The Pack Rules Boxed Set

The Complete Series of Wolf, Bear, and Dragon Shifter Romances

Michele Bardsley

Contents

The Werewolf’s Bride

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

The Werewolf Bodyguard

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Two Alphas and a Lady

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Bear Witness

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Honey Bear

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Bear Winter

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

The Dragon’s Wife

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Tales from The Pack Rules Worlds

Taken by the Werewolf Triplets

Kidnapped by the Werewolf

Her Billionaire Werewolf

Her Billionaire Beta

Her Alpha Mate

About the Author

Copyright

The Werewolf’s Bride

1

“I’M SO EXCITED,” said Cacie Lynn. “Just think, Belle! I could be engaged tomorrow!” She twirled around, her pink waitress skirt flaring and showing off her tanned legs. She wore her blonde hair in a single, long ponytail. She shone like the sun, that one, a pretty girl with a pretty smile.

And an empty head.

Cacie was sweet, she really was, but she wasn’t much of a thinker. Bless her heart. Barely eighteen-years-old, she hadn’t known much outside of our little desert community. At least I’d gotten in a few months of nursing school before I’d had to come back. I’d almost escaped—from this desolate patch of lonely earth and the destined fate of eldest daughters. But then Carolyn had died and as my bloodline’s next oldest female, I was obligated to return.

In Bleed City, Nevada, nothing was more important than family honor.

Cacie and I worked in the only diner in town, and town wasn’t much. The Road House Grill joined the Gas ‘N Go, Macpherson’s General Store, Aunt Lila’s Antiques, and the Bleed City Library as the sum total of occupied buildings. Our population hovered around 500 folks, give or take, and nearly all of us from families who’d lived in the area for generations. Bleed City was once a gold mining town—until the gold ran out and the miners moved on. Like so many of the ghost towns that populated the deserts of Nevada, Bleed City should’ve been left to rot and ruin.

Then the werewolves came.

The pact was made.

And that brings me right back to Cacie’s misplaced excitement about a possible engagement. Near as I could tell, the werewolves didn’t view courtship the same way humans did. They were ferocious and impatient. When it was time for the Choosing—every twenty years—a pack of young, full-of-themselves werewolves showed up, and Bleed City handed over their eldest daughters.

The pact that saved the town—the one that still held more than 150 years later—was simple enough. The werewolves protected its people, provided for every man, woman, and child so that no person would ever be without a roof over their heads or food in their bellies.

All we had to do was give them firstborn females for werewolf mating and breeding.

“I swear! You are such a Negative Nelly.” Cacie clucked her tongue. “For heaven’s sake, the alpha is looking for a mate. You know how often that happens?”

I shook my head.

“It’s been sixty years.” She let loose a dreamy sigh. “Marrying the alpha sure would be something, wouldn’t it?”

All Cacie’s talk of werewolf marriage was making me testy. Several us would be at the Choosing tomorrow, and my nerves were raw from thinking about it. “Lord-a-mercy! Werewolf this. Alpha that,” I said. “Don’t you have anything better to talk about it?”

“Hmph! Some of us are grateful for what God’s handed us.”

If she thought God had anything to do with her being a werewolf’s barefoot-and-pregnant bride, she was even dumber than I thought.

“We need to get back to work, Cacie. Why don’t you go scrub down the coffee maker?”

She sighed in the deeply profound fashion reserved for drama queens, and then flounced off. Thankfully, the brew machine was on the other side of the diner, so I wouldn’t have to listen to anymore of her jawing.

I grabbed the cleaner and paper towels and started wiping down counters and tables. No one was in the diner tonight, not even old Mr. Sanders, who usually wouldn’t go home until we did. I had to admit I was worried he hadn’t shown up, but every so often he dealt with the gout and stayed home. I decided to check on him, though, after we closed up. I didn’t have a car, not many of us did, but there was no crime in Bleed City, no lurching, sex-starved killers jumping out of bushes. So, we tended to walk. Everything in Bleed City was within five miles of everything else. It took time to get from here to there, but it was no real burden.

Thirty or so minutes later, we’d finished our chores and prepped everything for the morning shift. Cacie had kept her mouth shut the whole time, and I was grateful. Truth was, I was a big ol’ anxious mess about the Choosing. They called us mates or wives or whatever, but it still sounded like slavery to me. And the kicker? Werewolves wanted their females as pure as the driven snow. That’s exactly what a young virgin needed—some big, hairy man driving himself into her with his … his penis.

I felt myself blush to the roots of my hair. I was raised chaste and virginal, same as my sisters. Sex was not something we discussed—ever. My parents were good people with kind hearts. They also had firm rules about behavior. Going to nursing school had opened my eyes about human bodies, but I was still uncomfortable with the idea of physical intimacy. I’d been raised in such a staid and proper household, it was difficult to think about the word sex without wanting to throw myself at a Bible.

“Ready?” Cacie had changed into jeans, a T-shirt, and Nikes. She put on her hoodie and heaved her purse over her shoulder. She studied my hair, some of which had escaped its ponytail, and then dropped her gaze over my stained waitress dress. She even took three seconds to judge my shoes, which were comfortable, but ugly. “Are you crabby about the werewolves because you’re afraid you won’t get picked? It’s not like you’ll have to take a scruffer.”

Scruffers were the weakest members of the werewolf pack. They had some uses, so they weren’t outright killed, but it was rare that they merited mates. They had to settle for whatever scraps were handed to them by the stronger members—whether it was clothes or food or women.

I put on my jacket and stuffed my wallet into a pocket. Cacie walked out first. I switched off the lights and then followed her, turning briefly to lock the door.

“Are you?” she persisted as we stood outside.

“Am I what?”

She sighed as if she’d been talking Calculus to a four-year-old. “Are you afraid you won’t get chosen?”

“I hope I don’t.”

Her eyes widened. “Don’t say things like that, Arabelle Winton! I know you never expected to be part of the Choosing, but you’re doing right by the town. By all of us.”

Even though Cacie and I were only four years apart, I still felt like I was older, older than the whole world sometimes. I was exhausted, and all I wanted was a hot bath and a good night’s sleep.

“Oh, I don’t mean anything by it. Go on home, honey,” I said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“All right then. Bye, Arabelle.”

“Bye.” I watched her disappear down Main Street. I sighed. Despite the sturdiness of my shoes, my feet ached something fierce. The whole of me was bone-tired. Still, it would only take five minutes to make sure Mr. Sanders was okay.

I headed toward the Bleed City Library. Mr. Sanders had been the town librarian until arthritis and old age made the job too difficult. He still lived in the tiny cottage on the property, though. No one had the heart to make him move—not even the new librarian, Mr. Richards. He’d taken the room above Aunt Lila’s Antiques rather than oust Mr. Sanders from his home.

The little house was eerily dark and still. I swear the hair on the back of my neck stood straight up as I approached. I stopped, studying the square structure to see what had raised my hackles, but after a moment of listening and watching, I had no proof to sustain my worry.

I stepped onto the porch and knocked on the front door.

If it were possible, the strange quiet deepened, and I felt my stomach squeeze with trepidation.

Then I heard a long, harsh moan.

“Mr. Sanders? It’s Belle.” I pounded on the door. “You all right? You need some help?”

Crash! Was that glass breaking? Had he dropped dishes or knocked over a table full of knick knacks? Well, that was that. I figured politeness would have to be sacrificed to make sure the sweet old man wasn’t hurt—or worse.

No one in Bleed City locked their doors. So I wasn’t surprised when the knob turned easily in my hand. The door swung open and I inched inside, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the interior darkness.

“Mr. Sanders?” My voice came out a whisper. Fear chilled me from the inside out and goose bumps prickled my skin. I cleared my throat and tried again. This time my voice was stronger. “Mr. Sanders?”

I pressed my hand against the wall, feeling for a light switch. My fingers skittered over a picture frame. It fell off the wall and clattered to the floor. The sound exploded like thunder in the too silent house.

I froze. My heart thumped in my chest, so fast and so loud, I was sure people in the next county could hear it.

I sucked in a shaky breath. It did no good to let fear rule my actions. Scared out of my wits or not, I needed to stop acting like such a ninny. My eyesight had adjusted, and complete blackness had given way to shadowy shapes. I edged away from the wall, holding my hands out as I moved forward.

“Mr. Sanders?”

My hands brushed against what I easily recognized as a lamp shade. I felt my way under the flimsy material and around the base until my fingertips slid over the switch. I twisted it, and breathed a sigh of relief when dim, yellow light chased away the darkness.

I pressed a trembling hand to my chest and took in the destruction. Good lord. The living room looked like a dust devil had whirled through it. The recliner near the hearth was overturned, the bookshelves on either side were divested of treasures, and the tall, antique bric-a-brac cabinet on the far wall had met a terrible end. Its glass planes were shattered and the contents inside hadn’t fared that much better.

My gaze dropped to the floor. I stared at the shredded books and busted objects. What had happened in here?

Then I saw Mr. Sanders’s bare feet poking out from behind the couch.

Oh no! I hurried around the bulky piece of furniture and nearly lost my footing. I’d slipped in a widening pool of blood, blood that seeped from the gaping wound in poor Mr. Sanders’s narrow chest.

It only took the briefest of moments for me shut away the horror of what I was witnessing. Rusty training kicked in, and though I knew it was useless, I still knelt down and felt his neck for a carotid pulse. Nothing. Of course there was nothing! The hole in the man’s chest was the size of a bowling ball. I studied the cavity. His ribcage had been shredded and his flesh told the tale of claws and teeth. Worst of all, his heart was missing.

Horror filled me.

Werewolf.

2

I STAYED THERE, holding vigil next to Mr. Sanders’s body, as I tried to invoke some remnant of calm.

Sweet, merciful God.

I knew the history of our shifter benefactors, the same as I knew the history of our town. Werewolves used to think of humans as prey. They might gnaw on arms or legs like puppies with chew toys, but they ate the hearts. Within the werewolf culture, the heart of a person, of any creature, held great spiritual and physical power. These days, the shifters claimed to have more refined appetites. Though still as carnivorous as their ancestors, their meals were supposed to be human-free. Even if that ideal didn’t hold true in the rest of the world, it was sacred in Bleed City.

If one of the wolves from the Shadow Pack, from our supposed protectors, had killed Mr. Sanders and eaten his heart—the pact was broken.

As much as I welcomed the idea of freedom, I was too bound by the duty owed my family and Bleed City. The very idea that the pact had been nullified scared me to bits.

What could I do?

What should I do?

Ribbons of hot panic and cold terror wound through me. I needed to get out of here. All I could think about was running home as fast as I could. If I unburdened this tragedy on my parents, they would help me.

No.

I felt an awful, sudden certainty that I shouldn’t involve my family.

Aunt Lila. She lived a couple blocks away, in the old pink Victorian that had been built the same year as the town—it had been the showy home of Bleed City’s first and only mayor. Aunt Lila was our elder and our liaison with the pack. Everyone trusted her, humans and werewolves. She would know what to do. Decision made, I tried to get to my feet. The floor was too slick from gore for my shoes to gain traction. I fell onto my ass and my hands pressed palm-flat to the floor.

The blood was still warm.

Just as I realized the significance—that the kill was fresh, I heard the low, warning growl.

I was no longer alone.

Maybe I’d never been alone, and the wolf was too clever and too stealthy, to let me know he’d been watching.

Waiting.

I scooted backward, my gaze never leaving the golden eyes of the huge wolf as he crept toward me. His fur was gnarled brown clumps and he was missing an ear. He crouched low, his muscles bunched as if readying to pounce. His menacing snarl revealed sharp, bloodied canines.

If he clamped that massive jaw around my throat, I was a goner.

My fingers slid over a piece of jagged glass. I didn’t break eye contact with the wolf as I grasped the large shard.

He saw the movement of my hand.

He let out a wild cry and leapt.

As his paws hit my shoulders and threw me to the floor, I jabbed the glass as hard as I could into his throat.

My hand slipped down the make-shift weapon. My skin sliced open, though I felt no pain as my own blood gushed onto the wolf’s matted fur. Then the glass broke in my grip, the pieces falling away.

Even though I’d hit the mark, it had not been enough to completely deter the creature. However, the rasp of his growls told me I’d done damage.

I pressed my injured hand against his wound, which barely kept him at bay. He snapped and snarled inches from my face. Blood-tainted spittle dripped onto my neck.

The adrenaline that made my heart rate spike also gave me the strength to fight.

I curled my other hand into a fist and punched him in the head over and over again.

And still I pushed against his throat, hoping that little bit of glass might sever something important enough to make him fully retreat.

Or kill him.

My arms started to shake. I was sweating and panting hard and utterly consumed by panic. My strength was giving out. I stopped hitting the monster with my fist and used both hands to push on his throat.

Yet, I knew with abhorrent certainty that my life would soon belong to the wolf.

Then I heard a voice in my mind, the wispy memory of a self-defense class I had taken while at nursing school. If an attacker gets you down on the ground, put your feet on his hips and push. He’ll go down or you’ll go up. Either way, it’s a chance to get free.

I had nothing to lose.

I raised my trembling legs, and put my shoes right on his bony hips.

I shoved with all my might.

The wolf yelped as I was propelled backwards. He was thrust away from me and he stumbled. Blood gushed from his neck, and his tongue lolled out as he dragged in rattling breaths. I scrambled to my feet and grabbed the first thing I laid my hands on—the lamp.

The creature growled and came at me again, but he was a lot slower this time. I yanked the cord free of the wall as I swung the lamp and smashed it against his skull. He went down onto his side and I began hitting him. It didn’t matter that the house was dark again and my human vision was limited. I had purpose. The shade got crushed, the bulb broke, and the ceramic base threatened to shatter in my hands, but I didn’t stop.

I couldn’t stop.

Tears and blood and sweat dripped from my face and my hands. Finally, the lamp broke and slipped out of my grasp. I sucked in huge breaths, sobbing so hard my head clogged and my throat closed.

The wolf was dead.

The front door burst open—and by burst, I meant it was knocked off its hinges and turned into a pile of sticks. Why would anyone do that? The door wasn’t locked.

I was too tired and too wobbly to care. Whatever came inside next could have me—I’d throw myself down in front of it, wolf or man.

“Christ. We’re too late.” The exclamation came from the large blond-haired man who held a sword. I blinked. Yes. That was definitely a sword. His disgusted gaze went from the wolf to me. “I don’t believe it, Grey. The human female killed him.”

I shifted my gaze to the second man—the one named Grey. He was a little taller, a little bigger. His muscles bulged in the blue T-shirt he wore tucked into a pair of tight jeans. He had the longest, silkiest, blackest hair of anyone I’d ever seen.

“I—” Words failed me. My throat hurt something awful and my mouth was as dry as the desert. Dizziness assailed me and I felt like the ground was shifting beneath my feet. I managed to point to Mr. Sanders’s body and whisper, “Hurt.”

“Whoa now, sweetheart,” said the blond. He sheathed the sword—in a scabbard he wore strapped to his back—and stepped forward, but Grey reached me first.

I collapsed and he caught me, swinging me up into his arms, tight against his chest. I felt his warmth surround me, heard the calm beat of his heart, and felt completely, utterly safe.

I closed my eyes and surrendered to the darkness.

* * *

I AWOKE TO the hushed sound of voices. I felt like I was moving through thick layers of cotton. Eventually, I managed to pry open my eyes. Aunt Lila and two men stood at the side of the bed—apparently arguing in sharp whispers. I didn’t hear the words so much as the tones.

“May I have some water?” I croaked.

Aunt Lila broke free from the group. I was glad to see her friendly face. She was short in stature, but she exuded the strength and grace so admired by the wolves. She was dressed in a simple black pantsuit, pearls draped around her throat, her silver hair pinned up. Aunt Lila had a class, ageless beauty that defied time. She’d looked the same now as she did when I met her as a child.

A pitcher of ice water sat on the nightstand next to the bed, and she poured me half a glass. She sat down and offered the cup to me. “Sip on it, honey,” she warned with caution. “Drink as much as you want, but don’t gulp.”

I drank what she gave me as directed, and then managed to put down another full glass. I felt much better after the hydration, and I sat up. “Where am I?”

“My bedroom,” said Aunt Lila. “We thought it best to bring you to my house. I gave you a bath and got you fixed up. You slept all night and most of the day.”

“My parents! They must be worried sick.”

“We told them an abbreviated version of events,” offered the blond man. I remembered him from Mr. Sanders’s house—yes, him, and the other man who now stood silently at my bedside. He stared at me as though I was a puzzle he couldn’t put together. I had sinking feeling I knew exactly who he was, but I hoped I was wrong.

“Greyson Burke,” he said. “And you are Arabelle.”

“Most folks called me Belle.”

His lips curled into a smirk. “I’m not most folks, Arabelle.”

“He’s not most werewolves, either,” said the blond. “I’m Colt, in case you were wondering.” He studied my face, sidled a glance at his friend, and sighed. “But you weren’t, were you?”

“I’ll speak to Arabelle alone now.”

“Grey.” Aunt Lila’s voice was strained. “It’s not the time to do this.”

“I’ve noted your concerns, Elder. But we’re on a timetable, and I have other business to take care of.”

I could see that Aunt Lila was none too pleased with Grey’s edict. She gave me a look I took to mean, “Stay strong.” I received a similar look from Colt. Then they both left the room. Grey followed them to the door and locked it.

“What are you doing?”

He didn’t answer the question as he sat next to me. His big, muscled body made the mattress dip outrageously. He took injured hand in his, and studied the bandage wrapped around my aching palm. “You had to have nine stitches. The cut was deep.”

“Oh. Um, thanks.”

I slipped my hand out from his and tucked it under the blanket. His touch, his manner, his…vibe, if you will, was giving me the shivers. Lord-a-mercy, he was a good-looking man—the squared jaw, the aquiline nose, the full lips. And those eyes that saw so much and offered so little.

He’d put his long, beautiful hair into a queue at the back of his neck. He wore a green Polo shirt, faded jeans, and black cowboy boots. He filled out his clothes nicely, but I swear if he moved the wrong way, the material of the shirt or jeans might well burst open.

His gaze pinned mine. His eyes were grayish-green, much like a storm-swept forest. The swirl of earthy colors could not have been replicated in human eyes. It was a powerful reminder that he was beast—a beast much like the one I’d killed. No, not exactly. Grey was far more powerful and dangerous. I knew that to the core of my being—just like I knew without anyone telling me that he was the alpha of the Shadow pack.

“I’m in trouble, aren’t I?”

He lifted one brow, his expression as blank as a new canvas. “You murdered a werewolf.”

My first instinct was to apologize, but I quelled the urge. I wasn’t sorry about saving my own life, and I wouldn’t lie to gain an ounce of mercy.

“Yes, he died—because I had a stronger will to live.” I refused to look away from him, even though I knew it was unwise to challenge the alpha with direct eye contact. “And he killed a human.” I felt my throat knot, but I spoke the next words aloud, anyway. “The pact is broken.”

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” He leaned close, and took my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “You don’t want to be part of the Choosing.”

3

I LOOKED AWAY. He’d already seen too much, and I wasn’t interested in giving him anymore. “I wasn’t supposed to be,” I said softly. “But I will abide by my duty.”

“Arabelle.”

I glanced at him and saw his gaze soften. He let go of my chin and then rested his hand on my thigh. Something electric jolted right through me. A man had never touched me like he so casually did. I felt uneasy with his familiarity, yet I wanted more of it. Being around him was strange—and confusing.

