Framing Felipe (11 page)

Strong.
And
his
choice
wasn’t
about
machismo.
It
was
about
assessing
probable

outcomes
and
likelihood
of
success.
He
knew
he
could
take
either
creature.
He’d
done
it

before,
but
he
wanted
to
leave
as
little
chance
of
risk
for
the
others
as
possible.
Sarah
could

bitch
about
it
later.
He
looked
forward
to
it,
in
fact,
and
grinned
as
his
skin
meshed
with
the

surrounding
air.

As
he
disappeared,
already
moving
toward
the
woods,
Sarah
ran
shouting,
“I’m
out
of

bullets—”
and
her
eyes
went
wide,
staring
his
direction.

He
knew
why.
He
was
there,
and
then
he
wasn’t.

“Felipe?”

He
said
nothing
because
he
had
no
mouth.
He
passed
Tamara,
now
struggling
to
her

feet,
and
willed
his
unbound
feet
to
hit
the
ground
harder—faster—setting
his
sights
on
the

trees
and
praying
he
wouldn’t
lose
the
faster
mercenary
to
the
woods.
If
he
made
it
that
far,

he
could
shift
into
any
number
of
beasts
and
Felipe
wouldn’t
be
able
to
tell
if
he
were

dealing
with
man
or
animal.

He
pushed
harder,
faster,
until
he
overtook
the
injured
mercenary,
but
he
didn’t
stop

completely.
He
re-‐materialized
long
enough
to
whisk
a
leg
in
front
of
the
gimp,
and
sent

him
crashing
to
the
ground
with
a
grunt.

He
kept
moving,
phasing
as
he
went.
He
didn’t
turn
to
see
if
Sarah
had
followed.
He’d

just
have
to
trust
she
had.

He
focused
all
his
concentration
his
body’s
movement,
imagining
he
was
wind
being

expelled
from
a
turbine,
and
found
another
jolt
of
speed.
Never
before
had
he
moved
so

quickly
in
that
shapeless
form,
and
suddenly
he
understood
why
Jacques
kept
him
and

FRAMING FELIPE
–
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–
Holley Trent

Fabian
on
such
short
leashes.
Was
this
how
their
father
had
been?
Wild
and
dangerous?

This
freedom—this
power
—was
exhilarating
yet
terrifying
at
the
same
time.
If
he
kept
at
it,

would
he
be
like
some
plane
that’d
lost
structural
cohesion
a
mile
over
the
Earth?
Would
he

send
all
this
bits
scattered
into
the
woods,
never
able
to
piece
them
together
again?
What

would
that
mean
for
his
soul?
Would
he
just
perish—fade
away
without
his
human

trappings,
or
were
they
just
an
illusion,
anyway?

Stop
philosophizing.
Save
the
energy.

He
drew
his
physical
form
together,
binding
cells
and
blood
and
flesh
and
fabric
just
in

time
to
cut
in
front
of
the
fleeing
mercenary
and
throw
his
hundred
and
seventy
pounds

onto
the
man’s
charging
form.
They
fell
to
the
soggy
ground
with
grunts,
and
before
the

hired
gun
could
work
out
what
had
transpired,
Felipe
had
has
hand
on
the
side
of
the

mercenary’s
head
and
pushed
his
nose
and
cheek
into
the
leafy
thatch.

“Stay
still,
puta
,”
Felipe
said,
pressing
his
other
arm
against
the
man’s
throat.
“Don’t
do

anything
stupid.”

Tamara
jogged
over,
her
pretty
face
pulled
into
a
scowl
and
clothes
stained
red.
With
a

muttered
oath
in
her
native
tongue,
she
reared
back
and
delivered
a
well-‐placed
kick
to
the

man’s
side.
Felipe
had
barely
gotten
out
of
the
way
before
the
blow
connected.

The
mercenary
howled
in
pain,
and
but
Tamara
seemed
unmoved.
She
ground
the
sole

of
her
combat
boot
against
the
side
of
his
head
and
reached
into
her
back
pocket.
With
a

grunt,
she
extended
a
pair
of
handcuffs
to
Felipe.

He
slapped
them
onto
the
man
and
yanked
him
to
his
feet.

“Still
don’t
like
you,”
she
said,
pulling
the
now-‐bruised
man
along
beside
her,
pointing
a

gun
at
him
as
they
moved.

Felipe
clapped
dirt
and
leaves
from
his
palms
and
chuckled.
“Don’t
care.
Ingrata
.”

“Didn’t
ask
for
your
help,”
she
said,
loosening
her
grip
on
the
mercenary
long
enough
to

flick
a
particular
finger
up
at
Felipe.

With
that
large
distraction
out
of
the
way,
he
turned
his
further
up
the
field,
and
felt
the

knot
in
his
belly
release
when
he
confirmed
his
opportunity
was
still
completely
in
tact.
No

worse
for
the
wear,
she
seemed.
In
fact,
she
looked
fresh
as
a
daisy
without
so
much
as
a

hair
out
of
place
as
she
cuffed
the
injured
man’s
wrists.
It
wasn’t
for
lack
of
a
struggle,

FRAMING FELIPE
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–
Holley Trent

either.
The
man
seemed
bloodier,
probably
courtesy
of
one
of
Sarah’s
harness
boots.
The

women
seemed
to
gleefully
use
their
footwear
as
deadly
weapons.

“Seen
these
before,”
he
said,
when
he’d
reached
Sarah’s
side.

