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They were close enough to the Tiger camp to hear the bloodcurdling scream.

Zev’s first instinct was that it was Sasha’s voice. His entire body convulsed.

But then Tarkyn fell to his knees with a guttural roar, one hand clapped to his opposing shoulder, writhing in the dirt, sightless with pain.

It took them all a moment to understand what had happened.

Tarkyn, sucking at the air, his face beet red with pain and tendons standing proud, gasped it.

Harth. They had Harth.

Zev’s heart went out to the male who was breathing heavily, curled in the dirt and broken by the pain his mate was experiencing.

“She’s fading… she’s fading… shit… Zev!” Tarkyn’s whisper was hoarse and desperate, his face screwed up and eyes tightly shut and he hissed the things she was showing him—images of the camp, how to approach it, where she and Sasha had been tied… but then the lion groaned and tears squeezed out from beneath his lids, trickling down his cheeks as he felt the feelings, groaning, whispering to his mate, unaware that he spoke because he was tormented—too harrowed to even think straight.

.....

He couldn’t hold it all.

But as he hurriedly tried to advise Tarkyn on how to narrow the link, how to control the flow from his mate, Zev held onto the important fact: Both the females were there. Sasha and Harth were both in the tiger camp, in the hands of some fucker named Lor.

Zev growled at that thought, and as Tarkyn blinked and slowly returned to himself, Zev quickly explained to him and the non-Chimeran wolves, who the tiger was.

Tarkyn managed to sit up, his entire body trembling, face in his hands, fighting against the pain—but then his head snapped up, his cheeks pale and face aghast.

“She’s fading. Fading fast. There’s no more time,” he whispered hoarsely. “We have to get there… I have to get to her!” had to get there.

Strangely, Zev’s heart sang.

As Tarkyn braced his hands on the ground, his body writhing, fighting the intense pain, the male closed his eyes and gave his orders for Zev to share with the wolves.

No more creeping, no more caution.

They were going full frontal assault.

Tarkyn had already sent the Ibex up the mountain to find the sentries. But they had no mindlink. There was no way to know if or when they’d all been found.

Then Tarkyn opened his eyes and looked straight at Zev. “I don’t want to wait.”

Neither did Zev.

It was a matter of seconds. Zev offered a few short instructions on how to narrow the bond link—but Tarkyn only swallowed and shook his head. His entire body trembling.

“I can’t. I might lose her. And when I shift, I won’t hear her anymore. I can’t… I have to be with her right now,” he gasped.

And so, Tarkyn was still sitting in the dirt as he gave the signal that Zev passed down the line. One of the Hares at the back blew the horn of war to alert the owls. Then Zev clasped Tarkyn’s hand to help him to his feet—Tarkyn’s shaking like a leaf in the wind—then both of them took a breath, shifted and, with a fierce roar from Tarkyn, tore silently along the trail—followed by the hundred wolves they’d brought.

Zev’s mind was finally clear, finally certain of his purpose. And his body sang in anticipation of the kill.

He didn’t know if Sasha would hear him—it seemed like she flickered at the back of his mind. But he kept sending anyway, just in case.

I’m coming.

I love you.

I’m almost there.

I am going to burn these motherfuckers to the ground and bring you home. Forever.

*****

~ TARKYN ~

It was tradition among the Anima never to take beast form in battle unless you sought to kill.

Anima duels and challenges could be fought to submission, to first blood, or to death. But always in human form.

Any time an adult shifted for the challenge all bets were off.

It had taken a moment for enough of the haze of pain to clear for Tarkyn to make the decision.

He knew that by shifting he’d be alone in his head, leaving Harth alone in hers while she slowly bled to death—and that tore at him.

What if he lost her while his mind was quiet?

‘I’m coming, Harth,’ he sent desperately.

‘I’m coming.’ No response except her heart—her love for him.

‘Don’t move, beautiful… just keep breathing. I’m almost there.’

When she couldn’t respond with words, when all he felt from her was intense pain, and fading awareness, instinct took over.

The moment he leaped into his lion, his awareness of her—the pain she felt, the blackness creeping up on her mind—was gone. He could think again. His body didn’t shake anymore.

And he was a fucking fury.

His mate was going to die unless he reached her. And he would. He would get her out of there. And if, by some horrific fate, these tigers succeeded in killing his mate… he would make certain they paid with their last breath.

I’m coming, Harth. I’m coming.

Don’t move, beautiful… just keep breathing. I’m almost there.

The broken screams of dying men sounded from above them on the mountainside above them reached his lion-ears, and his heart lifted as he tore down the trail, Zev right on his heels.

He slid around the final corner of the trail, the weight of his lion almost pulling him over the edge of the drop. But he made the turn and dove into the camp, a deluge of wolves pouring from over the side of the trail, down over the steep, shale sides of the mountain like a waterfall of death.

Together, as if of one mind, Chimera and Anima descended on the camp full mostly of Tigers, but a few others as well. They’d all been warned by the horn and turned for weapons.

But they’d only had seconds.

Now they were all going to die.