Tiger heard the exclamation on the other end of Ellison’s cell phone, which must have survived the crash and the shooting. The thing was as resilient as Tiger.

“He’s waking up,” Ellison said. “Who the hell was that?”

“Hell if I know.” Carly’s voice held tears, and two hot droplets fell onto Tiger’s face. “I don’t care right now. He’s still alive. Thank God.”

Carly’s lips touched his cheek. Tiger tried to pucker his in response, showing her how much he’d learned. She didn’t stop weeping, so he must not have done very well.

“Tiger, honey, don’t move,” Carly said. “We’ll get you to a hospital. You’ll be all right.”

“I don’t know,” Ellison said. “He’s amazing, but that was about fifteen rounds from an automatic weapon. It has to have torn him apart inside.”

“Don’t say that. He’s strong. He’s a fighter.”

“We’ll help him the best we can, trust me.”

“Hang on, Tiger. Hang on.”

Carly’s light touch slid through Tiger’s pain, making his heart beat harder, his lungs draw breath. The pain became incandescent then, but Tiger was breathing, functioning. He might not need the Sword of the Guardian yet.

An odd custom, the working part of Tiger’s brain thought. The Guardian’s sword pierced the heart of the dead Shifter, or the dying one, releasing the soul and turning the body to dust. The legend, Sean had told him, said that the Sword had been created to save Shifters’ souls from a nasty, evil Fae prince. The Shifters’ bodies had crumbled to dust, and the souls of the enslaved Shifters had been released, freed to go to the Summerland. The story reassured all Shifters that, though they might be enslaved during life, they never would be in death.

Tiger had been enslaved until last winter—he hadn’t known about the seasons even to know what winter was. Now he was free, at least as free as he could be. He lived under Liam’s watchful eye, had to wear a fake Collar to fool humans into thinking he was still enslaved, and had few remote places in which he could run flat out as a tiger, but it was better than what he’d had.

But now he wanted more. Freedom to be with his mate. The joy of running until he wanted to stop. Tiger was tired of being feared. Mistrusted. In pain. Afraid.

“Carly.” Tiger barely moved his lips, but the sound of his mate’s name gave him strength.

He needed to live, so he could be with her. Forty years of hell had coalesced into the moment he’d seen her backside sticking out of the red car, heard her voice, felt her smile. He’d start believing in the Goddess if he thought she’d known to bring Tiger to the road at the exact moment Carly Randal needed help.

“Carly.”

“Don’t talk. Don’t move.” Carly bent over Tiger, her face streaked with tears. “We’re going to help you. They’re coming.”

“I don’t need . . .”

Talking was too much effort. Keeping his mouth shut was a good idea.

Time must have passed, because more people were now kneeling around him. He’d expected to hear sirens. Humans loved their sirens.

“His breathing is good,” Dylan said above him. “Andrea.”

A smooth, feminine hand pressed to Tiger’s chest, palm flat. He smelled Andrea’s strange half-Shifter scent, the subtler scent of her cub clinging to her. Tiger hoped the boy had been left safely at home. That’s what Shiftertowns were good for. Keeping the cubs safe.

Sean knelt near his mate, the vibrant hum of the Sword of the Guardian shimmering. Tiger had always been able to hear it, though Sean had said that was unusual.

Tiger cracked open his eyes. He could barely see, but he could make out Andrea with her hand around the Sword’s blade, Sean holding its hilt. Curling wisps of silver snaked from the sword into Andrea, and out through Andrea’s hand to Tiger.

“He’s torn up in there,” Andrea said. “A complete mess. So many of them.”

Bullets, she meant. The threads of magic from Andrea hurt—hurt a lot.

Then Carly laid her hand on Tiger’s forehead. The coolness of her touch spread like a balm through his battered body and tangled limbs.

Andrea’s eyes popped open. “Wait. What?”

The new pain that tore through Tiger cut through Carly’s touch, even his mate’s presence not soothing it. Tiger groaned, then the groan turned to a roar. He balled his fists, clenching his jaw.

“What the f**k?” That was from Sean.

White-hot trails flowed through Tiger’s body, paths cutting from the embedded wounds to his skin. Tiger shifted without wanting to, becoming a snarling half-man, half-Tiger beast as the pain continued.

“What are you doing?” Carly cried. “Help him.”

“I can’t.” Andrea pulled away, the silver threads going away with her, but Tiger barely felt the disconnection.

Blood bubbled up from his wounds, and then from new ones as the bullets that had lodged inside him pushed their way out. The bullets clicked together and rolled off him, gathering in little piles around his body.

And it hurt. Tiger kept growling, pain like a blast furnace. The bullets hadn’t hurt this much when they’d gone in.

“They’re closing up,” Carly said, wonder in her voice. “Tiger, how the hell are you doing that?”

If Tiger knew, he’d also find a way to stop the crazy pain. He groped for Carly, and Carly grabbed his hand and held on. Tiger’s beast fur receded as the agony lessened a bit, his human flesh and fingers returning.