“Are you not the eldest sister?” he asked. “Have I been misled?”

“My sister Carolyn was destined for the Choosing. She was the oldest daughter. By six minutes.”

He blinked in surprise. “Twins.”

“Yes. She always hated that she was born first. She resented that I had the freedom she wanted. After high school, I moved to Sparks and started nurse assistance training. That was the first part of my plan to become an RN. I’ve always wanted to help people, you see.” I couldn’t believe I was being such a Chatty Cathy. My nervousness at the alpha’s nearness had loosened my lips.

“Carolyn died less than six months later. I came home to take her place.” I picked at the comforter. I harbored my own guilt, my own regrets. I didn’t talk about my sister or my time away from Bleed City. Not with my parents. Not with my friends. Not with anyone. I was unnerved by how easily I spoke the truth to him. “That all happened three years ago.”

“How did she die?”

“Like a coward.” The words came out an awful hiss—weighted with my own miseries. Surprise flashed on his face. He curled his fingers around mine, the ones trying to wear a hole in the well-worn quilt. I stared at his long, tapered fingers, at the strength and the gentleness he conveyed with such a simple touch. “I’m sorry. I’m still…I suppose I haven’t forgiven her.” I sighed and looked at him bleakly. “She committed suicide.”

He studied my expression and drew a conclusion. “She killed herself to get out of the Choosing.”

“Yeah. Partly. And she wanted to punish me. Her whole life she was chock full of unhappiness and all that wretchedness turned her heart to stone. When she put the rope around her neck and kicked out the chair, she escaped the life she hated and gifted it to me.”

Grey was quiet for a moment. Then he lightly squeezed my fingers. “What about you, Arabelle? Would you rather die than become a werewolf’s mate?”

I squared my shoulders. “I love my family and this town. Honor and duty are important to me. So is kindness and doing right by those who need you. No matter how I might feel about being a…a shifter bride, I will go to the Choosing. At least I will if we’re still having the ceremony. ”

“We are.” He let go of my hand to brush back my hair. His fingers sifted through my plain brown curls. “The wolf you killed didn’t belong to the Shadow pack. He was a Blood wolf—one of their scruffers. We tracked him to the house, but you got there ahead of us. You did us a great favor—and a great honor.”

“Thank you.” I glanced at him. “Can I go home now?”

“Arabelle, I don’t think you understand the significance of what you’ve done. A human female should not have been able to defeat a werewolf—not even a pathetic scruffer like him. Even the weakest of our kind can snap your bones and tear out your throat.”

“I know,” I said. “He almost did.”

His hand curved around my head and he pulled me slightly forward as he lowered his face to mine. We were maybe two inches apart, and I could feel his breath on my mouth. Startled by the sudden intensity of both his gaze and his grip, I pressed my good hand against his chest. It was like trying to budge a marble statue.

“You are unique, Arabelle. Your impossible deed is already known throughout the pack. Every shifter worth his wolfhood wants you as a mate. You will raise the status of any werewolf who marries you. Not only because you are strong and capable, but also because you are a challenge. A man who dominates such a spectacular woman would be one of the most respected members of the Shadows.”

“You’re saying I’m the prize goat.”

“I don’t think that’s the right metaphor.” He leaned closer still and nipped my bottom lip. I sucked in a shocked breath, my eyes going wide. He seemed pleased with my reaction. “I’m choosing you as my mate. You are mine, Arabelle.”

“What?” I cried. “No. I’m not. I can’t be! You’re…” I stared at him and tried to come up with an appropriate word that would convey my feelings. “You.”

“I’m me?” He chuckled. “I would tell you not to be scared, but…” He swept my lips in a soft, brief kiss. “You should be scared. Werewolves are not gentle creatures. But I believe that you will be able to handle even the darkest of my desires, sweet Arabelle.”

“What if I’m not a virgin?” The question came out rushed and quivering.

He leaned back, his gaze turning crystalline, his grip tightening. “Are you not?”

“Would you want me if I wasn’t?”

He narrowed his gaze. Then he leaned in and sniffed my neck. It was the oddest sensation—his breath puffing against my skin. He continued breathing me in, sniffing at my breasts, my belly, and then—sweet lord—he put his face right in my lap. He inhaled my scent deeply. Then he lifted his head. “You are most definitely a virgin.”

My face blazed with mortification. A werewolf sticking his face between my legs humiliated me so much I surely wouldn’t be surprised if I burst into flames.

Grey laughed. “You’re adorable. I like seeing you blush.” He released me and straightened, but he was still too close for comfort. “I look forward to teaching you about all the ways you can please me.” His gaze dipped to my chest. My breasts tingled and my nipples hardened under his lustful stare. “And I will learn exactly what pleases you. We will have a good mating, Arabelle.”

I rubbed the back of my skull. It prickled where he had clutched my head and pulled my hair. “Does this mean I’m not going to the Choosing?”

He shook his head. “The ritual belongs to Bleed City. Werewolves don’t stand on ceremony, but we respect those who do. So, yes, you will go, but it means nothing. You’ve already been chosen by the alpha. No one else can have you.”

“Will they know?” I asked. “The other werewolves, I mean.”

“I am the first to pick my mate, so it doesn’t matter.” His expression turned thoughtful. “All the same, I don’t want other males to so much as point their snouts in your direction. It’s best that I scent you.”

“Scent me?”Uneasiness burrowed under my skin and soaked my bones in dread. Somehow I knew he didn’t have a bottle of Eau de Alpha with which to spritz me. He was talking about something that required physical contact between us. Was scenting his way of saying we were going to have sexual relations?

Oh, sweet mercy.

“Scenting is one of several ways we claim our mates. The other werewolves will know instantly that you belong to me—and that I belong to you.”

“Oh.”

“Push up your nightgown and then remove your panties.”

I stared at him, both enthralled and terrified about following his command. He offered no other explanation—and no soothing words to calm my virginal fears. He remained silent and patient, waiting for me to comply.

My stomach felt like I’d swallowed a net full of butterflies.

I grasped the edge of the nightie and, with trembling hands, drew it up my thighs. As he intently followed the material’s progress, his eyes darkened to a stormy gray-green.

My simple cotton panties were soon revealed.

I tucked the nightgown around my breasts and then I looped my fingers under the sides of my underwear. Grey’s gaze riveted to the apex of my thighs. I tugged downward and then hesitated as the material bunched at my hips.

“No man—or werewolf for that matter—has ever seen my…” Embarrassment knotted my throat.

“Your womanhood,” he said in a low voice etched with a growl.

“R-right. I don’t—” I searched for words to describe what I was trying to say and settled on, “Do stuff. Down there. With razors. Or…um, whatever.”

“You’re natural. That’s good, Arabelle. I don’t want you to prepare yourself as other women do. You are exactly how you should be…exactly how I want you.” He wet his lips, his gaze dropping to where my fingers were hooked. “Take them off. Now.”

My heart stuttered and then began racing in a wild rhythm. With thump-thump-thump echoing in my ears, I lifted my rear end so that I could wiggle off the only boundary between my mound and the alpha’s hot, possessive gaze. I slid the panties off my legs, untangled one side that caught on my foot, and then placed the underwear on the nightstand.

Lying there with half my body completely naked made me so uncomfortable that I wanted to dive under the covers. However, with Grey’s hungry gaze on me, I didn’t dare. In fact, I didn’t even want to twitch lest the slightest movement caused him to pounce on me.

“Lie completely on your back,” he commanded softly. “And spread your legs.”

I wasn’t completely unaware of went on between a man and woman in the bedroom. Being in nursing school had opened my eyes to many physical aspects of sexual encounters—at least from a classroom perspective. All the same, knowledge was not the same as experience. Nor could information negate my abashment at the whole concept of being naked with a man and letting him…oh, lord.

Still, I wouldn’t disobey.

I scooted down until I was flat against the quilt and stretched out my legs, giving Grey a bird’s eye view of what no man had ever seen.

“Will it hurt?” I asked.

“No.” Grey moved across the bed and knelt between my legs. He appeared like a supplicant getting ready to worship his goddess, but I knew such a fanciful image was far from the reality. He was a werewolf.

And werewolves ravaged.

He scooted backwards until his boot soles clacked against the foot board. Then he sank forward, resting his fingertips on the tops of my thighs.

He settled his mouth, hot and wet, on the tender, virgin flesh of my womanhood.

His light, almost chaste, kisses, created tiny electric shocks. They were foreign, but highly enjoyable, sensations. I couldn’t stop the gasps of pleasure, the little moans that crawled out my throat.

His mouth felt so good!

Admittedly, feeling anything but scared at this whole “scenting” display was welcome—and unexpected. I let out a shuddering breath.

Grey started interspersing those little kisses with long, sensuous licks that made me squirm. My damaged hand pressed against the covers, and unbidden, my other hand cupped the back of Grey’s hand. I delighted in the soft, silky feel of his hair.

His carnal forays made my flesh swell and moisten. A tight coil of need began to unwind with every stroke of his tongue, every press of his mouth.

“I’m so wet,” I murmured.

Grey glanced up, his eyes animalistic, his face somehow both human and wolf. I knew he was intentionally keeping his beast leashed. Excitement leapt in my belly.

“I’m just getting started, my sweet,” he said in a voice thick with desire. “When I’m done, you will know you are mine.”

He kissed the top of my pubic bone, and then he dragged his tongue down the slender line of my wet heat.

I sighed in pure delight as he nibbled me in the same way he might a ripe, juicy peach.

He parted my labia with his strong, sure fingers, and blew hot air across my sensitized flesh. The coiled ache that seemed both pleasure and pain loosened more, and a strange, tingling joy ribboned through me.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” he murmured.

He delved once again into my moist folds, only this time he flicked his tongue against my tight, little bud. My fingers twined into his hair as I arched up, pressing my tormented sex against the heat, the hunger of his mouth.

“Please,” I begged. I knew he could give me the relief I wanted, the golden bliss I sought, but had never truly experienced. “Please, Grey!”

“As my lady desires.” He drew my aching clit into his mouth, suckling hard as he rapidly flicked his tongue against my clit.

I felt the rise of quivering excitement, the incredible blooming of sexual rapture.

“Oh!” I pressed him against his mouth as ecstasy crashed in me.

Over me.

Through me.

Grey kept licking, kept suckling, even as the glorious waves of orgasm faded. I was left feeling sated—for a moment. My clitoris felt intensely sensitive, and Grey’s continued ministrations bordered on painful.

“Stop,” I said. “Stop!”

But he didn’t.

He wouldn’t.

He sucked the tender, swollen bud harshly and then I felt one of his thick fingers enter my channel. I bucked, trying to get away from this new invasion, but he put his other arm above his head and pressed against my hips, trapping me.

What had started as sweetly awakening sensuality became a new kind of agony.

I lay pinned against the bed, the sexual prisoner of the alpha, and I could do nothing.

Tears squeezed from my eyes as I felt his finger curled upward in my virgin flesh and began a slow, torturous stroking. I sucked in an unsteady breath.

Sweet mercy! What was he doing?

I moaned.

The incredible sensations he’d wrought from my clitoris was nothing compared the strange and wonderful thrills he created from the tiny knot of nerves he’d found just inside my entrance.

Now, a different sort of delight unfolded and weaved itself into the stinging ache of my tortured clit.

I no longer felt pain.

Or fear.

The expert touch of my alpha lover was bringing me to orgasm again. I felt my clit tighten, my inner muscles squeeze, and then I was crying out…

…screaming Grey’s name…

…as double spikes of terrible, beautiful pleasure pierced me to the very core.

I slumped against the bed, my entire body limp and replete. Grey rose and sat back on his heels, his expression full of smug satisfaction. “How are you, Arabelle?”

“I’m wonderful.” I rose onto my elbows. “So, that’s how a werewolf scents his mate?”

His lips quirked into a half-smile. “As I said—one of several ways.”

I couldn’t help but gaze at the large (and rather scary) hard-on that strained against his jeans. “Should I…do something for you?”

He rubbed the front of his jeans and sighed. “Not until we are mated.”

I moved my leg so that he could slide off the bed.

“You need more rest. Tonight, Aunt Lila will prepare you to the Choosing, and accompany you to the ceremonial grounds. I’ll see you there.”

“When we’re mated, will there be more of… of this?” I asked.

Something within him changed instantly. He grew unnaturally still, his lips peeling back into a snarl. He growled, and the harsh sound had me scrambling backwards, fear tumbling through me.

“I’ve chosen you, Arabelle. But you must understand that tonight, when we truly mate and seal our bond, I will be more animal than human. I will be rough. Greedy. Insistent.”

“What if I can’t handle that?” I asked in a shaking whisper.

Grey stared at me, his wolfish gaze dark with nearly inhumane lust. “Willing or not, my sweet, I will take you.”

4

“WELL, WELL. IF it isn’t the great werewolf killer,” sneered a female voice.

I whirled, heart thumping, and pressed a hand against my chest. I stared at the stranger who was behind me, leaning next to the door of my room. Well, the room in which I’d been staying at Aunt Lila’s.

Werewolf killer. It was true. Last night, I’d killed a werewolf in self-defense and in a couple of hours… I was mating with one.

My husband-to-be was none other than the alpha of the Shadow pack—Greyson Burke. Memory flashed, and my stomach squeezed with nerves. Grey was a handsome man—squared jaw, aquiline nose, full lips, and gray-green eyes. His hair was a waterfall of shiny black. And lord-a-mercy, he was big and muscled and…and intense.

My stomach clenched at the very thought of seeing the man again. Because when I did, we would—by werewolf standards at any rate—be married.

Then we would mate.

Sweet mercy.

I studied the woman towering over me by at least six inches. She had long, brown hair that curled in shiny ringlets down her back. Her eyes were sapphires, two jewels in a heart-shaped face with a sharp, dented chin. She was lean-muscled and tan, obviously someone who spent a great deal of time outdoors. She was also dressed in tight black leather pants and a matching vest designed to show off her navel. She didn’t have much in the way of breasts, but she certainly didn’t mind showing them off within the deep vee of the vest. She wore calf boots that jangled with silver chains. The shape of her irises, her ridiculous height, and her bristly attitude made it obvious she was a werewolf. I would’ve been fascinated by meeting such a rare creature—but she made my less-than-curly hair stand on end.

“Are you mute?” asked the woman, her tone the epitome of discourteous.

“No,” I said as politely as I could. I was raised with manners, after all. “Neither am I rude. Who are you?”

“Neela.”

My politeness only extended so far. I couldn’t say it was nice to meet her, and I didn’t want to proffer my hand for a welcoming shake. Instead, I inclined my head. “I’m Arabelle Winton.” My friends called me Belle, but I wasn’t inclined to ask her to informally address me.

“I know who you are. Grey sent me to fetch you.” Her full lips curled into a hateful smile. “He does like his little pets.”

Fetch me? His little pet? Embarrassment heated my cheeks, and Neela seemed to delight in my discomfiture. In fact, she made quite the show of studying my blushing face and smirking. Her arrogance got my blood up, and my mortification turned to anger. Given Grey’s recent and thorough “scenting” of me, I knew she could smell his claim.

“I’m not his pet.” I held her gaze. She wasn’t intimidated by me, but neither was she stupid enough to threaten me outright. “I’m his mate.”

“Mate,” she spat. “Humans are not our equals. The Choosing does nothing more than weaken our pack with inferior stock.”

I didn’t know how to respond to her vitriol, so I said nothing. The Choosing was the ceremony held every twenty years in Bleed City, Nevada. It was part of a pact made by the townspeople nearly 150 years ago. The Shadow Pack, in exchange for mating with our eldest daughters, offered protection, shelter, and food to the town. I was the eldest daughter in my family by default—my twin sister (older by six minutes) had committed suicide three years ago.

And so here I was, one of the town’s tributes—except that I belonged to the alpha, whether I wanted to or not. For me, the Choosing had become a mere formality.

Oh. Neela’s fury made sense now. I’d been chosen by the alpha, and she had not. I wasn’t sure how to feel about the rival standing in front of me, vibrating with what I’d call homicidal rage. Grey would be my husband, but I didn’t yet know him. He inspired within me contrary and riotous feelings, the strongest of which was pulse-pounding desire. So, I supposed I knew one thing about my werewolf groom: I wanted him.

And so did Neela.

“Why are you here?” I asked.

She snorted. “Because I’m in charge of the enforcers and, apparently, your bony ass.” She shoved off from the wall. “Let’s go.”

She didn’t wait for me to agree. Instead, she sailed past me and bounded down the stairs with the grace so prevalent among her kind. I followed more slowly. Partially because I still ached from fighting off the werewolf that had nearly taken my life. And my muscles—not to mention my emotions—had not recovered sufficiently from Grey’s thorough and enjoyable scenting. An added bonus: I knew taking my time would irritate Neela.

Mission accomplished. Neela’s entire being crackled with annoyance and impatience. Her narrowed gaze lasered in on me, and I had the distinct impression she was fighting the urge to rip out my throat.

“You look lovely, my dear,” said Aunt Lila. She swept past Neela as though the formidable woman was nothing more than a piece of furniture. “Do you have everything you need?”

“All my packed boxes are at my house, but I didn’t get to say good-bye to my family.”

Aunt Lila offered me a kind smile. “Grey’s already arranged to have your things shipped to the pack’s compound. You’ll see your parents before the Choosing begins.” She grasped my hand and squeezed. “Being mated to a werewolf isn’t the same as going to prison, Belle. You’ll be able to visit. You can email and call any time you like.”

I nodded, but my stomach pitched anyway. I’d been raised in Bleed City, soaked in its history, mentally Superglued into its ideals, its expectations. I would not run away from my duty. Unlike my sister Carolyn, who’d chosen to hang herself rather than accept her fate, I was not a coward.

But that didn’t mean I wasn’t scared.

Fear crawled in my belly like a thousand creeping spiders. As I’ve said before, knowledge is not the same as experience. Grey had already explained that our first mating—indeed, probably all our matings—would be animalistic. In addition to that worry, I had to also consider what I’d be expected to do as the alpha’s wife. America’s government was a complex, gnarled mess, but it had nothing on werewolf politics. Of course, there was a lot less red tape when it came to carrying out justice. Werewolves guilty of death-penalty offenses did not sit in prison cells for years. They were beheaded, their hearts carved out, and their bodies burned. Werewolves had a real thing about hearts. And souls. A burned body lost its soul forever. After death, they wanted to join their revered ancestors. Literally. Shifters were placed in underground catacombs—their dead as protected and honored as living werewolves.

“We’ll go in my car,” said Aunt Lila, jolting me out of my thoughts. She tugged me forward. “Neela will follow us there. Grey has sent his best enforcer to guard you, Belle, and that shows how much he values you.”

I swear I heard a low growl—a short, ugly burst of werewolf fury. But I didn’t know for sure, and I didn’t look back.

* * *

“NEELA DOESN’T LIKE me,” I said, as we drove down the packed-dirt road. On either side were towering red rock cliffs.

“Neela doesn’t like anyone,” said Aunt Lila. “And she thinks more of herself than she should.”

“Because she was his once.” I glanced at Aunt Lila, who hesitated—and then gave a brief, sharp nod.

“They were lovers before Grey became the alpha. After he took leadership, Neela assumed that she would become his mate, but she was wrong. Grey ended their sexual relationship and offered her command of the enforcers. If she wanted to stay in the Shadow Pack, she had no choice but to accept his decisions.”

