Again.
Canyon’s ears turn pink. “Here.” He kicks off his boots. “It’s the least I can do.”
I dismount and shove my feet into them. Turns out they’re close to my size, a bit bigger. “Thanks.”
Canyon grins.
Hutch sticks his head out of the van’s passenger side window. “Want my shirt?”
I narrow my eyes at the poofy pirate shirt. “No thanks.”
Bern offers his, but it’s similar to Hutch’s except in black. I pass.
Deke heads to the van and pulls out a bomber jacket, brown leather with a shearling wool lining. He tosses it at me.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“An extra. Take it,” Deke says. “You can’t ride shirtless.”
I could but it’d be weird. “Appreciate it, brother.” I put on the jacket, flip up the collar and hold out my arms. “How do I look?”