Annoyance
flitted
across
her
face,
and
he
knew
there
was
a
sharp
retort
on
her
tongue,

but
whatever
it
was
she
kept
it
at
bay.
Through
clenched
teeth,
she
grumbled,
“I
assume

that’s
why
you
got
in
my
way
earlier.”

“Yes.”
In
Spanish,
he
explained,
“They
can
shift
into
whatever
form
they
imagine
with

some
effort,
although
each
has
their
favored
forms.
Most
have
one
particular
form
they

fight
in.
They’re
mercenaries.
They
hang
around
us
weird
people
a
lot.
I’ve
seen
them

before
at
the
circus,
dealing
with
Jacques.
Fabian
didn’t
trust
them.
Did
some
prying
about

them.
They
call
themselves
Visa
after
the
shape-‐shifting
Hindu
earth
goddess
Visahari,

although
I
don’t
know
their
original
origins.
Given
their
ability
to
become
both
larger
and

smaller,
you
should
expect
that
those
cuffs
won’t
hold
them
long.
You
need
to
lock
them
up

someplace
secure.”

“Okay…”
They
slowed
as
they
approached
the
house.
“Locked
up.
Got
it.”

Tamara
joined
their
little
clump
along
with
a
couple
of
the
were-‐cats
who’d
been

momentarily
stunned
by
the
Visas.
They
flanked
the
poachers
and
looked
to
the
ladies
for

instruction.

Felipe
chuckled.
Looks
like
they
knew
perfectly
who
not
to
cross.

Sarah
handed
her
wounded
captive
off
to
the
cats
and
fisted
her
hands,
propping
them

on
her
hips
as
she
turned
toward
Felipe.
The
glint
in
her
eyes
was
the
opposite
from
the

sort
of
passion
he
usually
incited
in
women.

Here
we
go.
He
crossed
his
arms
over
his
chest
and
cocked
an
eyebrow
up
as
she

approached.

“Hey,
Felipe?”

She
used
his
name.
That
was
probably
better
than
being
called
asshole,
which
was
what

he
expected.
“Yes,
shrew?”

“You
were
out
of
line.”

“I
didn’t
realize
there
was
a
line.
I
knew
I
could
help,
so
I
did.
You’re
welcome,
by
the

way.”

FRAMING FELIPE
–
43
–
Holley Trent

She
drew
in
a
deep
breath
and
let
it
escape
through
her
clenched
teeth.
There
was
an

eruption
simmering
beneath
that
calm
façade,
but
he
knew
she
was
putting
on
a
show
of

solidarity
for
the
sake
of
the
Visas.
She’d
never
rage
in
front
of
them,
because
that
would

indicate
in
a
way
that
the
Shrews
had
been
unprepared.

His
turn
to
take
a
deep
breath,
and
unlike
Sarah,
it
wasn’t
because
he
was
angry.
It
was

because
she
smelled
like
mangos
and
sweat
and
woman.
He’d
never
been
so
turned
on.

Even
with
her
scowling
at
him,
she
was
a
vision.
Perfection
in
leather.

“Dana
would
have
my
neck
if
anything
happened
to
you.”

“I
know
you
were
hired
to
do
a
job,
but
this
seems
backward.”

Some
of
the
anger
seeped
from
her
expression,
and
now
her
visage
was
marked
with

curiosity.
Intrigue.
“What
seems
backward?”

“You
minding
me.
I
feel
like
it
should
be
the
other
way
around.”

And
she
laughed—a
genuine,
rumbling
laugh
of
amusement
that
came
with
a

headshake
and
her
turning
on
her
heels.
She
strode
toward
the
porch
and
said,
“I’m
an
ex-‐

Marine,
Felipe.
I
can
take
care
of
myself.”

With
any
other
woman,
he
would
have
let
it
drop.
He’d
already
established
she
was
far

from
normal.
He
wouldn’t
want
her
otherwise.
“Just
because
you
can,
doesn’t
mean
you

have
to
all
the
time.”

She
paused
in
the
doorway,
her
back
to
him,
and
rested
her
hand
on
the
frame
a

moment.
He
expected
she
was
working
up
a
particularly
nasty
response,
but
in
the
end,
she

just
shook
her
head
and
reached
inside
the
doorway
for
something.

On
the
way
back
down,
she
carried
a
key
ring
and
hardly
acknowledged
him
as
she

descended
the
stairs.
“They’ll
be
okay
in
the
bread
truck
for
a
while,”
she
called
out
to

Tamara
and
the
cats.

Tamara
nodded,
and
handily
caught
the
keys
Sarah
tossed
at
her.
She
unclasped
the

padlock
and
the
cats
pushed
the
wounded
Visa
into
the
back
of
the
vehicle.

“Why
do
you
own
one
of
these
things?”
Felipe
asked,
gesturing
to
the
truck.

Sarah
shrugged.
“One
of
the
were-‐cats
owns
a
car
graveyard.
This
was
brought
in.
He

fixed
it
up
and
asked
Patrick
if
he
wanted
it.
Patrick
was
thinking
about
tricking
it
out
and

using
it
for
the
pub.”

FRAMING FELIPE
–
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–
Holley Trent

Tamara
drew
the
gate
down
and
reattached
the
lock.
“Since
we’re
not
savages,
we

should
probably
get
the
one
you
shot
some
medical
attention,”
she
said
to
Sarah.

“Pretty
sure
one
of
those
bullets
in
him
is
one
of
yours.”