Illuminating His Bear by Charlie Richards

Chapter Ten

Within fifteen minutes, Kontra’s people had set up chairs, tables, tents, and the vast array of food trays had been moved outside. The grill had been started, a bonfire lit, and there were plenty of camping chairs. The scent of grilling meat filled the air.

Congo’s stomach was so tied up in knots that he didn’t think he would be able to eat a damn thing. Only with Zhaul’s continued encouragement did he manage to finish what had been on the plate he’d carried out. He made a mental note to go in and place the dirty one he’d left on the table into the dishwasher… assuming there was one.

“Relax, Congo,” Payson urged, flopping onto a nearby camping chair. He grabbed Land and pulled the human onto his lap. “We’re really, really good at this.”

As Congo watched, Payson took one of the beers Land had been holding. Land held a second out to him. After a second of hesitation, Congo took it, seeing as he’d drained his first.

“Good at what?” Zion asked curiously. The bear shifter sat on the ground, his legs crossed before him, and was steadily making his way through several pieces of fried chicken. Evidently, seeing the witches pay for their crimes gave Zion an appetite.

Congo’s other bears were clustered around them, either sitting in chairs or opting for the ground like Zion.

“Good at making people pay for their crimes,” Land told them, taking a sip of the white wine that Zhaul had declined with a soft reply of, I’ll get some more in a bit. Then Land’s nose wrinkled, and at first, Congo thought it was because he didn’t like the wine. Then Land pointed out, “Although, technically, this time, I think it’s the horsemen who stopped the witches and are making them pay.”

“As long as it gets done,” Zion began around a mouthful of food. “I don’t give a shit who does it.”

“Here, here!” Payson lifted his beer in salute to Zion, who grinned and nodded in response. After swallowing a mouthful, he hummed and peered around as if searching for someone. “I think one of them is here.”

“You’re very perceptive, little hyena,” a deep rumbly voice came from behind him.

Payson snickered while squinting, as if that would make it easier to see whoever—probably a horseman. “Who you callin’ little, dude?”

“Weeell.” The male drew the word out for a heartbeat. Then he appeared, and Congo damn near fell off his chair. “I am a lot bigger than you.”

That was an understatement. A hulking male stood before them. He sported skin dark as midnight with muscles upon muscles. His eyes were blood red, he had red horns atop his head, and huge red bat-like wings billowed behind him.

“You must be War.” Payson didn’t seem fazed at all. Instead, he grinned broadly as he eyed War up and down, who bowed grandly as if accepting an overture. “Hey, can I touch your wings?”

War tipped his head back and laughed. “Sure.” He brought one forward, dangling it before Payson.

“Sweet.” Payson immediately began petting the appendage. “So much softer than I thought it’d be.” He gripped it and pushed it toward Land. “Check it out.”

After a few seconds and a covert look at War, Land touched the appendage, too.

Congo could only stare in shock at the brazen pair.

Chuckling, War tugged his wing away from them, saying, “Unlike with gargoyles and even a few demons, a horseman’s wings are not sexual.” With a wink, he started toward the bonfire where Kontra stood with several others. War called over his shoulder, his gaze meeting Congo’s, “They make fantastic weapons in battle, though.”

“I guess I should have taken that drink after all,” Zhaul whispered.

Absently, unable to tear his gaze away from War’s massive frame, Congo held out his beer bottle to Zhaul.

Not surprisingly, Zhaul took it.

A second later, another male arrived—pale and slender, wearing a black cloak and carrying a scythe.

Death he recognized.

After a few words together, Kontra pointed in Congo’s direction. They all headed toward Congo and his group. Stopping a few feet away, War gave them another wide smile. Death swept his gaze over them, appearing somewhat relieved.

“I’m pleased to see you well,” Death told them, his relief obvious. “Even though I’ve been told that you’re still struggling with some… after-effects.”

Unable to help himself, Congo scoffed. “Well, if by after-effects, with some very careful wording, the only orders we’re spell-bound to follow are Kontra’s… yeah, we’re doing much better.”

War grunted, resting his hands on his hips. “It could be worse,” he pointed out. “You could still be under the witch circle’s control.”

Congo nodded. “True enough.”

Clapping his hands together, War glanced between them. “So, I understand in the paranormal culture, restitution is in order.” Then War scowled as he added, “Uh, I’m not certain how it applies in this case, unless you intend to inflict everything on them that they did to you.”

