Free Judge: Mating Fever: Shifters Forever Worlds (Barely After Dark Book 3) by Elle Thorne

the Shifter Supreme Court.”
    “I want to see the bastards who were trying to sell my mate.”
    Griz looked at Lance.
    Lance said, “You think that’s wise?”
    “Wise or not—” Judge’s tone brooked no argument. He’d see them.
    “Let’s go.” Griz and Range led him down the narrow, filthy walkways.
    A few minutes later, the trio stepped into a room that had high, bare warehouse ceilings with one window placed just inches below the roof line.
    Two of Range’s wolf shifters were in a corner, under what appeared to be a shelter made of corrugated steel.
    A sliver of the morning sun shone through, casting a ray of light that split the room in two.
    Approaching the two captives tied to chairs, back to back, Judge stepped across the light.
    “Someone’s here. He crossed the light.” A skinny, black-clad, blindfolded man facing him said, cocking his head as if trying to gather more information.
    A rumbling sound started, the window rattled.
    “Duck,” Griz yelled. “Under there.” He pointed to the shelter in the far corner.
    Griz darted toward the shelter, Range on his heels.
    A barrage of bolts of ice, like stalactites came raining down.
    “Fuck!” Range grabbed his shoulder.
    Blood poured from between his fingers. “Fucker got me. Goddamn it.” Another bolt slammed into the top of Range’s hand, pinning it to his shoulder.
    The trio zigged and zagged, making it across the large room and under the shelter.
    Under the makeshift protection, two of Range’s wolves leaned against the wall.
    “Motherfucker’s at it again,” one said.
    “He needs another dose of Tranq,” the other wolf shifter added.
    “Fuck that. I’m almost out and we need some for emergencies before we can restock.” Range’s voice was distorted by pain.
    The sound of the bolts pounding on the tin roof was louder than the hail when he’d been trapped in a barn when he was a kid.
    Abruptly, the barrage of icicles stopped. It was replaced by eerie, hollow laughter. The dark-haired elemental had flung his head back and was cackling like a madman.
    “He’s going to kill one of us.” One of Range’s wolves unholstered a pistol. “I’m not having that.”
    “Take him out, Asa. Take the motherfucker out.” Range ordered.
    Asa strode out of the shelter’s protection with stealthy silent steps, and stopped within a few feet of the elemental.
    Range followed closely behind him, blood still flowing from his wounds.
    Asa raised the weapon, his gun arm steady. One loud burst of noise, and in the center of the blindfold, right between his eyes, a crimson design bloomed.
    The shifter’s face blanched when the shot rang out. “Shit,” he muttered.
    “You’re next,” Range said. “Unless you give me some reason not to.”
    Asa jerked the chair around so it was facing the now slumped sideways elemental. He jerked the blindfold off the leopard shifter.
    The shifter’s eyes widened when he saw the elemental. “It was his idea. Selling Intuitives to the highest bidder. All his.”
    “Bullshit.” Pain colored Range’s tone. His features were drawn down into a grimace of agony. “You’re both guilty. We already know.”
    “Don’t kill me. I’ll stand trial before the Shifter Supreme Court for my crimes. Please, let me stand trial.”
    “You don’t deserve a trial.” Judge ground the words out between a clenched jaw and gritted teeth. “You were selling people—Intuitives.”
    You could have killed my mate and my son.
    “Intuitives aren’t people,” the leopard shifter said, a smirk on his face.
    “Take him out,” Judge made the pronouncement. “Now. Take this son of a bitch out.”
    Griz put a hand on his shoulder. “Reconsider. They’ll probably put him to death. Unless they decide to send him to Wyt’s Skerry.”
    Wyt’s Skerry. An island, isolated, remote, where all shifters who were sentenced to life—which was a long time for the shifters, since longevity was a shifter trait. Hundreds of years spent in