Chapter Three

An hour away my fucking ass. Technically, Storm could see Cyrus had been right. If he'd been a bird and done the whole "crow flies" type of thing, then the coordinates he'd been given would have been about an hour away from the Alley. But he was driving a car on winding roads. At one point Storm genuinely believed he was heading in the wrong direction. But no, it was clear the road simply took "taking the scenic route" to a whole new level.

It really shouldn't have been a surprise that the road didn't take him to the coordinates Storm had been given, either. It was a rural location. It wasn't as though Cyrus had given him a specific street address. But by the time Storm had worked out he wasn't going to get any closer to those coordinates with his car, he'd already driven past the place where he'd have the least amount of forest area to hike through. Which meant doubling back, finally parking his vehicle on a small turnoff that basically went ten yards off the road and stopped.

That's when Storm found out someone, probably Devon because they had the same size feet, had clearly borrowed the hiking boots he always left in the trunk of his car and hadn't returned them. Storm looked down at his Italian loafers and grimaced. He could shift, but without knowing what the type of terrain he'd be dealing with, or the situation he'd be walking into, he'd prefer to be on two legs instead of four. Deciding to send an invoice to the company for his shoes, through Cyrus of course, Storm headed into the bush, using the coordinates and map on his phone to get him at least close to the destination.

It got dark quickly. The sun Storm had been enjoying in his shifted form just hours before seemed to disappear behind the horizon fast, as if knowing Storm was on a mission best conducted in the shadows. As he tramped through the undergrowth, keeping a sharp eye on his phone and the direction he was going, Storm pondered his life choices.

It wasn't that he was squeamish about taking out bad guys. It gave him a reason to get out of bed in the morning. And since he and his assassin colleagues had all moved onto the land owned by Cyrus, who was the fated mate of Python, Storm's demon friend/assassin, life outside of work was a lot more relaxed, slow paced, and Storm dared to think, fun.

Gwen at the bakery next to where Cyrus had his workshop, always got the bacon on the grill when she saw him running past her shop, giving him a reason to sprint all the faster so he could get back and sample her baking. Still sweaty in his shorts and tank top, he'd run in just long enough to take the bag handed to him. Flashing a smile at the wonderful woman, he'd already be tearing the bag open as he ran back out again – always remembering to nod politely to any of the locals who were enjoying their early morning coffees. Staying friendly with the locals was another new part of the assassin's code.

Cyrus's place was handy to a couple of large towns, so finding company if he wanted any was never a problem. But since moving out of the cul-de-sac where they'd previously been forced to live, Storm and his friends all seemed to be happy spending more time at home in their downtime. Between Flint with his garden, and Levi, Calvin, and Devon working on projects in the huge workshop, Storm was the only one who didn't technically have a hobby. But he always helped out with anything when asked – when he wasn't sunning his shifted form on the large rock next to Flint's house.

The only issue Storm could see as he moved as quickly as he could to his destination was that he was not a rural person. He preferred his kills in more urban areas – places where he was given an address, be it a bar, club, office, or private home, and he could take care of business without ruining his shoes. Storm didn't consider himself a wimp by any means, but after growing up with barely the shirt on his back, Storm liked to look after the things he had bought and paid for in his adult life.

And tromping through all manner of shit and decaying vegetation is not something recommended by the sellers of my fine shoes, he thought with a sigh. But even as he was mentally tallying the cost of the shoe replacements, his crocodile stirred and Storm tensed. His animal half was a placid beast for the most part. Storm had no issues shifting regularly, and he and his animal spirit were nearly always in tune. If something was causing his crocodile to take notice, Storm needed to as well.

That's when he heard it. A faint scream – coming from the direction of the coordinates on the map. Fuck, don't tell me I'm too late. Storm would never forgive himself if a victim died just because he was fretting over his shoes. Breaking into a run, the one usually reserved for Gwen's bacon buns, Storm crashed through the bushes, dodging trees, claws erupting from his fingertips and his gums itching.