“Watching their deaths will suffice,” Congo stated coldly. “We just need to know they can’t ever return.”

“Not me,” Zion rumbled on a snarl. “I plan to be the executioner.” A feral anger bled into his voice as his scent turned sour. “They cost me the only blood family I have. I want vengeance.”

“Fair enough,” Death responded, not at all sounding surprised or taken aback. “Their lives are yours.”

Zion grunted with acceptance.

A second later, three figures appeared—two large black demons standing on either side of a bound female. There was a hood on the woman, and she swayed. The male on the right gripped her upper arm, holding her up.

In the next instant, six more people appeared. They stood a few paces to the first trio’s left. There were four demon guards and two bound females. One woman drooped against one of the guards, appearing unconscious. The second woman stood straight and tall, her stance screaming her defiance. Once again, they wore hoods.

Setting his plate aside, Zion rose to his feet, brushing off the seat of his pants as he went.

Congo rose as well and moved toward Zion, lending his support to his clearly angry sleuth-member. He rested his hand on his friend’s shoulder, squeezing lightly. Feeling his mate step up next to him, Congo wished he could keep the man back, but he knew asking would just annoy his lover.

“Let’s go meet the witches,” Congo rumbled, glancing between Death and War.

Both horsemen dipped their chin in nods. Then they turned and led the way.

After Congo had taken a few steps, he glanced behind him. While all of his bears had risen to their feet, three had expectant looks on their faces. Shannon shifted from foot to foot while rubbing the back of his neck.

Congo made a mental note to speak with Shannon soon, perhaps try to help him settle. He was clearly having a tough time with something.

Stopping before the group, War flicked his fingers. All three of the hoods were yanked off. He felt his heart skip a beat as he recognized all of them.

The haughty blonde on the left was one of the ones who’d cut sigils into their backs. The other two, brunettes, had been there chanting, lending strength to the spells. While one dark-haired woman looked around in fear, the other, plus the blonde, glared with hatred at them. The blonde’s gaze even held contempt, her lip curling with obvious scorn, even around her ball-gag.

“Lisa Melbram, Connie Espie, and Winoan Rouldran,” Death toned solemnly. “You have all been found guilty in the kidnapping and subjugation of shifters, resulting in many deaths. How do you plead?”

For a few seconds, no one spoke.

Unable to help his curiosity, Congo murmured, “How are they supposed to answer while gagged?”

“Oh, we broke through the spells they were using to shield their minds,” War replied, a growl in his tone. He pinned his attention on the blonde. “We can read their minds.” War’s eyes narrowed. “And what you just said, Lisa. Not nice.”

Lisa responded by growling and trying to shout through the ball-gag.

Death stepped back and swung his hand toward them, his focus falling on Zion. “They are yours to dispatch as you please.”

Even as Zion whipped his shirt over his head, obviously preparing to shift, a bolt of light streaked out of the trees and slammed into the shifter’s chest. Zion flew backward, landed with a thud, and slid several feet across the dirt.

Congo tackled Zhaul to the ground. At the same time, the demons spread their wings and chanted. The next shot slammed into a shield and crackled around them for a few seconds before the energy dissipated.

Peering Zion’s way, Congo felt a measure of relief when he spotted his chest rise and fall. Doctor Eli seemed to appear out of nowhere, dropping beside the downed bear. Shifters shot in all directions, in both human and animal form.

The horsemen were nowhere to be seen.

Except, as Congo watched, he never scented panic or heard screams. Instead, there were roars of challenge and swift animals streaking into the woods—toward where the shots were being fired from.

Just as swiftly as it started, the attack ended. A naked Kontra exited the trees, flanked by an equally nude Sam—his beta and a Texas longhorn bull shifter—as well as Mutegi and Payson, who were still in animal form.

“Zion okay?” Kontra immediately asked, his gaze falling upon him.

Eli nodded. “Looks like a stunning spell,” he revealed. His dark eyes glittered with anger. “Seems they were trying to retake him… and perhaps more of us.”

“I wanna know how the fuck they knew where we are,” Kontra bellowed. “Get me some information. Now!”

“Someone called them,” Draven replied, slipping from between another set of trees. He shoved a gagged woman before him and held up a cell phone. “From Payson’s number.”

“What?” Kontra scowled as he glanced from Payson in hyena form—who snarled in anger—back to Draven. “Who?”