I sat with her words, looking out my window. Stone reached out to the blue sky like a child’s fingers trying to grasp the color. Scrub brush littered the desert sand, which made the landscape feel surreal, as though it were the hiding place of monsters.

The Choosing was held in a space sacred to werewolves, located far within the twisty, maze-like canyons, in an area no uninvited human dared to tread. Grey had said that the Choosing was our ceremony—and while that was true, werewolves had a deeply entrenched sense of honor and duty. In the pack, there was no such thing as an individual. You worked with the pack for the pack. If you didn’t, you became a scruffer—or you got your head removed and your heart ripped out.

Tourists often stopped to take pictures of the towering red-stoned cliffs and to look at the petroglyphs that had been carved into walls more than 10,000 years ago. What tourists had never seen—and would never lay eyes on as far as werewolves were concerned—was the ancient rock art left by their shape-shifting ancestors. Their carvings offered evidence that werewolves had long lived with—and bred with—humans. Bleed City was not the first human settlement to intertwine its fate with shifters.

I had never been to the ceremonial grounds. Only the eldest daughters and their families were allowed the privilege—and the previous Choosing happened when I was a toddler. Aunt Lila, as the town’s werewolf liaison and our elder, walked between our worlds holding the trust of both wolf and man. She had been to the Choosing twice before.

“Why didn’t Grey take Neela for a mate? She’s a female werewolf… And those are rare. It would seem a perfect match.”

Aunt Lila squinted at the road. She slowed down and made a careful left onto a narrow lane, this one far less defined. She kept the Jeep at twenty miles an hour. As we hit pot holes and loose sand, I understood why.

“Neela has a chip on her shoulder,” said Aunt Lila. “She was raised by a father who had no other heirs. Most shifters feel honored by the arrival of a daughter, but Kelt was disappointed she wasn’t a son. Neela’s birth was complicated and as a result, her mother had to have emergency surgery. She couldn’t have any more pups after that. Kelt was hard on Neela, determined to make her stronger than any male in the pack. Neela became a great warrior. Yet, no matter how many trophies she takes or honors she receives, she’s unable to win his approval.”

“Because she’ll never be the son he wanted.”

Aunt Lila glanced at me. “You’re wise for someone so young. That’s good.” She nodded approvingly. “You’re right to worry about Neela. She’s too often ruled by her temper. She keeps control—mostly.”

“She’s a time bomb.”

“Looking for a target,” agreed Aunt Lila. She slowed and made another turn. Now, there was no road, and we crushed our way through sand and sagebrush. The Jeep’s wheels made short work of the desert’s obstacles. “Grey never discussed Neela with me, but I have no doubt he realized mating with her would not benefit the Shadows. Neela is quick to judge and has little mercy—necessary qualities for an enforcer. But to lead the pack, one should have patience and empathy. She has neither.”

Aunt Lila reached over and patted my leg. “You are a good match for Grey. I know your life isn’t what you expected. You were on your way to a typical human life, becoming a nurse, starting to date, learning who you really wanted to be.”

“Yes,” I said softly. I felt some wisps of regret that the life I’d begun three years ago would not be mine. I had wanted very much to be a practicing nurse, to heal and comfort those in need. I was still angry with Carolyn—not because I’d assumed the role meant for her. No, my fury existed because she’d picked herself over her own family. She gave in to bitter selfishness instead of love for others, family, community, duty.

Duty.

Love.

Honor.

Those were the reasons why I sat in the Jeep, clutching the sides of my seat as we jounced the final mile to my destiny. That I already had an enemy before I’d even become part of the pack increased my anxiety tenfold. Well, then. I’d just have to get over it, wouldn’t I? I was chosen. I’d figure out how to deal with my new role in the Shadow pack—one werewolf at a time.

* * *

“YOU’LL BE THE last to join the others in the circle,” said Aunt Lila. “And the first chosen.” She pointed to a jagged crevice a few feet away. Unlike the massive carved public entrance that was further down, this access point appeared to be a natural, super-sized crack in the towering red stone cliffs.

We had parked among the rows of trucks and SUVs that lined a dead-end canyon. I’d followed Aunt Lila and Neela had followed me. Now, we three stared ahead into the sun-poisoned passage, no doubt each of us thinking different thoughts about what waited beyond.

I shifted, nervous. More sand snuck into my shoes. High heels were impractical in the desert terrain, so I had chosen a pair of nude flats to go with my simple green dress. The dress was made from a soft, shimmery material my mother had found online. She’d ordered it when Carolyn and I had turned eighteen. Of course, she’d made the original dress for my sister. We’d been about the same height—I was an inch taller—and we’d had the same willowy shape. Over the last month, my mother had made adjustments for me, all the while clucking about how I was “wasting away.” I suppose I harbored so much anxiety about the Choosing I didn’t have room for food. The closer it got to the ceremony, the more it seemed my stomach filled with twisty knots of dread.

I pressed my hand against my midsection, nausea roiling. It was one thing to be with the alpha alone in a bedroom —and quite another to be on display as he officially wed me in front of my family and an entire pack of werewolves.

“You gonna throw up, princess?” asked Neela. “Do it here, if you are. You will not embarrass the alpha or the pack by losing your shit at the ceremony.”

“Belle is fine,” said Aunt Lila in a soothing, but firm tone. “Your parents will be here soon. We’ll go ahead so you can have some privacy.”

“She doesn’t get privacy.” Neela put her hands on her hips and nodded toward the passageway. “You go, and I’ll stay right here.”

“Grey has made his wishes known.” Aunt Lila canted her head to Neela. “Belle is to be alone with her parents. If you require clarification about his instructions, I’m happy to call him.” She withdrew her cell phone from the side of her purse.

“I know what Grey wants,” Neela managed between gritted teeth, “you don’t have to remind me.”

“Apparently, I do.” Aunt Lila waved her hand—a gesture that said, you first.

Neela tossed me a look of such hatred, I flinched. I quickly straightened, but she noted the miniscule reaction and smiled. Now, she believed I was afraid of her, and that’s how she wanted me to feel. Well, feelings were one thing and actions another. Truth was she scared me. But that didn’t mean I had to show that fear. Next time, I wouldn’t.

She stalked past Aunt Lila, who watched the werewolf’s long, angry strides. Her expression was a mixture of frustration and sadness. She shook her head slightly, and then she reached out and squeezed my shoulder. “Take your time.”

“Thank you.” I took her hand and squeezed it gently between mine. “For everything.”

“Of course, dear.” Sorrow flashed in her gaze—a dolorous lightning strike so quick, I wasn’t sure if I interpreted it correctly. Then Aunt Lila walked away. Had I imagined her anguish? If I hadn’t, why would she feel such distress when she looked at me?

“Arabelle!”

My mother’s voice rang out, and I turned. My parents met me with double hugs—their arms drawing me close into their warmth, into their love. I held on to them both, soaking in the feeling of safety they invoked. For this moment, I didn’t feel so alone or so afraid.

They let go, and as they stepped back, I saw the tears shining in their eyes. My father was a teacher at the school—one of three instructors who taught all the students in our town. My mother, like many mothers in Bleed City, stayed at home and took care of the house and the family.

“We’re so proud of you,” said Mom. She grabbed me and embraced me again. “You have been such a good daughter.” Her arms tightened around me even more, and I knew she was thinking of Carolyn, and how she should’ve been standing here at this moment. I don’t think Mom ever understood my twin’s resentment about the Choosing. Carolyn’s suicide had left my parents mired in shock and confusion. Even three years later, they seemed befuddled by her actions.

My father touched Mom’s back, and she let go of me, putting her arms at her sides stiffly as though trying to control her hugging urges.

“Are you all right?” asked Dad. “The alpha came to the house and told us you tried to save Mr. Sanders.”

“I was too late.” I bit my lower lip. “Grey came to see you personally?”

Dad shared a look with Mom and then he smiled. “He was very impressed by the way you handled yourself. He…he asked for your hand in marriage.”

Shock reverberated through me. Grey had asked my parents for permission before he’d told me I was his chosen bride? What if they had said no? Would he have backed off? Freed me from the ceremony? I couldn’t imagine the outcomes, because they were as far-fetched as the moon being made of cheese. My parents fully expected me to participate in the Choosing. And the alpha could have me whether my parents liked him or not. Whether I liked him or not.

Why had he gone to my parents first?

“It was such an unexpected thing,” said Mom, her voice filled with wonder. Her gaze found mine. “I know there’s not much between you now, but he’s a good man. He’s honorable.”

Honorable was my parents’ highest compliment. They were no doubt thrilled that I would soon be the alpha’s mate, which brought all kinds of esteem in our community. But I knew them too well to believe they sought supercilious compliments or favors. They loved me. As bound by laws and God and the pact as they were, they ultimately wanted the best for me, for everyone. Daily they prayed for me to find harmony in this life—just like they still prayed for Carolyn to find peace in the afterlife.

“I love you both,” I said. “Very, very much.”

“We love you, too,” said Dad.

“We’ll keep you in our prayers, Arabelle,” said my mother. “May God hold you in his arms when you need His comfort. And may the alpha bring you happiness.” She cupped my face. “You will do fine. Just fine.”

“Of course,” I said. “I’m a Winton.”

They smiled. After a final hug, they moved past me and toward the main entrance into the ceremonial grounds. I watched them until they reached the carved arch of the Shadow Pack’s temple.

They turned—their arms around each other, smiles on their faces. Dad gave me a thumbs-up, and Mom blew a kiss.

Then they were gone.

5

I DIDN’T REALIZE I was crying until I felt the tears roll down my neck. Apparently, the emotion held so tightly within me, tied up in those gnarled balls of dread and hope, had burst without my knowledge. I stopped, digging into my purse for my compact. I had to assess the damage to my make-up. Lord forbid I show up to the ceremony looking like a crazed raccoon. Not to mention the surety of Neela saying something nasty about my smeared mascara.

I peered closely at the compact’s tiny mirror. It was too dark in the narrow natural-stone hallway for me to see my reflection.

I looked behind me, studying the sliver of yellowish-orange light that denoted the setting sun. Should I go back out into dying light of day and try to fix what my tears had destroyed?

No. It was probably wiser to forge ahead. I would endure whatever unkind words flowed from Neela’s mouth. Aunt Lila would help me repair my make-up before I had to take my place within the Choosing circle.

Decision made, I traipsed forward, only to trip over—something. I grabbed at the wall, my palm dragging across its sharp, rough surface. I barely managed to keep from falling onto my face. My heart skipped a beat as I righted myself. Merciful heavens. What had I stumbled over? Rock? Brush? Dirt pile? It didn’t seem too far a stretch to believe Neela might’ve left an object in my path in the hope I’d fall and break my neck. Well, then. I guess that thought showed what a low opinion I had of her.

I usually carried a small flashlight with me, for the night walks home from the diner, but I’d downsized to a smaller purse to match my shoes. There’d been no room for the flashlight or for a dozen other items I liked to have with me. The passageway was too dark for me to see much else than the sliver of light ahead—the entrance to the temple.

The scrape on my hand stung.

And I’d dropped my compact.

A banner day, Arabelle. I sighed—and trudged onward.

* * *

AUNT LILA WAITED for me. To my relief, Neela was nowhere around. Aunt Lila took one look at my face and ushered me to a more private location. Private being a relative term, of course—and in this case, it meant a shadowed corner just a few feet away. I got the briefest of looks at the carved stone seating and brightly painted rock walls of the ceremonial grounds. The quick peek left me with an impression of a Roman theatre built within an Egyptian temple.

“My goodness,” said Aunt Lila as she whipped out a package of tissues and a make-up compact. “What happened to you?”

“I’m afraid I cried against my will.” I showed her the scrape. Blood welled in skin-torn rivulets. “Then I tripped and almost kissed the dirt hello.”

Aunt Lila tsked. “Both your poor hands have suffered injuries now.” She pressed a tissue into my hand and then applied one to my cheeks, no doubt rubbing off the mascara streaks. My other palm had been injured the night before when I’d used a jagged piece of glass to fend off the scruffer who’d attacked me. The stitches itched underneath the cotton wrapping.

“I’m a mess,” I said. “Inside and out.”

“We all are, dear. The way life comes at us—it’s a wonder any of us get up in the morning.” She dotted my cheeks with a light beige powder. She studied my face and smiled. “There now. All fixed. Not that you need enhancement. You’re pretty as a spring flower, Belle.”

It was nice of her to say, but I really fell into the “average” category. No dimples in my smile, no slanted cheeks, no plump lips. My best feature, or so I’d been told, were my hazel eyes. The color wasn’t unique—my twin, my mother, and both my aunts had it, too.

I peered into the compact’s tiny mirror. Aside from the fact my eyelashes had less mascara now, my make-up seemed otherwise intact. I shut the case and handed it to Aunt Lila. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, dear. Now, we need to get to you to the waiting area. It’s nearly time for the bride procession.”

I followed Aunt Lila around the long rows of stadium seating that had been carved out of the canyon walls. On the other side of the canyon were huge, brightly painted wall reliefs with scenes from werewolf mythology. Given that werewolves held mating and breeding in high regard, (and were far more comfortable with sexuality than humans) several of the painted enactments featured brazen, sexual acts. I found myself blushing to the roots of my hair, but unable to stop sneaking looks at the fantastical scenes. Even so, I was relieved when we reached a small set of rock steps. Aunt Lila led the way, and I soon found myself in a small underground chamber.

A dozen or so Bleed City brides chattered excitedly in clusters of brightly colored dresses and clashing perfume scents.

“Here, honey. I’ll take your purse and make sure it gets to your mating den.” Aunt Lila gave me a quick hug before disappearing up the staircase. Mating den. I shivered. What would it be like when Grey took me for the first time?

“Belle!” My friend and co-worker, Cacie Lynn, rushed to me. She looked a picture in her pale purple dress with its off-the-shoulder ruffle and knee-length swirl. Her blonde hair had been French-braided with tiny lavender flowers. “You’re a sight for sore eyes!” She threw her arms around me.

I returned her embrace and then stepped back. “You look beautiful, Cacie Lynn.”

She smiled, pleased by the compliment. “You’re sweet.” She narrowed her gaze as she put her hands on her hips. “But I heard you’re taking home the prize. How on earth did you snag the alpha before any of us have seen him?”

“All she had to do was murder a werewolf,” said an asinine female voice from behind me.

“Have you met Neela?” I asked Cacie Lynn, who’d gone wide-eyed. “She’s a real peach.”

Neela snorted, bumping hard into my shoulder as she passed us, striding through the crowd of suddenly quiet women. A wolf in the hen house.

As soon as Neela disappeared into a hallway on the opposite side of the room, conversations burst forth like popped balloons expelling confetti.

Cacie Lynn looked like she’d swallowed her tongue. She grabbed my shoulder. “Who was that? Did you really kill a werewolf?”

“Neela is in charge of the enforcers. Stay as far away from her as you can. She’s not real enamored of humans.”

“Hmph. I won’t put her on my Christmas card list,” sniffed Cacie Lynn. She wagged a finger at me. “Now answer question number two.”

“Mr. Sanders was murdered by a Blood Pack scruffer,” I said in a low voice. “He attacked me, too, and I defended myself.”

Cacie Lynn sucked in a shocked breath and placed a hand against her bosom. “Good lord, Belle. You could’ve been killed!”

“Line up!” Neela’s strident command cut through the room like a sharp blade, instantly silencing all of us. We turned toward her, and I noticed Colt was standing beside her. The blond-haired man had been with Grey when they came to Mr. Sanders’ home last night. They’d been tracking the scruffer, but I got to the beast before they could. Colt’s gaze found mine, and he winked at me.

The silly gesture soothed my nerves, and I smiled in thanks.

“Everyone was given a number,” said Neela. “Number one needs to stand here.” She pointed at a spot in front of the hallway. “Then two. Three, and so forth. Let’s go!”

“I’m number five,” gushed Cacie Lynn. “Wish me luck!”

“Luck,” I called as the girl hurried to take her place.

I stayed where I was, waiting for everyone to queue up before I became the caboose of the bride train.

“I’m number ten!”

“No, Sally. You’re number eleven!”

The girls began to squabble, and Neela stomped over to handle the conflict. Colt took the opportunity to sidle up to me. He bumped me with an elbow.

“You ready?” he asked.

“No,” I answered honestly.

He chuckled. “You’ll be all right, Belle.”

“Really? Is Grey’s bark worse than his bite?”

“Nope. His bark is pretty bad-ass, but his bite is worse.” He grinned at me. “I have a feeling you’ll like it, though.”

No doubt he was referring to our first mating, and that subject was not something I wanted to discuss with anyone. “Don’t you need to be lined up with the other grooms?”

He shook his head. His long blonde hair had been braided into a thick rope that draped over the sword strapped to his back. “I’m an alpha. If I choose a bride tonight, that’s the same as saying I’m going beta. No can do. As soon as you and Grey make a baby, I’ll move on to find my own pack to lead.”

“So the pack has two alphas?”

“Not technically. I’m Grey’s half-brother. Grey’s mom died in childbirth and the alpha re-mated a year later to my mother. Then I was born. I’m younger by two years. Right now, I’m Grey’s heir.”

“Until he has a son.”

“Or a daughter. A pack alpha doesn’t have to be a man, you know.”

Surprised, I turned to him. “It doesn’t?”

“Don’t get me wrong. Werewolf packs tend to be patriarchal because so few females are born full shifters. But everyone can earn the right to be the alpha—doesn’t matter what’s between your legs.”

“Oh.” I felt heat rush up my neck and flood my cheeks.

“Whoops. Sorry, Belle. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to speak to a proper lady.”

“It’s all right, Colt,” I said. “Bleed City’s daughters tend to grow up sheltered.”

He slung his arm around me and squeezed—the same affectionate way a brother would try comfort his little sister. “I think it’s adorable.”

“Colt!”

Neela’s strident tone had us both looking toward the annoyed werewolf. She stood ram-rod straight, her arms crossed. The pinched expression on her face made her look like she’d sucked on a lemon. The girls in the queue looked from Neela to the two of us, their gazes wide and curious.

“Are you going to tell me that Neela’s not so bad?” I whispered.

“Hell, no,” Colt whispered back. “She’s a complete bitch.” He gave me one last squeeze and moved away, joining Neela at the head of the bridal line.

She offered a heated, pointed gaze at Colt, which he completely ignored. He grinned widely—dare I say wolfishly—at the ladies. “This way, my beauties,” he said. “Let’s get your marry on!”

Excited twitters and giggles emitted from the nervous girls and then they were moving, following Colt and Neela into the hallway.

I trailed behind the last girl—Mary Stiller. She was probably the most naïve, the most sheltered daughter in Bleed City. She’d only turned eighteen a couple of weeks ago. Her parents had homeschooled her. She’d never had a job, and had never gone to any town socials. The only place I’d ever seen her was in church and at the diner’s Sunday brunch, but always in the company of her parents. I noticed the slight tremor of her shoulders as she walked forward jerkily, almost like she was being yanked forward by an invisible rope. She didn’t exude the enthusiasm of the other women.

I eased up behind her. “Mary.” I reached out and gave her arm a brief squeeze. “You’ll be all right. We all will.”

She didn’t respond, maybe she couldn’t with all the tension she was keeping boxed in, but she gave me a slight nod.