He was close. Storm could scent death before he saw the cabin, or what passed for one. The smell was faint, as if the bodies had been buried for some time, but it was there. Storm's anxiety rose as the screams got louder. There wasn't time to check out the scene – a sensible thing to do when confronting a bear shifter – Storm needed to save whoever was making all the noise.

Damn it, there was a driveway. Storm spotted a car, covered in scratches and mud splatters, as he crossed the small clearing between trees and the dwelling. Although it wasn't a dwelling as such. It was a hut that clearly hadn't seen a paint brush in a dozen decades.

"Help. He's trying to kill me. Help me! I don't want to die!"

Claws will have to do. Putting on a final burst of speed, Storm ran through the door – yes, it was closed, but a pissed off crocodile had a ton of strength behind him. Wood splintered everywhere, and in normal situations that would be enough to stop a mad man trying to kill another with a machete. A sweet, gorgeous looking being who was chained to the fucking floor, and who was screaming loud enough to wake the dead buried outside.

"Oi!" Clearly his entrance wasn't going to stop the bear shifter from his mission, so Storm had to get on with his. Taking two steps, he leaped, clinging to the bear's back, wrapping his arms around the man's throat.

The man's arms were still swinging wildly, and that machete looked lethal. Storm's added weight to the man's neck caused him to stumble, and Storm tried to swing his body so that the bear would move away from the tied-up being. The chained man wasn't human, but damn he smelled delicious, and it was in that moment Storm realized why he'd been sent…

Intervention from on high. There's some canny gods around, that's for sure. But Storm had a job to do first. Despite how it was depicted in movies, strangling a person to death wasn't easy, especially when the man Storm was trying to take down had to be at least a hundred pounds heavier than him and most of that must be around his neck.

Storm grunted, his claws digging into the flesh under his fingers, seeking the main arteries. The bear must've finally realized he was serious, and punched back with his elbows, trying to dislodge Storm from his back. Storm huffed as the madman smashed himself backward against the wall, the wooden planks cracking under the impact.

I'm still breathing, yes. Storm huffed and then growled as the damn man did it again. The creaks in the wood sounded more ominous.

"Oh, my gods, you'll bring the ceiling down," the chained man screamed and over the bear's shoulder, Storm could see he was tugging frantically, trying to get his cuffs off. "I am never going after a shifter dick again. I am never going to touch a shifter dick again. I'm…"

"Hold that thought, sweetie." The next time the bear went to slam him back against the wall, Storm was ready for him, one set of claws piercing the neck flesh while the other found just the right spot on the bear's back. Help me out here, Storm sent to his animal half, and as the bear slammed back Storm held his clawed hands firm. The force the bear moved back with propelled Storm's claws through the gaps in his rib cage, and there was a clatter as the machete fell to the floor at the same time Storm's claws connected with the bear's heart muscle.

Of course, he couldn't just drop dead. No, that would be too easy. Instead, it was like a scene from one of the old time movies Storm enjoyed, where a robot or giant monster's death had to fill in five minutes before the next commercial break. The bear wheeled his arms, groaning like a broken tractor. Storm couldn't let go. He didn't dare let go until the bear went down. They stumbled from one wall to the other, the bear's shoulders taking most of the impact, but Storm was going to have some bruises as well.

Finally, the bear's legs must've realized there was no longer a heart pumping around the necessities of life, and the big man started to slump.

"I'll teach you to chain me up and then try and kill me."

Storm's eyes widened as he saw the chained man, with both hands wrapped around the handle of the machete. The intent was clear. "Don't do it," he yelled urgently as the chained man thrust the blade deep into the bear's guts.

"Well damn." Storm winced as the blade connected with his innards too. "The blade was longer than the bear was wide, sweetie," he groaned as he and the bear both fell to the ground, barely missing the chained man. "Shit. I appear to be bleeding. Please excuse me while I shift."

"Oh, no, I'm so sorry." The man in chains crumpled to his knees, tears pouring down his face, as Storm's crocodile came through.