Draven shrugged. “Don’t know.”

“I’ll let you know,” War claimed, stalking from the forest. He dragged an unconscious woman in one hand and a young male acolyte in the other. The human whimpered, clutching the witch’s herb satchel to his chest when War dropped them both ceremoniously to the ground. Lifting his palm, War twitched his fingers in a gimme motion. “Give her here.” The young man rolled to his belly, making as if to crawl away. Lifting his clawed foot, War landed it on the human’s back. “Stay there, asshole.”

“Don’t hurt him!” Shannon screamed, streaking across the yard. He skidded to a stop, sliding to the ground. A clearly surprised War lifted his foot when Shannon grabbed the man and tucked him against his chest in a protective embrace. “Please, don’t hurt him.”

Congo helped Zhaul to his feet before they both headed toward Shannon and the man he held—protected. “Shannon, what’s going on?”

“I did it,” Shannon admitted, anguish filling his voice as he glanced around at everyone. “I called them. I had to.” His voice broke as he repeated, “I had to.”

Even as Congo’s gut twisted uncomfortably, he demanded, “Why, Shannon? Why would you call the goddamned witches and tell them where we are?” As Congo continued to question his sleuth-member, he couldn’t help how his voice rose in volume.

Shannon’s actions had put not only Zhaul in danger but the other sleuth-members as well… not to mention everyone else.

Sorrow flooding Shannon’s dark eyes, he pinned his gaze on Congo. “He’s my mate,” he whispered. After a glance down at the man curled up and trembling in his arms, who still refused to lift his head, Shannon darted his gaze around the group. “This is Evan. Evan Reyes. He’s my mate. I-I-I had no way to find him.” Shannon turned pleading eyes on Congo once more. “Evan became an acolyte for the witches a year and a half ago. I had to rescue him from their perversity.”

“You met your mate a year and a half ago, and you couldn’t do anything about it?” Zhaul’s quietly rumbled question was filled with quiet sympathy. “I’m so sorry.”

“Well, shit,” Kontra grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. “Guess I understand why you did it.” Shaking his head, he muttered, “Just wish you would have come to us to help instead of giving up our location.”

“You owe Zion and anyone else who was injured restitution,” Congo declared, frustration swelling through him. Rubbing his hand over his face, he turned his attention to Kontra and shrugged helplessly. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry we put you and your people in danger.”

Sure, Congo understood Shannon’s actions, too, but there most definitely had to have been a better way. The entire sleuth—hell, probably most of Kontra’s gang—would have helped discover Evan’s whereabouts. Instead, Shannon had gone off half-cocked and created problems for them all.

Kontra sighed heavily, resting his hand on Congo’s shoulders. “We’re always in danger, and we can handle it.” Then he scowled at Shannon. “Take Evan to a room upstairs,” he ordered. “We’re going to need to talk to him.”

Shannon looked beyond relieved and quickly rose to his feet. Tucking the whimpering human to his chest, he started away. He paused after a few steps and looked back at them.

“I-I’m sorry,” Shannon whispered, anguish on his features. “I just—” He shrugged, his lips twisting into a grimace. “Sorry,” Shannon muttered again before rushing away.

After Shannon had disappeared, Kontra rumbled, “Don’t worry, Congo. We’ll deal with this. We’ll be safe.” His eyes narrowed, and a low growl rumbled from him even as his smile held an aggressive surety. “We’re not alone in this. Not anymore.” Then Kontra sobered. “But if you feel the need to be sent to a new location, I’ll see that it’s done.”

Congo hesitated an instant as he searched out the faces of his sleuth-members. The other three wore grim smiles. Madagascar offered him a crooked grin as he indicated the guys around them with his chin.

Getting it, Congo returned his gaze to Kontra. “No. We’re where we want to be right now… if you’ll still have us.”

When Congo felt Zhaul squeeze his side, Congo knew he’d made the right choice in his request.

Kontra smiled warmly as he nodded. “I’m glad to hear it.”

Before Congo could come up with anything else to say, Death stalked from the forest. He, too, dragged an unconscious woman. Tossing her at their feet, the horseman grinned broadly.

“It wasn’t all for naught.” Death held up a thick tome that appeared to be covered in a red leather hide. “They had The Red Book on them.”

War scoffed, his grin wide and creepy. “Well, thank fuck for that.”