We walked up a short set of stairs that led directly into the orchestra. This semi-circle of stone—and the risers of carved seating called cavea behind it—were the most reminiscent of an ancient Roman theatre. I’d had something of a fascination for the Romans in high school and once wrote a paper about this type of structure for a history class. The other half of the huge space was the most like an Egyptian temple, with its brightly painted reliefs and tall red-rock columns carved with symbols only known to the werewolf culture.

Above us, the night sky looked like diamond-studded velvet. It was an appropriate dome for this cathedral created from nature. Torches with large, flickering flames dotted the entire place, giving off plenty of light for both participants and observers.

Once the first girl took her spot, the rest of us spread out beside her. Five feet away, a similar line of werewolf males faced us. There were nearly twice as many of them.

I couldn’t help myself. I sought out Grey and found him immediately. He stood in the middle of the pack, slightly in front of the other grooms, his long, black hair loose and flowing. He wore black slacks with a blue dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar. His dress shoes gleamed in the torchlight.

I could feel the heat of his gaze on me before I gathered enough courage to meet his eyes. His stare telegraphed the intensity of his lustful desires. Oh, mercy. I felt the breath leave my lungs in a sudden, anxious whoosh. I couldn’t deny that he was handsome. He stood taller, stronger than the men around him. I felt my belly quiver in anticipation, in fear. A foreign heat gathered between my thighs and my nipples tightened. Unnerved by my reaction, I looked at the ground and tried to slow the rapid beat of my heart.

Werewolves chose brides based on their pack ranking. The alpha went first, then the beta, and so forth. A werewolf had the right to forfeit his choice if he found none of the brides to his liking. It was possible higher ranked werewolves would take a pass, allowing one of the lesser ranked to find a mate.

The brides, however, didn’t get the same opportunity. We were the tributes. Though the pact ensured that we would be treated well and given all that we needed to create family and home within the pack, no one was guaranteed emotional connections.

The Choosing was not about making love matches.

It was about completing business transactions.

But despite the coldness of such an exchange, more than one true mating had come from the Choosing.

I did not, however, believe that would be my experience.

I knew very well there was a difference between physical pleasures and soulful bonds. I couldn’t expect more from Grey than what the pact promised. Yet, I felt some regret that I would never have the opportunity to fall in love. It sounded like such a wonderful experience—certainly more pleasant than being mated and bred with a werewolf.

“We are gathered tonight to honor the pact between the Shadow Pack and its protectorate, Bleed City.” Aunt Lila stood on a raised podium behind the werewolf grooms. Her voice projected easily throughout the theatre—yet another aspect that could be traced to Roman ingenuity. “As we have done since the time our saviors arrived and gave us shelter and sustenance, we offer our eldest daughters to the males of the Shadow Pack. We give you our greatest treasures in gratitude for your protection of our community.”

Aunt Lila’s gaze landed on each and every one of the brides. “We thank you, daughters, for honoring the pact.” Aunt Lila lifted her arms, palms raised to the sky. “May the marital bonds created by this Choosing bring joy, understanding, and peace. May you all be blessed with children and with happy homes.”

That was it. Ceremony over. I couldn’t quite comprehend the lack of pomp and circumstance, but it hardly mattered.

Grey was already striding toward me. Before I had a chance to even say hello, he swept me into his arms and marched us off toward a side exit.

I heard the raucous calls of the werewolves, the gasps and giggles of the other women, and the enthusiastic applause from the parents watching. Grey’s muscles tensed as if his wolf wanted to claw its way through his skin. Willing or not, my sweet, I will take you. The words he’d spoken hours earlier echoed in my mind. I clutched at his shoulders, unable to stop the quaking of my own body.

I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect now, though I knew from stories that the werewolves wasted no time in fully claiming their mates. Below the stadium there were the mating dens—honeymoon suites, if you will.

We entered a long hallway lit by torches, and at the end of it was a huge wooden door. It looked medieval—striped with iron and carved with symbols. When we arrived, the door was unlocked and opened about an inch. Grey kicked at it and it swung open fully, revealing a luxurious suite worthy of a five-star hotel.

He deposited me onto the decadent four-poster bed, dressed in burnished golds and dark greens. A mountain of pillows piled against the headboard and the bedding was divinely soft.

My nerves had begun to fray. I knew he could smell my fear, my anxiety. I saw nothing within his expression that would offer me comfort. Certainly not the hungry fire that burned in his gaze. Was it possible to quench that lust? To satisfy him completely?

“Are we not supposed to talk?” I asked.

“The words I want to say will bruise those delicate virgin ears.” He went to the door, shutting it firmly, and engaging the bolt. He returned to the bed, but did not join me. Instead, he stood there watching. Assessing. I saw his nostrils flare and knew he was drawing in my scent. He fisted his hands and his broad shoulders bunched.

“Take off your shoes,” he said, his voice nearly a growl “And your dress.”

I scooted to the edge of the bed and slipped off my flats. I stood up, my bare feet sinking into the thick carpet. “I need help with the zipper,” I said.

“The only way I will remove that dress is to tear it off. I have no patience for zippers.”

I realized then how much his control was costing him. The urge to mate in werewolves was stronger than any primal drive inherent in humans. It was a wonder more brides weren’t injured on their wedding nights if they had to contend with such beastly fierceness.

All the same, I was here. With him. So, I could be a mewling scaredy-cat, or I could suck it up and find strength to endure. Besides, I didn’t really want the dress—it was just one more reminder about Carolyn, about her life becoming mine.

And it was my life now. I owned it.

“Fine,” I said. “You want to rip it off from the front or the back?”

“What?”

I met his shocked gaze, and even though my heart felt like it would burst and I couldn’t quite breathe, I said, “Take it.” I swallowed the knot in my throat. “Take me.”

He grabbed the front of the dress with one hand and yanked it downward. His strength was unbelievable. The material tore like tissue paper and fell onto the floor.

I wore a simple white lace bra and matching panties. “I’m sorry it’s not…fancy.”

He bared his teeth. “I will buy you anything you want. I will dress you in clothes worthy of my mate. But now, I want you naked.”

His gaze became heavy-lidded and his breathing harsh. He pointed at the bra. “Off.”

I don’t think I’ve taken off a piece of clothing that fast before. I went ahead and shucked off the underwear, too. I mean, I knew where this was headed, and I couldn’t stop it anymore than I could stop a train barreling down the tracks.

His big hands settled on my hips, and he dragged me against him. “Arabelle, you are the most beautiful, most desirable woman I have ever known.”

He leaned down and kissed me in a way that shocked me to my toes. His tongue split the seam of my lips and then dared to tangle with mine in a way that mimicked the most primal of connections. He cupped my head, his fingers threading into my hair as his other arm tightened around me. Grey continued the sensual assault that electrified every one of my nerve endings.

The hard length of his erection pressed against my stomach.

Awash in sensations that felt like both anxiety and excitement, I went boneless. Grey scooped me up and tossed me onto the bed again. He quickly divested himself of his own clothing and came for me. Before I took my next breath, he was on top of me—his shaft nestled in the vee of my thighs. In his face, I could see the wolf. His eyes were changed and his expression animalistic.

Rough. Greedy. Insistent.

His words. His prophecy.

My mind was overwhelmed by what was happening, but my body knew how to react. I felt wetness between my thighs—a secret soon discovered by Grey as he adjusted his position. His length pressed against my entrance—creating a foreign pressure, a strange ache, that made my whole body tense up.

“You’re wet.” He gritted his teeth, sucking in gasping breaths. “I can’t…damn it. I will hurt you,” he said, his voice strained. “I don’t want to, Arabelle. But the first mating is a claiming. A domination. Do you understand?”

I nodded.

He closed his eyes briefly. “The next time, and every time after, you will know pleasure. I promise.”

I could only stare at him. I didn’t know how to feel—glad he was honest? Fearful of what happened next? I understood the mechanics, of course. But with his manhood poised to penetrate me…oh, sweet merciful heavens. I started to shake.

“Arabelle,” he whispered. “Sshh.”

He planted his hands on either side of me and pressed close. “Hold on to me.”

I latched onto his shoulders and shut my eyes as he drove his shaft into me, quick and hard and deep.

I felt a burning sensation, felt something tear, give way to his penetration.

He shuddered as he filled me completely.

My eyes popped open. I gasped, my fingernails digging into his flesh.

It hurt.

“Wrap your legs around me.”

I did as he demanded, clinging to him as he began to thrust.

The sensations were uncomfortable, strange. I knew I could feel pleasure, that Grey could bring me to pleasure, because he’d done so during the scenting. But this…this was so different.

My heart pounded and sweat beaded my skin.

Grey buried his head into my neck, groaning as he stroked into me. His teeth nipped my collarbone and an electric shock zapped me to my core.

Just I was getting used to the position, to the sure, deep thrusts of the alpha, he withdrew from me and sat up. As promised, he was animalistic—and a look at his face, which seemed more wolf than man was proof positive.

He flipped me over, and my stomach spun as he grabbed my hips and positioned himself behind me. I resisted the urge to squirm away. Instead, I moved my legs further apart to accommodate him.

“Good girl,” he said tightly. “Lift your ass.”

I did.

His fingers spread me open, and then his thick, hard length slid inside me once more. He stilled, sucking in harsh breaths.

I pressed my face into the covers and grabbed onto the mangled bedspread.

Grey gripped my hips…

…and drove his shaft inside me over and over again.

He growled, his fingers biting into my skin. I heard the wet slaps of his flesh against mine, and I tightened my grip on the sheets already twisted in my fists.

All I could do was hold on…hold on…and let him take me.

“Arabelle!” He seated himself deeply, crying out as he emptied his seed inside me.

After a moment, he pulled out and gently rolled me over.

“I’m sorry,” he said. I could see the sincerity in his eyes. I hadn’t expected—this tenderness, this caring, from a werewolf, from the alpha no less.

My thighs ached and my womanhood throbbed with dull pain. I felt shaky. “Do you think we could wait a minute before we…um, continue?”

“We’re mated. Our future couplings won’t be like that again.” His gaze traveled along my body. Even though we were both naked, and had performed the most intimate act two people could share, I felt a blush rise and heat my face.

He smiled. “Look at me, Arabelle. Don’t be ashamed. You are mine. And I am yours.”

Of course, I looked. I felt uncomfortable, but fascination outweighed my embarrassment. Grey was beautiful. He was so muscled, so grandly put together. His hair fell all the way to his buttocks, a glorious cape of shiny black. He took my breath away. His chest was lightly furred, and that hair arrowed down to his ridged stomach to…oh!

“That was in me?” I asked. Honestly, I felt a little horrified.

He laughed. “Yes, sweetheart. And it will be in you again. Often.”

I swallowed heavily. His shaft was soft, but still huge, sprouting from a nest of black curls. I saw my virgin’s blood smeared across the darker skin of his penis.

Grey grasped his member, lifting it, and pulled back. The skin retracted to reveal the mushroomed end of his manhood. “Werewolves do not circumcise their young—not like most American humans. We do not alter our bodies, except through exercise or training. We don’t ostracize those born different, either. You have the right to earn your ranking in the pack and you are not limited by gender, sexual orientation, or physical defects. You’re not limited by anything save your strength of mind and will.”

“True equality.”

“In a sense,” he said. “Ranking is important in the pack. It’s how we keep order.” He let go of his penis, and my gaze followed its descent as it settled, once again, against the tuft of silky hair. “Touch my cock.”

Startled, I looked up at him.

“It won’t bite.” He offered a toothsome smile. “Only I do that.”

My hand ghosted across my collarbone where I still felt the sting of his earlier nip. Then I reached out and drew my fingertip along the soft skin of his shaft.

His gaze went dark, hungry.

I suddenly realized that my touch could invoke need, desire in Grey. So much of my life had not been within my control, but this, this I could claim. I slowly wrapped my fingers around his cock and lightly squeezed.

“Arabelle.” My name was a rush of breath, of wanting. Something sparked in my belly. I knew now that Grey had spoken the truth about pleasure. He would show me. I would learn everything. I would do everything. To him. For him.

He gently pried my fingers off his shaft. “We have all night,” he said. “We have our whole lives. Stay here.”

He left the bed, crossing the room to a door that led into a bathroom. I heard running water, and Grey returned a moment later with a wet wash cloth. He efficiently wiped away the evidence our first mating—first on me, then on himself.

He disposed of the cloth and came to stand next to the bed.

“I meant what I said. You will know nothing but pleasure from our future matings.” He drew back the bedding. “Get under the covers, Arabelle.”

Gratefully, I slid underneath the cool sheets, feeling only a little strange to be doing so while completely naked. Grey joined me and gathered me into his arms. I fit perfectly against his muscled side. It was so nice to be held…to feel almost cherished.

“Arabelle?”

I looked up at him, amazed once more by his harsh beauty. I’m married to this man. “Yes?”

“I have a secret to tell you about werewolves.” He grasped my hand and held it against his rock-hard abs.

“You can trust me,” I said.

He smiled as he brushed a sweat-dampened lock from my forehead. “Okay. Here it is… We love to snuggle.”

It took a second to process his words, and then I laughed. “Don’t worry,” I said as I felt him tighten our embrace, “I won’t tell a soul.”

6

I HAD DRIFTED INTO sleep … until the pounding on our den door startled me awake. I was still in Grey’s arms, and he was apparently awake. He kissed the top of my head.

“I’ll be right back,” he murmured. “I just have to kill whoever that is.”

I laughed, and then covered my mouth, startled at my carefree reaction. He grinned, seemingly pleased by my response to his gallows humor.

He slipped out of the bed and strode to the door, completely naked. “What?” he yelled.

“We have a problem.” The voice belonged to Neela. Why was she here? It seemed a little late to protest our marriage.

I sat up, drawing the bedding around me to shield my nudity. Grey, however, didn’t seem to care that he was unclothed. He opened the door, and Neela marched inside, her expression grim. Her gaze found me—and she snarled. My heart leapt in my chest. Her face was transmogrifying, shifting from human to wolf in a way that was horror-movie-esque.

“Neela!”

The command in Grey’s voice was unmistakable. Neela whirled around. “I can smell that human bitch all over you.”

Grey grabbed Neela by the hair and yanked her to the bed. He forced her to look at me. “Apologize to my mate.”

For a moment, I thought Neela would refuse, that she would allow her hatred for me to override her common sense. Seeing Grey in full alpha mode was somewhat scary—and oddly thrilling.

“My apologies,” she said in a sullen tone.

Grey pulled her back. He twisted her hair tighter and brought her face within inches of his. “Never disrespect her again. If you do, it will be your last act as a member of the Shadow Pack.” His voice dropped to a harsh whisper. “If you’re not very, very careful, it may well be your last act on this earth.”

Neela paled and dropped her gaze. Grey let her go, and she quickly put distance between them. Her fury had not dissipated if her tensed muscles and tightened jaw were any indication. But she kept her eyes cast down—submissive to the alpha.

“What do you want?”

“One of my enforcers has been killed,” she said through clenched teeth. She withdrew an object from her front pocket and showed Grey.

I instantly recognized my compact. I felt the blood drain out of my face. “Where did you get that?”

“It was near the body.” She flashed her fangs at me. “It’s yours, isn’t it?”

“Yes. I was on my way to the temple and I tripped. The compact was in my hand and I lost it.”

“Convenient.”

Grey blew out an impatient breath. “It’s not enough evidence, Neela.”

“I have her blood on the cave wall. And we all know that she’s capable of killing a werewolf.” Neela turned toward me, triumph flashing in her gaze. “I’m here to impute Arabelle Burke for an unsanctioned kill.”

Grey pinned my gaze, his eyes filled with worry—and suspicion.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“You’re being accused of murder, Arabelle. And pack law is clear about imputation.” He stepped back, hands fisted at his side, and allowed Neela to approach the bed.

“Get up and get dressed,” she said. “You’re coming with me.”

“What? Where?”

“Prison.” She said the word with relish. “Where you will stay until your trial.”

7

“WOW, NEELA. THAT’S low. Even for you.” Colt sauntered into the den, followed by Aunt Lila. Colt’s expression was filled with disgust—the same emotion reflected in Aunt Lila’s face.

I hadn’t yet moved from the bed, partly because there was no way I would bare my nude body to Neela and partly because I felt frozen to the spot. I was unnerved by her accusation and confused by Grey’s apparent acceptance of her imputation. This wasn’t an episode of Law & Order: Werewolf Victim Unit. I didn’t know my rights within the Shadow Pack. Although, I would’ve thought being the mate of the alpha gave me some purview.

“I have evidence to support my claim,” she said. “I have jurisdiction over unsanctioned kills—which supersedes the alpha’s. As you all know.”

Well, except for me. I only knew that Neela hated me and wanted me gone. What better way than to thread together the barest of evidence for killing one of the Shadow Pack? If I was found guilty, I was dead.

“Belle didn’t have a speck of blood on her,” stated Aunt Lila. “Not her dress, her shoes, her purse. Please explain how she was supposed to kill Murdock in the passageway and still look fresh as a daisy when I saw her a few minutes later.”

Considering I’d been a crying mess, “fresh as a daisy” seemed a stretch as a description. But I was appreciative of Aunt Lila’s efforts all the same.

“Maybe she had a partner,” surmised Neela. “It’s possible she’s been setting up Grey all along. It wouldn’t be the first time a human colluded with a rival pack to infiltrate and destroy another. She probably didn’t kill the Blood Pack scruffer.”

Neela was scrabbling, changing theories so she could take me to prison and put me on trial. In the meanwhile, whoever had murdered this poor Murdock fellow was still free. I knew I hadn’t hurt him—though I had probably tripped over his arm or leg in the passageway, which is how I ended up with a lost compact, a scraped hand, and a murder accusation. Mercy! Who would have the nerve to kill an enforcer at a Shadow Pack temple? And why?

“Belle killed the scruffer.” Grey’s confident voice cut through Neela’s snide allegations. “Agreed, Colt?”

“Agreed.”

“Two witnesses confirm her kill,” said Grey. “In defense for her life.”

Neela snarled, but rallied quick enough. “The death of a Blood Pack scruffer means nothing to my current investigation. By the way, I have a witness, too.”

The sudden silence was as thick as pudding. It was impossible for Neela to have a witness to me killing this Murdock—because I hadn’t. I got the strong feeling I was being set up. I bet it chafed Neela’s werewolf behind to no end that she hadn’t discovered the body before I was mated to Grey.

“Did this person see Belle carry out the unsanctioned kill?” asked Grey in a stony voice.

That man was still naked as jaybird, but no one else seemed to notice. I don’t know why, in the middle of this terrible situation, I was focused on him being unclothed. Still, I couldn’t help but want him to put on a pair of pants.

“The witness saw Belle enter the temple crying and bleeding.” Neela turned her furious stare on Aunt Lila. “And watched you clean her up.”

Aunt Lila crossed her arms and returned Neela’s accusatory glare. “I have nothing else to add to my original statement.”

“Elder or not, you are subject to our laws as well. I can lock you up for lying to me.”

“Try it,” invited Aunt Lila. She bared her teeth in a smile that was distinctly werewolf, even though the woman was as human as I.

For a moment, Neela looked as though she was considering ripping out Aunt Lila’s throat. Then she turned back to Grey. “Enough evidence points to your mate that I cannot overlook her as the prime suspect. Unless someone else confesses to the murder, Arabelle Winton remains imputed.”

