Page 1 of Lion's Little Scamp

Chapter One

It was the scream that woke Irish McCullough. Sitting up, she winced as another high-pitched scream broke the silence that settled over the homeless encampment each night, broken only by the croaking of the frogs and an occasional vehicle driving on the highway nearby.

“Sailor?” she whispered, as a large figure rose to her left.

“Gather anything you want to keep and head down the river trail. I’ll keep them distracted and find you later,” the gruff Navy veteran ordered before he headed in the opposite direction where flashing red, blue, and white lights lit up the darkness like strobe lights. “Good luck, girl.”

“You, too.”

While she had only been living in the homeless encampment for a few weeks, she knew this raid was coming. They all did. Their community had grown too big in this secluded area between the river and the trash transfer station, with more people moving in every day. It had only been a matter of time before the city shut them down, and apparently time was now up.

Throwing off the thick, warm quilt she had made by sewing three blankets together, Irish pulled on her shoes. She then pulled on the two oversized sweatshirts she had found in the charity bins when Sailor had taken her there late one night to look for clothes. As she gathered her few belongings and stuffed them into her backpack, she glanced around. Others were already running from where bright lights were now sweeping the area.

Grabbing Fluffy, her stuffed lion, Irish stuffed him down deep in her backpack and then put it on. Wrapping her thick blanket around her shoulders like a cape, she hurried after the others, leaving behind the closest thing she’d had to a home in the last several months.

She followed a man and woman who each carried a child in their arms toward the edge of the small clearing where the camp was located. They apparently knew where they were going as they moved quickly through the brush on the barely-there trail toward the river.

Just before they reached the line of river rocks they used as stepping stones across the low and slow-flowing river, the night lit up around them. She bit her lip to keep from screaming as a shot rang out back at the camp. The scream did escape when someone grabbed her from behind.

She fought for her freedom, but a second man stepped in front of her. A few seconds later, the two men wrapped plastic zip ties around her wrists and ankles. A moment later, a bag was pulled over her head and cinched tight, but not too tight, around her neck. The material was light and breathable, but blocked her vision. Blind and helpless, she went limp as the two men grabbed her arms and someone else caught her legs, carrying her between them back across the river and up the hill.

She didn’t know if they had kept her blanket, or more likely left it behind, but at least she had not lost Fluffy during the struggle. The lion stuffie was the only thing she had left of her parents who had died when she was twelve. With no other living family, and too old to be easily adopted, Irish had been shuffled through several foster homes until she aged out of the system at eighteen.

In the four years since, she had struggled to survive. She had spent more time sleeping in fields or homeless shelters than in a room of her own. But she had learned where to find food, where to clean up, and where she could and could not spend the night. Being part of the camp for the last few weeks had been the most stable her life had been in months. And now she had been snatched up in a raid on the homeless camp. Her life really had hit rock bottom.

After being carried out of the woods, the officer crossed the now empty clearing where the tent village was located. He headed to what appeared to be an impromptu processing center. Tall standing lights had been set up and lit up the area, showing that a number of vehicles were parked and waiting.

The officer set Irish on her feet in front of a long table, then pushed her into a folding chair. “Sit still,” he ordered as he pulled the bag off her head. “You spit and that goes right back on and we add assault to your list of offenses. Don’t even try to run.”

Though she knew she was in trouble, Irish couldn’t help but get sassy. “Like I’m going to get very far hopping like a rabbit.”

The woman on the other side of the table snickered as she looked at the man standing just behind Irish. “She’s got you there, Michaels. Now, Miss, let’s get some basic information to help us decide where to send you.”

Knowing there was no way out, Irish leaned back in her chair, pressing against her backpack so she could confirm Fluffy was still inside as she answered the officer’s questions.

She wanted to argue when the woman decided to send her to the Council for their determination instead of jail to await a trial for trespassing, vagrancy, and several other charges. She had heard all sorts of rumors and stories surrounding Bratburg, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to be sent to a place where young women were “retrained” into polite young women who would fit into society. The problem was, everyone knew about women being sent to Bratburg, but nobody seemed to know where they went after they got out. If they actually got out.

The female officer studied her for a moment and said gently, “Honey, you can’t keep on going the way you have. Bratburg can help you move into a new life.”

Knowing she was right, Irish slowly signed the form in front of her. The woman then looked at the man behind her and nodded. He cut the zip ties from her ankles and then, with a big hand wrapped around her left arm, he led her to one of the patrol cars where another woman about her age waited in the back seat. Once she was settled, another officer climbed into the driver’s seat and drove them away from the best home she’d had in the last four years.

Harrigan Jones stood on the roof of the Council building, his face tilted toward the late afternoon sun. Cold air brushed his skin, the slight breeze chilling his entire body, but Harrigan refused to go downstairs. This was as close to the human population as his lion wanted to be. He loved flying back and forth to the capital, but refused to interact with the people who ran this segment of Bratburg Institute. He should have been born an eagle shifter instead of the king of the jungle.

Approaching footsteps brought him back to the moment. A glance at his watch showed him the hearings were over and it was time to fly the new trainees back to Bratburg. Turning, he watched three guards walk across the roof toward the helicopter, each accompanying a woman. The first two women were well dressed, if somewhat disheveled after spending a night in their holding cells. Their wide eyes and tear-streaked faces told him a familiar story, two more wealthy daughters of high society who had never been told No in their privileged lives and who were just now learning that naughty actions can have real consequences.

But the third woman was different. She looked tired, dirty and hungry, but she did not seem frightened. A tiny little thing, she moved with the swift and wary confidence of a field mouse, looking at everything around her with interest as she scampered after the others. Her cinnamon brown hair was tied in a braid to her waist and looked like it was tied with a rag. Combined with her clothes, he deduced she had to be a child of the streets and not high society.

Lonergan Mireles, the director of Bratburg and his boss, brought up the rear. As the little group crossed the rooftop, the wind shifted, and the most delicious scent of sugar and vanilla wafted in his direction.

For the first time in weeks, Harrigan’s lion woke up, surged to his feet, and roared. At the same moment, blood surged into his cock, and he roared aloud, “Mine!”

The women jumped and squealed in fear while their guards tensed and looked around at his outburst. Lonergan simply blinked before smiling in approval. The guards lined their charges up beside the helicopter before taking their positions behind them.

Lonergan crossed the rooftop to join him. As he did, the dragon shifter blocked Harrigan’s view of the three women. Harrigan stepped to the left, but Lonergan moved with him as if they were doing a dance.

“Which one?” the dragon shifter asked.

“Not sure, but I know one of them is my mate,” Harrigan answered as he moved to the right, growling softly when the bigger man again blocked him.

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