“My name is Arabelle Burke,” I said. I was tired of everyone discussing me as though I weren’t in the room. “I assume you’ll need my legal name for any forthcoming proceedings.” I felt utterly self-conscious, but I would not be railroaded—especially not by the likes of Neela. She didn’t like me correcting her, but for heaven’s sake the woman didn’t like anything about me, the least of all which I was mated to the man she wanted. Hmph! No conflict of interest there! “In case anyone was wondering, I didn’t kill this Murdock fellow.” I blew out a sigh. “Am I allowed to have a lawyer?”

“An advocate,” said Grey. He glanced at Colt, who nodded.

“I’ll be your advocate.” Colt offered a grim smile. “We’ll get you through this, Belle.”

“Thank you.” I stared at Neela until she frowned. She wouldn’t look away, not like she had with Grey, but I think she realized I wasn’t going to be cowed by her. “I would like a moment alone to dress and say good-bye to my husband.”

“I don’t—”

“Of course.” Aunt Lila cut off Neela’s protest with a firmness that surprised the enforcer. The look of steel in Aunt Lila’s gaze brooked no argument, either. Neela conceded with a sharp nod. She’d won, after all. I was going with her—right to werewolf jail.

“Five minutes.” With that snotty declaration, Neela strode out of the den, followed by Aunt Lila and Colt, who shut the door behind him.

I slid out of bed and picked up my clothing from the floor. I cast my eyes down, unwilling to meet Grey’s gaze. I was unaccountably disappointed that he had not stood up for me. It would’ve been quite a thrill to see him toss Neela out on her perfect ass. That’s enough of that, Belle. I would fight my own battles. God had given me a brain, and I was going to use it to get myself out of this mess.

Even though I didn’t really want to get dressed in front of him, especially since I could feel the heat of his stare on me, I did it anyway. My hands shook and my heart thumped and I felt dizzy, but I managed to put on everything including my shoes.

“Do you have my purse?” I asked.

“Arabelle.”

My name sounded like penance, so I lifted my head and met his gaze.

“The pack operates with a strict order. Our laws are immutable. It’s how we function as a society, how we keep the peace in our community. If the enforcer leader brings an accusation—it’s the only instance she can override my authority.”

“Honor and duty to the pack,” I said. “I understand.”

He studied my face and frowned. “You understand, but you’re disappointed in me.” He seemed perplexed. “You shouldn’t be.”

“Why not?”

Grey was taken aback by the question.

“In a human marriage,” I explained, “a wife expects support from her husband.”

“I’m the alpha. The pack relies on me to hold closest to our laws, to keep the purest approach to our ways of life. There aren’t individuals in the pack. We all work together for the common good.”

“I understand that, too. I just need you tell me…What am I, exactly?” I asked. My tone held no hostility, only curiosity. “I’ll need your specific definition of wife—or mate. I have every intention of performing my duties.”

“I don’t want a robot, Arabelle. I expect you to contribute in many ways. You’re strong and passionate and smart.” He moved forward and put his hands on my shoulders. “I don’t want you to shut off any part of yourself from me.”

I inhaled a steadying breath. “All right. But my feelings are my own. I won’t bellyache about my lot in life, and I’ll follow the pack rules, but I get to feel anyway I want.”

“Of course.” He leaned down and kissed my forehead. “I won’t let you down, Arabelle. I’ll do everything possible to clear your name and find out the truth about Murdock’s murder.”

You and me both. My heart dropped to my stomach. I couldn’t believe I was getting locked up for losing my compact in the wrong place.

“Your purse is in the nightstand. It will only take me a few minutes to get dressed.”

“You’re going with me?”

Grey nodded. “As you say, Arabelle—a husband supports his wife.”

* * *

TO MY SURPRISE, I was not led out in chains to a waiting werewolf cop car and hauled to the jail at the compound. First, Neela hadn’t gotten to use the manacles she’d actually brought. Grey said “no” in a tone that had Neela scowling, but backing away instantly. Second, there was no such thing as a werewolf cop car. And finally, the compound was accessed through underground tunnels that crisscrossed beneath the temple. Humans didn’t visit werewolf dens. Most humans didn’t know about shifters and those who did were usually the ones marrying into a pack.

So, I hadn’t really known the location of the Shadow Pack’s fortification. It appeared to be connected to the temple. The passageways were lit by flickering torches that cast shadows onto the walls like spattered ink. As I was marched through the stone-carved channels, the entire experience took on a surreal quality.

Neela led the way, followed by Colt. Grey and I walked side by side. Behind us loped two very large, very scary werewolves. After Grey and Aunt Lila had a private conversation away from the rest of us, the sweet woman hugged me good-bye and promised she would see me later. She had the determined look of a crusader as she hurried away, and I had feeling she was going to do her all-fire best to help me.

If the alpha couldn’t make all this nonsense go away then I needed all the help I could get.

I was guessing nearly an hour had passed before we’d reached the tunnel to the werewolf’s underground prison. Neela quickened her pace and within minutes we’d reached a heavily fortified door. The jail, I presumed. Neela opened it with an iron key she kept God knew where in that tight outfit of hers, and breezed through with a huge, fierce smile on her face. I think if the woman got any happier about my impending incarceration, she’d burst into song.

Wrought-iron doors that seemed to belong in medieval dungeons lined each side. It was deathly quiet in here, only the sounds of shoes clattering on stone and my nervous breathing echoed within. I had no idea if any of the cells were occupied. If so, the prisoners were not the noisy type.

A solid wall of red stone marked the end of the prison ward.

A man stood there waiting for us. Like every werewolf I’d seen, he wore his sand brown hair long—all the way down to his waist. He wasn’t quite as tall or broad as Grey and Colt, but he had a very fit, muscled frame. He wore an Oxford shirt tucked into dress pants and a pair of high end designer shoes. He looked as though he’d just stepped out of a corporate office.

“Mac.” Grey met the man and clapped him on the shoulder. “Any problems?”

“Aunt Lila outlined your requests. I’ve taken care of everything.” Mac’s gaze held curiosity and sympathy. He clasped my hand, and I gave his a brief, firm shake. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Burke. I’m sorry for the circumstances.”

“Thank you,” I said. “You’re very kind.”

“What the hell is this?” Neela punctuated her question by striding into the open cell.

Grey ignored her ire. “Mac is one of my betas. I have three who help with the day-to-day operations of the pack. He’s my go-to for damn near everything.” Grey nodded to the cell. “Thank you for making it comfortable for us.”

“A fucking bed with silk sheets. Food? Wine? A goddamned library!” Neela stomped out of my prison, a buttery soft pillow clutched in her hand. “What the fuck, Grey? This is prison. My goddamned prison. You can’t turn it into a five-star hotel.”

“Yes, I can.” Grey lazily turned toward the irate warden, his manner suggesting that he found her boring. He even yawned. “I’m the alpha. This is my wife. It’s our honeymoon.”

Neela gritted her teeth together so hard, I could hear her molars grinding together.

“You can arrest Belle for suspicion of an unsanctioned kill,” said Colt, “but that’s all you can do. The alpha has final say in the treatment of a prisoner and the purview to spend his nights with his mate.”

“This is bullshit.” Neela looked at Grey. “You can’t be serious about going to prison with her.”

“What did you think he’d do?” asked Mac, chuckling. He shook his head at Neela’s apparent stupidity. “Did you really believe this farce you’ve created would keep them apart?”

“It’s not a farce.”

“Yes, it is.” Mac stepped into Neela’s space, his face within inches of hers. “One of our community, concerned with your conflict of interest in this matter, asked for an emergency pack vote. The unanimous decision was to appoint a pro tempore leader to handle this situation—and all enforcer matters—until the imputation of Arabelle Burke is concluded. At which time you will be under re-consideration as enforcer leader.”

Neela stilled and the blood drained from her face. The pillow in her hand deflated under the strength of her grip. “I should’ve been informed.”

“That’s what I’m doing,” said Mac pleasantly, his expression bland. “I’m informing you.” He opened his hand. “The prison key, please. You will report to the pro tem and officially relieve yourself of all duties.”

“Who called for the vote?” asked Neela as she slapped the key into Mac’s hand. It seemed not all her fire had been banked.

“Kelt.” Mac tucked the key into his pocket. “It seems your father doesn’t trust you to be objective about Grey’s mate. Wonder why he’d think that?”

Her expression hardened, but not before I saw the hurt betrayal flash across her face. I had no love for Neela, but it must’ve been a terrible thing to know your own father had thrown you under the bus. I knew she would accept no sympathy from me, yet I felt my heart soften a little toward her. She ripped the pillow in half and dropped it at Mac’s feet. Without another word, she turned on her booted heel and strode away.

Mac scooped up the pillow debris. “She took it better than I thought.”

“The imputation against Belle stands?” asked Grey.

“Unfortunately. The circumstantial evidence is thin, but the witness testimony is strong. Together, it’s enough to support the charge.” Mac offered me an empathetic smile. “I’m sorry your first introduction into our pack is a first-hand experience with our justice system.”

“The best way to learn it,” I said.

He laughed. “Yes, I suppose so.” He gestured toward the door. “It’s time. I’m afraid the door will have to remain locked so long as you are considered a prisoner. Grey has his two-way radio to communicate with us.”

“I won’t be here during the day,” said Grey. “But I will be with you every night until this nightmare is over.”

“Oh?” I said with an arched brow. “And when I’m free, where else do you plan to spend your nights?”

For a moment, he looked nonplussed—especially when the other men laughed. Then Grey offered me a wolfish grin. “Let me rephrase. I will be with you every night for the rest of our lives.”

“Clarification is the key to communication,” I said.

“Indeed,” said my husband.

I swear we shared a tender moment—given the softness of Grey’s smile.

“All right then. No use lollygagging about.” I turned to Colt. “Thank you for being my advocate.”

“It’s my honor. Do you need anything?” asked Colt.

I glanced at Grey and saw him watching me with such a hungry, hungry look. I felt a little flutter in my belly. “I have all that I need.”

Grey smiled.

I said good-bye to the men and entered my prison. Grey stayed outside, apparently wanting a private conversation.

Neela hadn’t been kidding about the five-star hotel. Even when I was attending college, I had never been in such a fancy space—and this was a prison.

The bed was large, a king-sized no doubt, and much like the one in our honeymoon den, it was covered with thick blankets and a mountain of pillows. It looked comfortable and ready for an exhausted couple to fall dream-first into it.

But I knew Grey wasn’t interested in sleeping.

Frankly, neither was I.

8

TO THE LEFT of the bed was a small table with two chairs. It looked expensive, like something an interior designer had accidentally left behind. A bowl of fruit, a tray of various nuts, and, sweet mercy, a multi-tiered dessert display with chocolate truffles and mini-cakes made up the gastronomic treasures.

My belly rumbled, and I realized the only meal I’d consumed today was the sandwich, apple, and glass of tea that Aunt Lila had brought to me after Grey had scented me and left.

The clang of the door shutting had me whirling around. The heavy iron key squealed as it locked us into the prison.

“You should eat.” Grey crossed the room. “I wasn’t sure what you liked, Belle, so I had Aunt Lila choose for us.”

“It all looks wonderful. I do have a fondness for sweets.”

“You wouldn’t know it to look at you,” he said. “You appear malnourished. Don’t you eat?”

I knew werewolves preferred more curvy women, and I figured given time and my addiction to cake, I could gain some much needed weight.

“It’s been a nerve-wracking few months,” I admitted. “It affected my appetite.”

“You’ll need to be healthy to carry a werewolf baby.” He examined my midsection. “Alphas tend to breed quickly.”

I knew that. In fact, I’d been trying not to think about it too hard. Marriage, mating, and murder had taken up most of my mental anxieties.

“You’ll find some appropriate clothes in that dresser. Get comfortable, and I’ll make you a plate.”

“Appropriate clothes” appeared to mean “assorted lingerie.” I found a pink-lace teddy and matching underwear. I held them up, considering.

“Don’t bother putting on those,” said Grey. “You won’t need them.”

Oh, mercy.

I slipped off my clothes and put on the teddy. The lacy cloth hit mid-thigh, but the draft between my legs was somewhat disconcerting. “It’s not really dining attire,” I said.

“It is for where we’ll be dining.” He gestured to the bed.

“What about crumbs?” I asked indignantly.

Grey laughed. “We’ll manage. Life is messy, sweetheart. So is sex. And dirty, sweaty sex is the best kind, I promise you.”

Whew. I crawled onto the massive bed and watched Grey finish piling treats on a plate. Not a single piece of fruit made it onto the dish. Satisfied with his selections, he quickly divested himself of his own clothing. He grabbed the plate and held it with one hand as he maneuvered himself onto the bed with me.

“Relax, Arabelle.” He nodded toward the pillows, and I sank into them, trying to get my limbs to loosen up. I felt as stiff as a board and as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

“Let me feed you.” He offered a tiny cake, and I opened my mouth to accept. The sweet vanilla concoction melted on my tongue.

“Oh! That’s so good!”

Grey smiled. “Have another.” The next was silky raspberry and the one after, a delicious cinnamon.

“Your turn.” Boldly, I plucked a truffle hiding among the other desserts and pressed it against his lips. “Do you like chocolates?”

He nodded. I pushed the treat inside his mouth. The chocolate was gone in an instant and then he sucked my finger, his tongue swirling around the tip.

Lightning flashed in my belly—hot, jagged, and breath-stealing. I stared at him wide-eyed, and he smiled lazily. “Another one, please.”

He released my finger. I chose another truffle, this one an orb of white, and lifted it to his mouth. “Let me take it from your lips.”

I did as he asked.

He leaned forward and delicately bit the truffle, his lips ghosting across mine. The light touch, the slightly forbidden way of taking both the dessert and my mouth at the same time had me tingling from head to toe. I took the rest of the chocolate into my mouth and savored it. I thought about savoring him in the same way.

“Best chocolate ever,” he said, “especially when it tastes like you.”

“I have a taste?”

“Oh, yes. You, my sweet Arabelle, are the most delicious treat I’ve ever licked.”

Mercy. I thought about his scenting, about how he’d brought me to intense pleasure with that glorious mouth of his. His gentleness now caused the same kind of quivering as his fierce seduction then.

He put the dish on the precarious stack of pillows above us and then focused on me. His fingertips drifted across my arm, down my side, to my hip. He slipped his strong hand under my buttock, cupping it and kneading it.

I swallowed heavily.

“Touch me,” he commanded softly.

“Where?”

“Wherever you want.”

I splayed my fingers against his broad, muscled chest. I felt a hot spark in my belly as I explored his firm flesh. “That feels good, Arabelle.”

His encouragement made me bolder still, and I explored the ridges of his stomach and the lean junctures of his hips. His manhood was already thick and hard, the mushroomed tip protruding from its sheath. I drew one fingertip around the veiny flesh, marveling at its strange elegance. It was almost as though I was examining artwork I didn’t understand, but that enthralled me all the same.

Grey growled, a sound that sent electricity rocketing into my core.

I do believe I liked when his wolf noticed me—and let me know.

“Show me your body.”

I obliged by taking off the lace teddy. Grey rolled me onto me back and covered me, his shaft nestling against my sex.

He kissed my shoulder. The oh-so-tender press of his lips against my flesh made me shudder…and teased out a breathy moan.

He tasted my collarbone, moved up my neck, and peppered kisses along my jaw.

His eyes were wolf, more wolf than I’d even seen. The shape of his irises, the swiftly changing color, the dark hunger reflected…beautiful.

He fascinated me.

Grey stretched my arms above my head. My back arched slightly, my lace-covered breasts pushed into his chest. Me nipples pebbled against his warm flesh.

The slow melding of our mouths made my breath hitch and my heart pound. His tongue slipped into my mouth and danced with mine. He let me explore his lips with my tongue, and even seemed to delight in when I denied him briefly—so that I could be the one to kiss him. Take him. I felt awkward, unsure, but…inside me grew a delicious ache of wanton desire.

He cast a spell over me then, something inside just seemed to click into place. I knew that I was exactly where I belonged. It was not an accident. It was not Carolyn’s blame. It was not anything but real and right and true.

In this moment, I was ruled by the alpha.

By my own choice.

The dam of uncertainty broke within me. Having accepted, welcomed, the alpha into my dominion, in choosing him completely, I was free.

Free to be his mate, in word and deed. In our bed.

In my heart.

With one hand, he cupped my breast. His strong, warm fingers squeezed my flesh. He lightly pinched my nipple and the bud tightened. His tongue flicked the peak. Pleasure jolted through me.

“Grey,” I whispered.

He suckled my nipple while his fingers tormented the other. He would switch sides, back and forth, while his cock pressed sweetly against the swelling of my feminine flesh.

I ran my hands down his body, seeking to touch him, to give him what he was giving me. My hands found his muscled buttocks and squeezed them because I could. I could, and no other woman had the right.

Mine.

I felt ravenous, greedy.

I ached.

Yearned.

I wanted the delightful torture to last … and yet, at the same time I wanted relief from it.

Grey kissed his way down my body. Then he pushed apart my legs to nuzzle the flesh at the vee of my thighs.

His tongue parted my slick folds and flicked the little pearl. “Oh!” I squirmed and Grey laughed, his hot breath teasing the hard nub of my femininity.

He settled between my thighs, his laving tongue creating wicked heat and fulsome pleasure.

“Grey…” His name held the balance of my uncertainty, my need.

“It’s all right, Arabelle. Give in.”

I felt the rising of my pleasure, the blooming of something more intense, more wonderful than I’d ever known. Then the heat, the pure aching pleasure burst, and sensation after sensation rolled over me. Through me.

As I moaned and trembled, Grey kissed his way up my body, his lips and fingers touching me everywhere. He easily stirred another bout of hunger, of need, of pure unrestrained craving.

He slid his arms under me and cupped my shoulders. His beautiful hair curtained around us as his cock slowly penetrated me, and I was grateful that he took his time. Our first experience had been rough, had been about claiming, about taking. And now there was this. Mating. A beautiful tender joining of two bodies. I was beginning to realize that sex was an endless landscape that needed to be explored. The more I learned about this wild land of taste and touch and primal need…the more I wanted.

Grey filled me, stretched me. He let my body get used to him, and he held me close, breathing hotly onto my neck, shuddering with his own feral longing.

“Put your legs around me,” he said in an aching whisper. “And let me love you, Arabelle.”

I did as he asked, slipping my legs around his waist while he settled even more deeply inside me.

He began to thrust.

In no time at all, I was lost in his sensual movements, and I found myself rocking to meet his every penetration, straining yet again for that nirvana.

Erotic tension coiled tightly.

Then Grey cried out, his expression one of exquisite pain, as he released his seed inside me. His final brutal thrust plunged me over the edge into beauty and light and fulfillment. He took a moment to recover, and then he blew out a breath and offered me a grin that had my toes curling. He rolled off me, and the sudden movement dislodged the plate of treats.

Suddenly, it was raining cake and truffles.

“Oh!” I cried as cakes splattered my naked flesh. A truffle rolled between my breasts, down the valley of my stomach and stopped right on the curls that hid my womanhood.

“I’ll get that one,” said Grey. He didn’t seem to care that he was squishing desserts into the covers, onto me and him, as he sought the chocolate. In fact, he seemed to delight in it.

He licked all round the dessert before slowly taking it into his mouth and chewing. He re-positioned himself beside me and looked at me, eyes filled with amusement. “Now that’s the best chocolate I’ve ever had.”

“Grey!” I couldn’t help but laugh, and then, without quite thinking it through, I pushed him over and crawled on top him. He, too, became a victim of the cake debris.

I leaned over him and kissed his naked chest, swiping at bits of frosting and smashed cake with my tongue. I could taste the faint musk of his skin. We both smelled like sweat and sex. It was an essence I liked.

Grey’s skin was taut, all muscled curves and ridges. I feasted on his pectorals, trying to kiss every centimeter of flesh. I even dared to treat his tiny brown nipples like he had mine, and flicked my tongue across each hardened nub.

As I explored his body with fingers and lips, his hands were restless on me, so restless that Grey pulled me forward so his mouth could ravage my breasts.

Oh, sweet, sweet mercy. These marvelous zings traveled from my nipples to my core as he tugged one peak, then the other, between his teeth and flicked his tongue rapidly. An ache bloomed within.

I popped out of his embrace, and he scowled at me. Laughing, I scooted down and rubbed my wet heat against his length. It pulsed against me, hardening.

Anticipation trilled through me.

My skin prickled, as if electrified. I was learning about my own body, what I liked, what I didn’t. Exploring this new part of who I was, indeed, learning about my own sensuality with Grey was gift. And learning about him, about how to please him—that was a gift, too.

I loved the feel of him, the smell of him, the way he groaned as I explored his body, familiarizing myself with every curve, ridge, swell, and scar. I very much liked getting to know my mate, my husband, in this intimate way and I delighted in making him want me. I wanted him so much. I wanted to feel the way I had in his arms moments ago.

Pleasure unbound.

I placed my knees on either of his hips and hovered over his shaft.

“Help me,” I said. “Please, Grey.”

He held onto his manhood with one hand and placed the other on my hip, directing me until the tip of his shaft touched my entrance. He said, “Push down.”

I did, slowly, taking in every delicious inch of him. He cupped my hips as I planted my palms on his chest and started to move. He was patient as I tried to figure out how to move, what felt good to me, what felt good to him.

“Everything feels good to me, sweetheart,” said Grey as though he’d read my thoughts.

I felt shaky, unsure, but willing—very, very willing. “I don’t know what to do. Show me.”

“I’ll show you. Just let me take the lead. You follow.”

“Like dancing?”

“Only better.”

Now his hands clamped onto my hips and he began pistoning inside me. I found his rhythm, syncing with him as we began to move faster and faster.

And then…

Pleasure burst like honey, thick and sweet. I moaned as found that nirvana once more, digging into my alpha’s chest. My pulsations were so strong, he was squeezed out. He didn’t take it as an insult, but as challenge.

“Get on your hands and knees, Arabelle.”

Dazed, I rolled off and did as Grey commanded. He got behind me and worked his hard shaft into me. He held on to my hips, plunging hard and fast.

I knew what to expect now.

I knew what could be had if I only gave in to my own desire. If I met his needs with mine. If we mated in the primal way that bound husband and wife together.

I reared back to meet his every pleasurable thrust.

Oh, sweet merciful heavens.

Grey’s pace quickened. I heard his groans and gasps, felt his fingers dig into my waist, and then he cried out, called my name, and filled me with his seed again.

We collapsed onto the bed, a wonderful, sticky, dirty mess.

9

THE PRISON CELL had a full bathroom, including a stand-up shower. I don’t know how Grey managed to get new bedding and pillows to replace those ruined by the dessert disaster, but by the time I had finished scrubbing off cake, chocolate, and werewolf, he was waiting by the bed, as beautifully made as it was when we arrived.

“Alphas have minions,” he said in response to my look of astonishment. “All that sex with my beautiful wife made me ravenous. I wolfed down a plate of meat pies, but there’s plenty left for you. Eat something, Arabelle. In fact, eat everything.” He kissed me soundly on the lips and went to take his own shower. I found a pair of lacy panties and beautiful set of blue silk pajamas, which I slipped on. My hair was still damp, and I twisted it into knot on the top of my head.

As I perused the table, I noticed mini-quiches, tiny sandwiches, and meat pastries had joined the newly arranged desserts on the table. I sat down and began filling a plate, humming a lullaby my mother had sung to me when Carolyn and I were young. Funny. I hadn’t thought of “Hush, Little Baby” in a very long time. Soon, I would be a mother.

Perhaps even now, Grey’s seed was taking hold.

The thought staggered me so much that I stopped piling food onto my plate and pressed a hand against my stomach. A baby. I hadn’t thought much past the Choosing—and then the mating had taken up my thoughts and worries.

Not so worried now, though.

I felt as if I was coming into my own, finding my place within Grey’s life, within the pack’s life.

All I to do was get cleared of a murder charge.

Well, hello reality.

THUD!

Startled, I turned and stared at the bathroom door. Water rushed from underneath. What on earth? I slipped out of the chair. “Grey? Are you all right?” I couldn’t avoid stepping into the burbling water as I swung open the door.

Grey lay against the stone floor, wet and naked. The simple shower had only a thin plastic curtain, one that ripped apart as Grey had fallen through it. The shower water going at full blast was drowning the whole room.

My heart climbed into my throat.

“Grey? Grey!”

Maneuvering past his prone form, I turned off the water lest my mate drown. It took some effort, but I managed to roll him over. He was breathing, his heartbeat strong. He had cut on his forehead from where he’d fallen.

My nursing training, what little I had, would not get me far when dealing with werewolf anatomy. I needed help.

Mac had mentioned two-way radios. I rushed into the main room, scanning every surface for the walkie-talkie.

Then I heard a key rattling in the door lock and it swung open. Mac stood there, smiling.

“Thank goodness!” I cried. “Something’s wrong with Grey!”

“I’m afraid the only thing wrong with Grey is you.” He strode forward. The menace in his expression had me shrinking away. But there was nowhere to run.

“You really should’ve eaten the meat pies,” he said. “Passing out from being drugged would’ve been easier for you.”

He cocked back his fist, and before I could move or scream…he punched me.

My head snapped back.

Pain radiated, exploded.

Then the world went dark.

10

I AWOKE IN a small dark space, where I bounced and rolled like loose change in someone’s pocket. My mouth was covered with what I could only assume was duct tape. God almighty! My jaw hurt something fierce, and that pain radiated up my temple, wrapping around my head like a steel-spiked vise. It took me a few solid moments of concentrating to realize I was in the trunk of a car—a car going very, very fast.

Ropes bound my ankles together and my arms behind me, adding more misery to my pain-wracked body. With the tips of my fingers, I felt worn, ratty padding beneath me. It smelled musty, the kind of stale air that suggested disuse. The rectangular rear lights offered the dimmest red shine, but even so, I could make out very little. Still, it wasn’t difficult to surmise I was in an older car, one that didn’t have an emergency trunk release. Not that I could pull one—or kick out a tail light given the way I was trussed up.

Fear fluttered like the wings of crows, beating, beating against my skin, tripping my heart, compressing my chest.

I shuddered.

How long had I been unconscious?

I had no way of knowing. Giving the numbness of my extremities, I figured it had been a while. I stretched my fingers and toes, but the movement was minimal and proved I wouldn’t be able to wiggle out of my bonds.

Why would Grey’s beta kidnap me?

He’d been furious. The only thing wrong with Grey is you.

What did that mean?

My heart raced as I began to understand the complexities of my situation. Mac had drugged Grey, the Shadow Pack’s alpha, and taken me. What on earth for? What did he hope to accomplish? I was already on the hook for murder. Had that been his doing, too? Had he and Neela plotted together? As much as Grey’s former lover loathed me, I was quite sure she would heartily approve of any scheme that got me out of the way.

That terrible thought brought me to my final, awful conclusion. My life was forfeit. Whatever game was being played, whatever Mac hoped to gain, I was obviously an obstacle to be removed. I had no doubts that my death was imminent.

Panic made me break out in a cold sweat. I panted, unable to draw solid breaths into my beleaguered lungs. My heart pounded so hard, I thought it capable of bursting out of my chest. At least then I would be dead, and this wretchedness would be done.

Stop it, Belle!

I shut my eyes tightly and sucked in long, deep breaths. Calm. I had to be calm. I had to focus. I had to think.

Inhale.

Exhale.

My heart rate slowed, and the cold sweat dried. I thought only of my breathing, only of inviting tranquility into my body. Steady, Belle. Steady.

As I got my fear under control, I pondered how I’d ended up cold-cocked, tied up, and imprisoned in a car trunk.

What threat could I possibly pose to Mac? At least I understood Neela’s jealousy and hurt—Grey’s rejection damaged her heart and her pride. It made sense she would point her rage at me. I’d only met Mac for five minutes, and yet, he hated me. Or would he have hated any woman that married Grey?

Grey. Was he all right? Had he discovered I was gone? Though we were only just bonded, I believed he would do everything within his power to find me, to rescue me. But I couldn’t pin my hopes to his alpha prowess. I had to rely on myself. I couldn’t be sure how long Grey would be unconscious, if Mac would be there to feed him lies when he awoke, or if Mac had abandoned the pack entirely.

If Mac had wanted Grey dead, he merely had to poison the food. Instead, he’d put sedatives into the meat pies so that Grey would be incapacitated. Had I eaten my fair share, I would’ve passed out, too. Why drug Grey? Why kidnap me? Why? The question circled my brain like a moth fluttering around a porch light. Why?

I had no answers, and my head ached so badly, I abandoned thinking all together. I faded in and out of consciousness as the car continued speeding toward its destination. When I felt the vehicle slow enough to make a turn, I awoke fully, and tried to concentrate. We continued at a more sedate pace, though the path we were on now seemed rife with potholes. I heard the tires crunching, too. A gravel road, maybe? Gah! One that was not maintained, given the number of times the wheels hit uneven patches and sent me sprawling. Luckily, I didn’t have to contend with other objects. No tools or tires or other items one might find in a car trunk. I jounced upward and back down again. Pain radiated up my spine to join the web of agony that covered my skull. Sweet mercy! Had anything else been in here with me, I’d sport even more bruises and scratches.

I kept wiggling my fingers and toes, though the actions did little to alleviate my poor circulation. I’d read an article once about a yogi who’d fallen off a roof and landed on his backside without sustaining a single injury. When asked how he’d managed to do such a miraculous deed, he said only that he made a conscious effort to relax every muscle in his body. Basically, he landed like a pile of spaghetti—completely loose, yielding totally, and doing so saved his life. It was the same reason drunk drivers walked away from accidents. Their alcohol-addled reflexes kept them from tensing up before a crash, while sober people braced for collision. That’s what caused injuries—constricting the muscles so tightly there was no cushion against the unforgiving force of impact.

These were the thoughts that occupied my mind. Pointless, really, but my options were to worry about what would happened to me once the car stopped—or spend useless amounts of time and energy trying to free myself. Whoever had tied my bonds had done so in a proficient manner. No amount of wiggling or twisting would release me.

The car slowed to a crawl, executed a slight turn, and then parked.

The engine turned off. I heard the squeal of doors opening, the scuffle of shoes against pavement, the low thrum of conversation.

Trying to fight my way out of the trunk—out of the clutches of werewolves—would not be productive. I needed to wait for the best opportunity to escape. I had to believe that getting out of this situation was possible. I had to believe, too, that I was strong enough to save my own life. After all, I’d defended myself against the Blood Pack scruffer who’d attacked me, and I’d lived to tell the tale.

Would I live to tell this one?

I closed my eyes, steadied my breathing, and concentrated on letting go of all my muscular tension. I focused on keeping myself as limp as an unconscious woman should be. I held on to the thought of Grey, my beautiful alpha, laughing, his muscled chest covered in cake crumbs, his eyes alight with passion. I wanted to see him again. I wanted the life—so shiny with promise and purpose—that we could have together.

I would not give in to fear.

I would not give up hope.

I heard the rattle of a key and the squeal of rusted hinges as the trunk opened. Fresh, cool air rushed inside, and so did the overpowering scents of pine and wet earth. I could feel the stares of my abductors. My skin crawled, but I kept my breathing steady, my body loose. I couldn’t offer the merest hint that I was awake, especially since I was dealing with wolf shifters, whose senses were far superior to those of humans.

“She’s still passed out. Mac must’ve given her a good one.”

“She’s pretty.”

“She was. Now, she’s wolf chow.”

“We could have some fun.”

“Dude. Do not even think about it.”

“Oh, c’mon. She’s dead anyway.”

“Stop thinking with your dick, Royce.”

“Whatever, man.”

I felt arms go underneath me. I was lifted out and carried like a napping child clutched in her father’s arms.

11

MY CAPTOR’S GRIP tightened as we went up a few steps. Booted heels clomped across wood then I heard the rattle of a knob, the creak of a door opening.

“That’s her?” The female’s voice was as sharp as a blade. “You’re fucking kidding me. She doesn’t look like she could take on a dandelion much less a werewolf.”

“Mac says she’s the one.”

“Yeah. Like he’s so trustworthy. Put her on the bed and untie her. What the fuck were you thinking?”

“She’s dangerous. Christ, Sara, she killed Cody.”

“I know what she did.”

My kidnapper tossed me onto a lumpy mattress that smelled like mold and then roughly rolled me onto my side. He cut the ropes from my wrists and ankles. As blessed circulation returned, my extremities tingled. The pins and needles sensations were very uncomfortable, but I resisted the urge to squirm. I continued to play unconscious, even though it meant staying face-down in the awful, smelly mattress.

“Rick will be here in a few minutes,” said the woman. “You two get back to the den and chill.”

“You think this is gonna work, Sara? I mean, we’re messing with the Shadow Pack. With Grey Burke.”

“Hey, man, it’s an eye for eye. Pack justice.”

“Shut up!” I heard quick, sure strides and the smack of flesh against flesh. I assumed Sara had slapped whichever one she’d deemed the mouthiest. “Get out of here, you fuckheads, before I gut you both.”

With that threat ringing in their ears, the men left.

I heard those confident steps approach the bed. “You can stop pretending you’re unconscious,” she said. “Those two jack asses are about as observant as drunk blind men. But trust me when I say I’m a whole different kind of animal.”

So much for being clever. I pushed myself into a sitting position and rubbed at my wrists and ankles. “Sara,” I said, inclining my head as though we were meeting at a cocktail party rather than at my kidnapping. “I’m Arabelle Burke.”

“Everyone knows who you are.” She wore her blonde hair short and spiked on top. She had multiple piercings in her ears and eyebrows, and a silver stud on the left side of her bottom lip. She wore blood-red lipstick and thick black eyeliner. She sported snakeskin cowboy boots and faded Levis torn at the knees. She also wore a red T-shirt and a battered brown leather jacket with the collar flipped up. It seemed far too big for her. Perhaps it belonged to her father or brother or even her lover—this mysterious Rick? My attention was caught by the tattoo on her neck, some kind of yellow flower intertwined with a black snake. It seemed an odd image for a werewolf to have, but then again, she didn’t seem the type who cared about fitting in.

“Don’t get any ideas about escaping,” she said. “I’ll kill you. That’ll piss off Rick, and I don’t like being on his bad side.”

I looked around, taking in all the details I could. I figured out quickly I was in a cabin. The closet cabin rentals were in the Mount Charleston area, which was only a 45-minute drive from Las Vegas, and three-hour drive from Bleed City. “You’ll forgive me, Sara, if I’m not overly concerned about your good standing with Rick, whoever he is.”

“Hoity-toity, aren’t you?” She snarled at me. “You think because you killed a starving, weak, tortured werewolf, you can take me? I’ll claw out your throat before you open your mouth to scream.”

“Maybe you should treat your scruffers better.”

“Scruffer?” Her snarl became a growl, and her face transmogrified into half wolf—snout and fangs and eyes. “You killed our alpha’s mate, you bitch.”

“What?”

The slam of the door startled Sara out of her shifting. My heart nearly leapt out of my chest as I watched a man saunter into the cabin. He was lean and muscled, with shoulder-length dark hair and movie star good looks. His crisp buttoned-down shirt was tucked into belted slacks. He wore dress shoes, the wingtips glossed to a high shine. Everything about him screamed wealth and privilege, and yet I knew, instinctively, that of the two werewolves in this room—he was the one to fear the most.

“You gave away the twist ending, Sara,” he said in a silky voice. “Shame on you.”

“I’m sorry, Rick. She was pissing me off.”

“That, my dear sister, is your general state of being. Move away from our guest. Cody underestimated her. We will not.”

Sara gave me a final glare and a snapping growl before joining Rick in the small living area. She plopped onto the ratty couch and began picking at her nails. Rick stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets, smiling like a politician. He studied me casually, as if I were no more threat than a pinned butterfly. His expression offered no indication of his thoughts. His brown gaze was as hard and shiny as obsidian. Dark. Empty. Here was a man who wouldn’t be swayed by pleas for mercy, by any human emotions, because he had none.

A frisson of fear zipped down my spine and settled coldly into the pit of my stomach.

Rick grabbed a metal folding chair from the card table set up near the tiny kitchen area. He dragged it to the end of the bed, flipped the seat around, straddled it, and leaned on the backside. “You may be wondering why you’re here.”

“Yes,” I said, trying to keep the tremors out of my voice. “I did have occasion to wonder about my unexpected visit.”

He smiled. “That’s it, Arabelle. Be brave. Fight through that fear that’s making you tremble. Tell yourself lies about how you can escape or how you might be rescued. You’ll need every bit of strength to get you through the next few hours.”

“Well, now. You sure do know how to set a girl all aflutter, Rick.”

His smile widened, and he chuckled. “Oh, I like you. I do. And I can see why Grey likes you, too. But my dear Arabelle, you killed someone very valuable to the Blood Pack. In fact, you slaughtered a man who was extremely important to our alpha—her mate, Cody.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Right. They told you that you killed a scruffer from the Blood Pack. Scruffers aren’t particularly valued in any werewolf society, and unfortunately, the Blood Pack is not exactly respected in the current hierarchy, either. What does that single life mean? Nothing.”

“But an alpha’s mate means something,” I said.

“Yes,” said Rick. “Even though the tragedy occurred to the lowliest of all werewolf packs, the murder of its alpha’s mate still matters.”

I swallowed the knot lodged in my throat. Fear burbled in every cell of my being. I had never known this kind of afraid before. Not even when that crazed werewolf had tried to eat me. “Did Grey know?”

“Now, there’s an interesting question. Did he know that he was tracking an alpha’s mate and not a scruffer? Is he protecting you, Arabelle? Or is he simply insuring his own status by mating with you? Or are you nothing but a sacrifice for the greater good?”

“His reasons are his own,” I said. “The choice is made. The deed is done.”

He studied my face. “Ah, but you are a woman. A wife. It’s your trust in him, your faith in him, that’s important. You want to know if he lied to you.”

I didn’t like Rick’s smarmy manner or the arrogance in his words. But I did wonder…had Grey known that I’d killed an alpha’s mate—and not some scruffer encroaching on Shadow Pack territory? Grey’s lack of knowledge meant he had nothing to do with this current situation. Mac had facilitated my kidnapping. He had, it seemed, turned me over to the Blood Pack as a way to placate their alpha. If that was the case, what would he tell Grey? And what did this have to do with the enforcer’s murder at the Choosing?

“I can practically see the wheels turning in that pretty little head of yours. You’re really quite astute. It’s a shame you have to pay the price for Cody’s death.”

“So, this is about revenge?”

“No, Arabelle. This is about penance.” He sighed. “I’m not usually involved in these sorts of things, but Karen—our alpha—asked for my personal touch. As her beta, her second, if you will, I’m at her behest. Cody was a friend of mine, and I feel a personal obligation to bring his killer to justice.”

“You don’t feel,” I said. “Do you, Rick?”

12

HE LAUGHED AND slapped the back of the chair. “Like I said, you are very astute. I bet you had me figured two seconds after I walked in the door. You see things that most people don’t. People don’t want to look, they’re afraid of what they might find. But not you. No, you look right into their very hearts.”

“God! Are you going to kill her or fuck her?” Sara popped to her feet. “I’m getting some air. Would you finish this shit so we can get back to the den? There’s a brawl later tonight, and I want in on it.” She stomped out of the cabin, slamming the door behind her.

“Hard to believe we’re related, isn’t it? Sara has her uses, though.” He stood up and began rolling up his sleeves. “I should’ve worn more appropriate apparel, but I came straight from the courthouse.”

“You’re a lawyer in Vegas,” I guessed.

“Defense attorney. I waste a lot of time getting Blood Pack members out of trouble. It’s not exactly glamorous, but I’m very well compensated.”

Rick’s admission confirmed we were near Las Vegas, so my theory about being somewhere on Mount Charleston was correct. It was the closest habitat with pine trees, the only area that would have rental cabins.

“You were right, Arabelle. I don’t care much for people. Or werewolves, for that matter. But I do love money, and I love what it can buy. And I really love all the power that comes with wealth.” He picked up the folding chair and planted it in front of the cold hearth. He considered its location and spent a few seconds adjusting its position. Satisfied, he turned to me. “Before we begin, I think it’s only fair you should know why this is happening. We don’t have a lot of time, so it’s going to be the short version.

“A few weeks ago, Cody disappeared. Karen—who is not known for having a cool head—responded by sending some of our best brawlers to track and retrieve her mate. They returned bloody, broken, and mate-less. They reported that rogues had kidnapped poor Cody.” He sighed. “I swear she’s a better alpha than it appears in this gruesome little tale, but the woman lost all sense of perspective when it came to her mate. Cody was good at keeping Karen in check.”

“Who kidnapped Cody?”

“Rogues, Arabelle. Werewolves interested in bringing down the Shadow Pack. Grey has made some significant enemies—good leaders always do.”

“These rogues took Cody, but tried to put the blame on the Shadow Pack?” I shook my head. “There’s more, isn’t there? Something you’re not saying.” My nerves were showing. I couldn’t stop my voice from shaking, nor could I stop contemplating that empty chair.

Rick grinned. “You like puzzles, don’t you, Arabelle?”

“If rogue werewolves kidnapped Cody, why was he in Bleed City?”

“Because that’s where they were. In Bleed City. Cody escaped. He was starving, half-mad from being tortured, and he found the quickest, least resistant source of food.”

Mr. Sanders. The dear old man didn’t have a chance against the werewolf.

“Grey’s enforcers are extremely efficient, aren’t they? Cody gets free, shifts, and takes off. He’s tracked immediately. Only you get there first and take care of the problem.”

Rick stared at me, his expression patient, his gaze challenging. Puzzles, he’d said. He wanted me to figure something out. Cody was in Bleed City. Before the Choosing. He’d been taken, tormented.

Mac had given me to the Blood Pack as penance. Rick was going to take my life the way Cody’s was taken.

The betas were taking actions.

Betas.

“You,” I said. “This whole thing is about you.”

“Brava!” He clapped. “Here’s the problem with being a beta, Arabelle. It’s not as powerful as being the alpha. Karen’s tough, but she’s a goddamned mess. Cody made her strong, gave her purpose. They were a good team. And yet, they were content to leave the Blood Pack in the dark ages to be muscle-heads and bruisers. They had no vision.”

“But you do.”

“Yes.”

I tried to put the pieces together. “You and Mac took Cody.”

Rick sighed. “Tsk. Tsk. That’s too obvious. Mac is doing what a good beta does … protecting the alpha. He’s old-school. Quid pro quo. A mate for a mate.”

I wondered how Grey would feel about that. Would he agree with Mac’s bold move? How would Mac explain that I’d killed an alpha’s mate and not a scruffer? It chilled me to think that I was somehow a chosen sacrifice. Chosen by the alpha. I was made Grey’s official mate—and then locked up on the pretense of being a murder suspect. I was put far away from the pack, away from anyone else who’d know me or help me. Then I was kidnapped and handed over to the Blood Pack. But if Grey knew, if this was his plot, why did Mac feel it necessary to knock him out? So that Grey would not be culpable for the loss of his mate? Or was it because Mac didn’t want Grey to interfere?

“Fine,” I said. “You took Cody. You wanted the Shadow Pack to be blamed for his kidnapping. You wanted him to be killed by an enforcer. You wanted…” Oh, sweet mercy. “You want war between the packs.”

“Excellent! War between the packs. A good old-fashioned shifter brawl. When the smoke clears, the Blood Pack will have a new place—at the top.”

“Is that why you killed the Shadow Pack enforcer at the Choosing?”

Rick shook his head. “That was someone else’s collateral damage. And your misfortune to stumble over it. You have an uncanny ability to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He leaned down and patted the metal chair. “Come sit down. Take your medicine.”

If he thought I was walking over there and sitting pretty-as-you-please while he pummeled me, he had another think coming.

“Arabelle. Do not be difficult. I’ve had a long day, and my patience is wearing thin. I’ve enjoyed our chat, but we’re on a time table. Your badly beaten corpse must be found in Bleed City by dawn.”

His words put the fear of God right into me. My mind raced, thoughts tumbling, as I sought a way out of this mess, but nothing came to mind. How I wished for a flash of insight that would allow me to turn the tables. I could try to fight, but Rick was not a damaged, starved wolf. He was a werewolf at full strength—he had brawn and brains.

This whole time, he’d been playing with me—a cat who had caught a mouse, batting it around before breaking its little neck. I saw the predatory look in his eyes, the way his gaze tracked me. He took a casual stance, but it was pure theatre. He was ready to pounce. If I was foolish enough to run, he would have me pinned to floor within seconds.

I scooted to the edge of the bed. My bare feet pressed against the worn wood floor. I was still dressed in my blue silk pajamas, though they were filthy and had rips in several places.

After all that conversation, Rick’s polite, casual tone belied his cold intent. The silence seemed as pointed and wickedly sharp as a blade. The weight of it crushed me—and my heart tripped over in my chest.

He expected me to do something. Run. Fight. Scream. He was waiting for me to act. I had no doubts he’d planned how to counter each and every feat I might attempt. I was still his mouse. And he still had me pinned by the tail. Bat. Bat. Bat.

So, I did the one thing he didn’t expect. I walked to the metal chair and sat as prim and proper as I’d been raised. I folded my hands across my lap and bowed my head, as though I intended to utter my final prayers.

“I don’t know if I’m disappointed or impressed by your acceptance,” said Rick.

I muttered a response.

“What?” he asked. He leaned down. “Last words, Arabelle?”

I reared up. My head slammed into his jaw with so much force my ears rang hollow, yet I still heard his teeth click together from the sudden impact. Pain jagged down my skull into my neck. I ignored it. My focus was on Rick. He stumbled backwards, flailing and disoriented. I whirled and grabbed the chair, swinging it with adrenaline-spiked fury.

He raised his arms, but not fast enough to prevent the full brunt of the hit. He whipped sideways, into the rickety coffee table, smashing it to pieces as he landed on top of it. His face was bloody, his expression furious. He snapped and snarled, and began to shift. Fur sprouted on his face, his snout lengthened, and his jaw widened and cracked as his sharp, bloodied teeth emerged.

I lifted the chair and brought it down on his head. My strength was nearly spent, but I smacked him hard enough that he yelped and tried to scuttle back. While his attention was on the walloping I just gave his wolf face, I stepped between his legs and brought my foot down his family jewels.

He yowled.

“What the fuck!” Sara stood in the doorway, her shocked expression going from the prone half-wolf to me. “Oh, that’s it, you bitch. I’m fucking killing you.”

She took a step toward me, murder in her eyes.

Then she went flying forward. She rolled to her back, but before she could get up, Colt was beside her, his booted foot on her neck, his sword point digging into her chest. “Give me a reason, sweetheart.”

Her expression was filled with rage, but she went utterly still.

“Arabelle!” Grey strode in, all gorgeous fury, followed by a man the size of a linebacker. He wore his dark brown hair in a braid that went past his rear end, and he sported the same furious expression I associated with Neela. I could only assume this was the infamous and cold-hearted Kelt. Some very big wolves trotted in and began sniffing around, while Kelt joined Colt, his gaze pinned to Sara.

Grey headed toward me, stopping only long enough to kick Rick in the side of the head. There was a sharp crack and his neck bent at awkward angle. The Blood Pack beta went limp, his eyes wide in a sightless stare.

I wasn’t sorry to see him dead.

Grey gathered me into his arms. “I thought I was too late.”

“M-Mac gave me to them.”

“I know.” He kissed me—my lips, my cheeks, my forehead, and my lips again. “He’s been dealt with.”

“They said I killed the Blood Pack’s mate. Did I?”

“Yes,” said Grey. “I didn’t know.” He cupped my face. His gaze searched mine. I saw his relief. I saw his concern. I saw his sincerity. I let go of my doubts about him, my worries that I had been, quite literally, tossed to the wolves at his behest. His thumb swept over my cheek, and he smiled. “Arabelle, please be aware that it’s extremely difficult to charge in and save you—when you keep saving yourself.”

“Yes, I can see how bothersome that might be.” I melted into his embrace and cried.

“It’s okay, babe. It’s okay.” He swept me up and cradled me close, while I sniffled into his designer shirt. He took me to an idling car and slid into the backseat. He refused to let me go, so I curled up onto his lap.

“We’re going to Las Vegas—to the Drift Resort,” he told the driver. “My mate needs rest.”

“Yes, sir.”

The car took off, and as we wound down the mountains, I finally felt safe. The tears stopped and I let myself be comforted by Grey’s steady heartbeat and secure embrace.

Grey nuzzled my cheek. “The Drift Resort is a shifter property, and we have a private suite there. You’ll be able to eat and sleep—for as long as you want.”

“What about jail?”

“The pro tem enforcer leader re-examined the evidence and re-interviewed the witness. He decided there wasn’t enough proof to impute you for murder.”

“Kelt,” I said. “Neela’s father. He freed me?”

“Yes. He trains the enforcers, and he prefers that to leading them. He’s not interested in continuing in the role, but will stay until we find a replacement.”

“Neela isn’t getting her job back?”

“She did a piss-poor job of it, and she lets her emotions rule her actions.”

“She’s in love with you.”

“She thinks she’s is,” said Grey. “But she wouldn’t know love if it bit her on the ass. She’ll be taking a sabbatical. I’m sending her to the Earth Pack to find some goddamned Zen.”

I laughed. “Oh, Grey.” I kissed him.

He kissed me.

And we did that for a while, and it was very, very nice.

Finally, Grey pulled back. “We’ll be at the resort soon enough, sweetheart.” He had wolf eyes, filled with need, the same need that ached within me. “I want you so much. It’s like you’ve cast a spell on me.”

“I have no magic,” I said.

He leaned forward, as if to kiss me again, but I put a finger to his lips. “Tell me about Mac.”

He sighed, but settled back. “Mac was approached by the Blood Pack’s asshole beta. He said if the Shadows handed you over for penance, the Bloods wouldn’t start a pack feud.”

“Isn’t that something he should’ve discussed with you?” I asked.

“Yeah. But he seemed to think I wasn’t capable of making a clear-headed decision since I seemed too enamored of your charms.”

“He overstepped.”

“He wasn’t wrong,” admitted Grey. “I wouldn’t have handed you over.”

“It was an impetuous action,” I said. “Kidnapping me, I mean. He seemed more level-headed than that.”

“I used to think so. But after admitting what he did and why, he clammed up. Now he’s sitting in a prison cell—the worst one I could find with only a cot and piss pot, which is more than he deserves.”

I wondered. Rick was the puppeteer. And he had lots of puppets dancing on strings. He’d facilitated the kidnapping of Cody, so that Karen would have a meltdown. She’d been so focused on finding her mate that she wasn’t paying attention to her beta or to her pack. Rick also manipulated Mac, somehow, into handing me over to pay for Cody’s death. I wasn’t sure it was as simple as Mac would have Grey believe. It felt like Mac was still protecting Grey. Or maybe the beta was only protecting himself—and here I was trying to reconcile his betrayal into something more complicated than it actually was. Hmm. While I’d only had the displeasure of knowing Rick for a mere hour, I felt I understood him, at least a little. He seemed very enamored of pulling my strings, inviting me into a conversation designed to showcase his cleverness and stroke his ego.

And there was something … something Rick had said that niggled at me. I closed my eyes and sifted through the conversation, stopping when I replayed the part about Cody’s kidnapping. Grey’s enforcers are extremely efficient, aren’t they? Cody gets free, shifts, and takes off. He’s tracked immediately.

“Grey,” I said, opening my eyes. “Did Neela report the scruffer being loose in Bleed City?”

“She was busy arranging the enforcer protection for the Choosing,” said Grey. “Kelt is the one who told us.”

“How did he know?”

“He was running training exercises that night. One of his recruits caught the scent.”

“Oh, my God.” I sat straight up and grabbed my mate by the shoulders. “We have to go back, Grey. Right now.”

“What? Why?”

“Kelt,” I said urgently. “He was working with Rick. He kidnapped Cody. But Cody escaped before they could implement their plan. Kelt was tracking him, but I got to Mr. Sanders’ house first.”

“Turn around,” barked Grey. “Get back to the cabin as fast as you can.”

The driver executed a U-turn and stomped on the accelerator. We raced back up the mountain.

“Why do you think Kelt helped Rick?”

“Kelt is the only who could’ve kidnapped Cody and kept him under the radar in Shadow Pack territory. He trains the enforcers. Their loyalty is to him. This was about starting a pack war, Grey. They were going to kill Cody anyway and lay his death at your door. Karen doesn’t sound like the brightest bulb in the box, and Rick was a master manipulator. He knew exactly how to make her rage implode.”

Grey frowned. “But you killed her mate. Goddamn it. That made the whole thing work better. They kill you, and I’m out for blood, too.”

“Kelt knows it’s only a matter of time before you figure things out. He’s going to make a move.”

“Colt’s in danger.” Grey slammed a hand against the passenger seat headrest. “Faster, damn it.”

The driver increased speed, tires squealing as he took the wide turns. Grey settled me beside him, and we put on our seatbelts. I held his hand tightly, holding on to the slim hope that we would not be too late.

13

WE ARRIVED AT the cabin where I’d been held captive less than an hour before. I must admit that I felt reluctant to leave the safety of the car, no matter how thin such protection might be against enemy werewolves.

Grey kissed me—a quick, soft meeting of the lips—and the gesture bolstered my courage. I followed him out of the Mercedes, and he clasped my hand as we walked around the car. We paused, both of us studying the cabin. Despite Grey’s protective presence, I shivered with trepidation.

Too dark.

Too still.

Too empty.

In the pit of my belly, foreboding beat like a dying man’s heart.

The driver of our car exited. He looked around, hyper-alert as he scanned the area. He stripped off his tie and jacket and put the items on the Mercedes’ hood. My mouth dropped open as he began unbuttoning his shirt.

“Sam! Do not shift in front of my bride,” snapped Grey. “Start your search in the woods. Let me know if you catch anyone’s scent.”

Sam glanced at me, his expression one of chagrin. “My apologies,” he said. Then he strode into the trees just a few feet away.

Werewolves didn’t have the same hang-ups that humans did about nakedness. They were perfectly comfortable in both their forms. It would probably take me a while to get used to their unabashed attitudes, so I was grateful for Grey’s intervention with Sam’s impromptu striptease. I must admit, however, that I very much admired Grey’s naked form—and looked forward to seeing him in his birthday suit again.

“Do you think Colt’s in the cabin?” I asked. While I had not known Grey’s brother for very long, I liked him. He’d been kind and funny and protective. I was terrified we would find his murdered body.

“There’s only one way to find out, Arabelle.” Grey lifted my hand to his lips and kissed my knuckles. He let go of me, took a few steps forward, lifted his head, and sniffed at the air.

He started running.

Still in my torn and dirty blue silk nightgown—and barefoot as well— I ran, too. The gravel bit into the soles of my feet, but I didn’t care.

Other than being born a shifter, I could have no deeper connection to the Shadow Pack than being married to the alpha. To be worthy of that honor, I had to be brave. I had to face every situation head-on, no matter how scared or awful I felt inside.

Please don’t be dead, Colt.

I could only surmise that Grey sensed no danger nor had he detected active werewolves nearby because he bounded onto the porch and flung open the door to the cabin.

I followed him inside.

The only light came from a lamp that had fallen onto its side. The bulb flickered, its sickly electric pulse the only sound in the hideous quiet. The evidence of a knock-down, drag-out fight was obvious, even in the dimly lit space.

Near the hearth lay two large carcasses. I recognized the werewolves that had accompanied Kelt and Grey during my rescue. Given the amount of blood and the gaping wounds in their necks and bellies, it was obvious they were dead. Rick’s corpse was covered with debris caused by the raucous battle.

My human eyes were decidedly weak compared to the alpha’s preternatural vision. It took a few moments for my eyesight to adjust to the inky interior. Grey surveyed the room, and then pointed. “There.” He hurried to the shadowed corner on the right side of the kitchenette, and I followed closely, heart climbing into my throat.

A massive wolf with gold-brown fur lay on the floor. Blood matted his beautiful coat, and though I could see his chest moving with breath, with life…it was a jagged, uncertain stuttering.

“Grey,” I said, all my hope and worry contained in his name.

The alpha knelt next to his brother and examined him. “He’s weak. He won’t be able to shift.” He looked up at me, and I saw his fears for Colt. Beneath that familial anxiety, though, I saw terrible fury. I had no doubt that Kelt—and any foolish soul who stood with him—would feel the full wrath of the Shadow Pack’s alpha.

“It’ll take too long to get him to a Shadow Pack healer.” I could tell Grey was trying to keep his voice strong, his manner steady. Yet, the dread of losing his brother, his best friend, could not be hidden entirely.

“Can you carry him to the car?” I asked. “We’ll take him to the nearest vet.”

“What?”

“We can’t haul him into a hospital and announce he’s a wounded shifter. Unless there’s a shifter healer nearby?”

He shook his head. “The Blood Pack is the closest werewolf community and they wouldn’t help even if we were on good terms. They’re a bunch of scruffer assholes. Besides, they don’t have healers.”

“Sir.”

We looked over our shoulders and saw Sam standing in the cabin’s doorway, buttoning up his shirt. “There’s no one out there. They must’ve left in cars because I didn’t catch any scents around the cabin. Is that Colt?”

“Yeah. He’s bad,” said Grey. “Call the compound. Tell them to batten down the hatches. If Kelt shows up there, I want him taken and imprisoned—him and every single one of his followers.”

Sam nodded and pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. Our only sentinel turned and faced the outdoors, no doubt continually scanning for any signs of unfriendly shifters.

“Do you think Kelt has enforcers on alert at the compound?” I whispered. “He seems to be the prepared type.”

“If it was me, that’s what I would do. He’s taking advantage of the Choosing. He knew I would be distracted, and he knew the compound’s security would be stretched thin. Humans and werewolves attend the celebrations hosted by families welcoming new brides. Damn it! He must’ve been planning this coup for months.” Grey blew out a frustrated breath. “Kelt is cold, ruthless, and organized. It’s why he made a good enforcer.”

“And no doubt why he believes he’ll make a good alpha,” I said.

“The hell he will.” The furious passion infused into Grey’s words created within me a deep sense of pride. I believed in Grey, and in what he could accomplish as the alpha. Yes, I was proud to be his, though we were certainly experiencing a trial by fire on our first day as a married couple.

“Do you think Neela is involved?” I asked. “She was the enforcer leader. She could’ve ensured Kelt had the time and space needed to put his plan into action.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “My gut says she isn’t, but ten minutes ago, I would’ve said the same thing about Kelt.”

I couldn’t imagine the depth of betrayal Grey felt at this moment. The closest I could get was the spiraling sense of grief and shock when I learned of my sister’s suicide. Her death had been a betrayal, too. But even though my sister had forsaken her own life and shifted the course of mine, what Kelt had done to Grey, to the Shadow Pack, was far, far worse.

“Sir. No one’s answering at the compound. I can’t get hold of the Betas or anyone else I’ve tried, including my own mother.”

“He’s taken it then.” Grey’s handsome face shifted, and for the barest moment, I saw silvery-gray fur, long snout, animal eyes, bared teeth. He slammed his fist on the ground, and the wolf disappeared. “Fuck!”

I grabbed Grey’s shoulder. “Who do we trust?”

“Good question. Right now, the only three people I trust are in this room with me and one of ‘em is near death.” He scooped Colt into his arms and stood up. “Let’s get him to the vet. Then we’ll decide what to do next.”

Sam led the way out of the cabin. Halfway to the car, I remembered Colt’s sword. I knew instinctively that he wouldn’t want to be without it. A sword seemed a unique weapon, one that was an extension of personality as well as armament. I whirled around and ran back toward the cabin.

“Arabelle!”

“One minute!”

I shoved through the door, adrenaline and fear twining around my heart like choking vines. My heart squeezed and squeezed as I kicked away debris and dug through shredded furniture and bloodied cushions. I hated being in this room with its bad memories and dreadful carnage. I rummaged near the hearth, peering through what used to be the couch when I caught a dull gleam by one of the dead werewolves.

Lodged beneath the large carcass was Colt’s sword. Colt must’ve killed them with his blade before shifting into a werewolf. He would’ve been attacked by what … three werewolves? Four? If Sara was part of the plot, Kelt had probably released her so she could help kill Colt.

I saw the black scabbard discarded near the bed. That was probably where Colt had transformed—and by the state of the tattered clothes nearby, he’d transformed quickly.

I tucked the scabbard under my arm. Then I grabbed the sword’s handle and lifted it. The blade was lighter than I had assumed and I managed to carry it upright, like I was holding a flag. When I got to the car, Sam took the sword and its leather holder from me. The back door was opened, and Grey waited patiently, holding tightly to the wounded werewolf.

I scurried inside. Grey bent down, and with me holding Colt’s massive shoulders and scooting backwards, we managed to get the huge wolf somewhat settled onto the leather seat. His big head rested in my lap. His breathing was so ragged, I worried every shuddering breath could be his last.

Sam put the sword and scabbard in the trunk, and then he and Grey got into the front. Within seconds, we were flying down the mountain, tires squealing, and Grey cursing.

I clutched at Colt and prayed.

“GOTTA LOVE VEGAS,” said Grey as we pulled into the parking lot of a 24-hour veterinary emergency clinic. “Sam, get the car gassed up and meet us back here. We’re going straight to Bleed City after we get Colt taken care of.”

With my help, Grey wrestled Colt out of the car. I felt utterly ridiculous striding into the clinic clad only in a dirty silk nightie, my arms and legs bruised from the battering my body had taken over the last couple of days. I could only imagine the state of my hair.

A woman in pink scrubs stood behind the glass check-in counter. She was tall and lithe, her skin the color of cinnamon-flecked cream. Her blonde hair was done up in a French braid. I felt like I was looking at the Swiss Miss featured on those hot chocolate packets. When she saw us, she didn’t blink. It was Las Vegas, after all, the city of the strange and unusual.

“What’s the story?” she asked. She stood up and studied the three of us. I wondered where a woman in a soiled nightgown and a man carrying an oversized injured wolf fell on her scale of weird.

Grey looked at me, his expression one of panic.

“We’re on our honeymoon,” I blurted. “We have a cabin up at Mount Charleston. We heard … um, noises outside.”

“I went to investigate,” added Grey. “I found him. He’s got some cuts, and I think he’s lost a lot of blood.”

She lifted a blonde brow. “I see.” She reached under the counter, and we heard a buzzing sound. “Let’s go to exam room three.”

GREY PUT COLT onto the metal examination table. Swiss Miss slid on a pair of plastic gloves.

“You’re the doctor?” asked Grey.

“Yes. My name’s Lisa Pearson. I know he’s a shifter,” she said as she began examining his wounds. “You want to tell me what really happened?”

“He got into a fight,” said Grey.

Lisa snorted and rolled her eyes. “You werewolves give a new definition to ‘succinct.’ He’s got bites from fangs and slashes from claws. What’d the other guy look like?”

“Like he was dead,” said Grey.

“Hmm.”

“Are you a shifter, too?” I asked. As a citizen of Bleed City, werewolves were par for the course. While I knew there were other shifter species, I had never met another kind.

Lisa nodded. “Werebear. You’re lucky you got me instead of the other vet. He’s a human, and he would’ve called animal control. Beck’s a rulebook nerd.” She jerked her head toward the wolf. “So, what’s his name?”

“Colt. He’s my brother,” said Grey. “We’re Shadow Pack. I’m Grey Burke, the alpha.” He put his hand on my shoulder. “This is my wife, Arabelle.”

“Good to meet you.” Lisa stepped back, her gloves now bloody and her expression grim. “I’ll need to take X-rays. He appears to have some broken ribs. You were right—he’s lost a lot of blood. He might have some internal bleeding. He definitely needs stitches, and he probably needs surgery.”

“I can give you blood for a transfusion,” said Grey.

“Good. I’ll call in one of my nurses—she only lives a few minutes away. And she’s a werefox, so you don’t need to worry about her discretion.”

Werebears. Werefoxes. Werewolves. How many other kinds of shifters existed? I supposed it was a question for another day, when we weren’t fighting for our lives.

After the werefox nurse, who was small-boned and had ginger hair, arrived and took blood from Grey, she went to prep Colt for X-rays and then surgery.

“There’s not a lot you can do for him,” said Lisa as she led us back to the small lobby. “It’s probably best to go home. I’ll call you when I’m done stitching him back together.”

“Will he be okay?” I asked.

“Shifters have amazing regenerative abilities. But sitting here and worrying about him won’t help at all.”

“I can’t leave him alone,” said Grey. “He’s not safe.”

“Look, if you guys are in trouble—”

“Nothing we can’t handle,” interrupted Grey smoothly. “It’s pack business.”

Lisa considered Grey for a long moment then she nodded as if she’d made a decision. “My brothers are werebears, and they have a bodyguard business,” she said. “Pearson Security. They’re really good at protecting people—and shifters.”

“They’re hired,” said Grey. “I want Colt to have someone guarding him twenty-four-seven.”

Lisa made a phone call and within minutes she returned to the lobby. “Gabe’s coming himself. He’s the oldest, and he’s a bad ass.” She paused. “Don’t tell him I said that. I try not to encourage the growth of his already sizeable ego. Even so, trust me. No one who isn’t me or the nurse will get near Colt—at least not with their arms still intact.”

“Excellent.” Grey reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He removed a credit card. “For your services and that of your brother’s. Keep it. Give Colt everything he needs.” He handed her his business card next. “You can reach me at this number.”

“Okay.” She looked us over. “You guys look like hell. Try to get some rest. Your friend’s in good hands.”

“Thank you,” said Grey.

WE SLIPPED INTO the back seat of the Mercedes. Sam turned around and offered me a plastic bag. “The gas station was attached to a souvenir shop,” he said. “I found a T-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops. They didn’t have a big selection, so I’m afraid you’re stuck with Vegas tourist apparel.”

“Thank you,” I said. “That was very thoughtful.”

“Good thinking, Sam,” said Grey. He patted my leg. “Go ahead and change, sweetheart.”

I looked at him, horrified.

He lifted an eyebrow. “What?”

“I can’t just … just change.” I lowered my voice. “I’ll be naked.”

“Oh. Well, don’t worry. Sam won’t look—will you, Sam?”

“No, sir.”

Grey smiled. “See?”

“What about you?” I asked in a furious whisper.

“Oh, I’m gonna look,” he said. “Let’s go, Sam. Stay off the Strip if you can.”

“No problem.” He pulled out of the clinic’s parking lot and began winding the Mercedes through the back streets of Vegas.

I took the items from the plastic bag, which included a mini-hairbrush and a scrunchie. God bless, Sam. My hair must’ve looked a true fright if he’d thought to pick up the tools needed to fix the mess. Either that, or he understood the love-hate relationship most women had with their hair.

I spied a pair of pink-stripped runner’s shorts that would probably cover my derriere—if I was lucky. I shimmied them on under my nightgown and put the flip-flops on my feet.

Grey stared at me, a smirk hovering on his lips as I tried everything to not get completely naked. Finally, I had no choice but to draw the blue silk over my head. My heart thudded in my chest. I’d been naked with him only hours before, but my skin heated as my upper torso and breasts were exposed to Grey’s greedy view.

“Do you need any help?” he asked huskily. His gaze roved over me with such heat, my nipples beaded and my skin prickled.

“No, thank you,” I said primly as I tugged on the black baby doll shirt. The graphic, glittered with pink and white crystals, proclaimed, “I Lost My Heart in Vegas.”

Well, I nearly had. No thanks to Rick.

“Nothing like truth in advertising,” I muttered. I stuffed the nightgown into the bag. Then I used the hairbrush, drawing the bristles through my tangled locks until my hair was smooth enough to wrangle into the scrunchie. I tossed the hairbrush in with the tattered nightie and put the bag onto the floor.

“You’re beautiful, Arabelle.”

I looked at Grey, my first instinct to argue with his compliment, but in his eyes I found sincerity. He looked at me as though I was the most revered art piece at the Louvre. How could I allow my womanly insecurities to ruin his praise?

“Thank you,” I said. “You’re very sweet.”

He looked away, staring out the window for a long moment. He turned once again to face me. “If Kelt is successful and becomes alpha of the Shadow Pack, I’ll become an outcast—or I’ll be killed.”

My heart turned over in my chest. “Killed?”

“I’m an alpha, Arabelle. Some are born to the privilege—and others take it. Kelt is trying to take it. If he succeeds, pack law is on his side. If I’m not strong enough to repel his attack and keep the reins of Shadow Pack leadership, I’m no better than a scruffer. I’ll lose the respect of those I’m supposed to protect and lead.”

“He won’t win,” I said.

“If he does … you will not have to honor your obligation to me,” he said. “In fact, you should take your family and disappear. I’ll give you the funds you need. It’s the only way to ensure that you and your loved ones stay safe.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Grey must’ve been truly rattled to consider the possibility that the Shadow Pack would accept a liar, betrayer, and murderer as their alpha. Someone who took leadership by force intended to rule by fear. The pack would do as Kelt said, as he demanded, because otherwise they risked their lives and the lives of their families. Kelt was a despot. With him at the helm, the Shadow Pack would become as chaotic and fractured as the Blood Pack.

“You’re my husband,” I said softly. “I stand with you.”

“You’re brave and strong. Your duty and integrity guide your decisions. You are amazing.” His gaze offered me such tenderness. “But, sweetheart, if Kelt wins he’ll make sure that neither one of us sees the light of day again.” Grey cupped my face and swept his thumb over my jaw. My flesh tingled where he touched me. “I’m giving you your freedom. You can go somewhere—anywhere you like—with your parents. Return to school. Live the life that Carolyn stole from you. Fall in love with someone of your own choosing.”

If I had gotten this offer a mere two days ago, I might well have grabbed onto it and ran, never looking back. Yet, I’d had a taste of the life that could be mine with Grey. I had mated with him, and I was bound to him not only in body, but in soul. He was a good man. He’d rather let me go and suffer the consequences of Kelt’s betrayal alone than risk my life.

But that risk, that choice was mine. And not even my alpha husband could take it from me.

“I stand with you,” I said firmly.

He stared at me for such a long time I began to squirm under his scrutiny. Finally, he let go of me. “You have the heart of a werewolf, Arabelle.” He pulled out his cell phone. “Call your parents. Tell them to get out of town and go to the Drift Resort in Vegas. They can stay in my suite, and I’ll arrange for Pearson Security to send a bodyguard to ensure their safety.”

My parents didn’t answer their home phone, and with panic creeping across me, I tried Mom’s cell phone. My mother picked up on the second ring. “Arabelle! Where are you? Are you okay?”

“I’m with Grey,” I said. “Are you and Daddy all right?”

“Yes. We’re holed up at Aunt Lila’s with some of the other townsfolk. We initiated the emergency phone tree, but only a couple of dozen got the warning. The werewolves are holding everyone else at the library. What’s going on?”

The fear in my mother’s voice chilled me to the core. She was whispering, and I had a vision of her hunkered down in some dark room with other scared families, waiting for help.

“Mom, I love you. Everything’s going to be all right. Now, give Aunt Lila the phone. Grey needs to speak with her.” As I handed him the phone, I noticed my hand shook. I threaded my fingers together and laid them in my lap. I knew Grey had noticed the tremors, and I was glad he hadn’t said anything comforting. I felt like the smallest act of kindness might shatter the courage I’d knitted from ragged remnants. However, I would punch him in the face if he said another word about severing our marital bond.

What Grey couldn’t understand, what I didn’t really understand myself, was that he was my only buoy in this raging storm. I clung to him because I knew he would save me—from Kelt, yes, but also from loneliness. The ache that had been part of my life since Carolyn’s suicide had disappeared the moment I lay in Grey’s arms. I could have no more an adventurous life than one lived as the mate of an alpha werewolf.

These were the thoughts that swirled in my mind, useless really, but I couldn’t fathom what would happen in the next few hours. I was terrified for my parents—for all of Bleed City. And for Grey—Grey who had the most lose, including his own life, if Kelt wasn’t stopped.

Kelt wasted no time taking control of the small town and its citizens. He’d already rounded them up like war criminals. The fear I’d been attempting to hold at bay spiderwebbed through my chest, making it hurt. What if Kelt didn’t stop with the Shadow Pack? He’d been plotting with the beta of the Blood Pack … what if Kelt attacked them next?

What was his ultimate goal?

As I wrestled with my own thoughts, Grey spoke in a low murmur to Aunt Lila. He finished the conversation and pocketed the phone.

“Several werewolves loyal to me escaped the compound and managed to get to Aunt Lila’s. They saved as many townspeople as they could before Kelt started rounding them up. It’s a goddamned mess.”

“What are we going to do?”

“Everything we can.” Grey looked at me. “I want to tell you all will be well. I want to give you comfort.”

“I prefer the truth,” I said. “Comfort has its time and place, of course. But now, now we need to assess, plan, and implement.”

“You’re a practical woman.” He leaned over and whispered, “I find that a very sexy attribute.”

My face burned with embarrassment. Mercy! I really needed to get used to Grey’s compliments, no matter how ribald. He was my husband, after all. He chuckled as he placed his hand over my clasped ones. “We’ll get through this, Arabelle. Now, why don’t you rest? No one will be sleeping much once we get to Bleed City.”

I didn’t think I would get even a wink, but I underestimated my own mental and physical exhaustion. It seemed that Grey’s suggestion to sleep was all that I needed as I leaned my head back and closed my eyes.

In no time at all, I’d drifted off.

14

I DREAMED OF the ocean. I’d never seen the Pacific—never gone outside the borders of Nevada—yet I stood on the beach, my toes digging into cool, wet sand. Night clung to the water and to the sky, clutching both in slippery black folds. A curl of moon hung in the midnight sky, the only light in an otherwise stygian world.

I stared into the distance, waiting. For what, I wasn’t sure.

The ocean began to churn and the ground beneath my feet shook. There came a horrible, screeching roar and in it, the cries of a familiar voice.

Grey.

Noooo! Sweetheart! Arabelle!

I awoke to Grey reaching across me and unsnapping my seatbelt. He shoved open the door. “We have to go. Hurry!”

I barely had time to process that the car wasn’t moving before Grey pushed my shoulder to get me going. I scrambled out, the flimsy flip-flops nearly tripping me. Grey clambered out of the car after me. I could see now that the Mercedes had not stopped of its own accord. The luxury vehicle rested at an angle across the two-lane highway, the front tires flat. In the driver’s seat, Sam slumped over the steering wheel.

“Sam!” I moved toward him, but Grey hauled me back.

“He’s dead. They shot the tires and then him.”

My stomach pitched. Oh, Sam.

Grey grasped my hand and tugged me along. I pulled out of his grip. “I have to get Colt’s sword.”

“I’ll open the trunk.” Grey ran to the driver’s side and reached through the busted window.

I went to the rear of the Mercedes. The second the trunk popped open, I reached inside and grabbed the sword and the black leather scabbard. Grey took the items from me, and together, we walked quickly away from the Mercedes and into the bleached unknown of the Nevada desert. By the time we stopped, the road we’d left behind was only a dark squiggle in the dirty sand.

“The shots came from a distance—probably a sniper stationed in the cliffs waiting for us. Damn it! Kelt knew I’d come back here the minute I figured out what he was doing.” Grey made a gesture for me to turn around. I did so and he cinched the sword’s holder over my shoulders. Then he slid the blade inside. The tip of the sword stopped just short of my tailbone, and the large inlaid handle rested against my head. Once again, I noted that it wasn’t as heavy as I thought a sword should be. While wearing it on my back was uncomfortable because it didn’t fit well, at least I could bear the weight.

I turned around and saw my husband stripping off his clothes.

“I’m going to shift,” he said as he tossed his shirt to the ground and unbelted his pants.

“Grey, why aren’t we dead, too?”

“My assumption is that Kelt wants to assert himself as the new alpha by killing us in front of the pack. Sam was shot after the car stopped. He was taken out.” Anger stuck to Grey’s tone like hot tar. “Kelt’s out for blood, Arabelle. He won’t settle for making us outcasts.” In seconds, Grey was completely naked. “Enforcers are probably on the way. We’re not far from Bleed City, but it’ll take me at least half an hour to get to Aunt Lila’s. As soon I become wolf, get on my back—and hold on as tight as you can.”

I’d seen werewolves, of course. You couldn’t live in Bleed City without seeing one or two lope through a street or behind a building ever now and again. But I’d never seen one fully shift.

Grey dropped to all fours, and I immediately saw fur ripple down his hunched back. His knees buckled inward and his calves shrank into the thick, furred legs of a beast. A large tail unfurled like a flag from the end of his spine. Then his face lengthened into a massive maw, and his bones clicked and clacked as his handsome human face assumed the shape of a very, very large wolf with gray-blue eyes.

When the transformation was complete, I was staring at my alpha husband in his purest form.

Werewolf.

His silvery gray pelt gleamed like found treasure even in the faint light of the half moon. The black stripe on his head was the only splash of contrasting color on his gorgeous hide, as though someone with a paintbrush had playfully swiped at his fur.

Grey was as handsome in this form as his other. However, I’d seen smaller horses than the massive creature that stood before me now.

He looked at me, tilting his head and uttering a sharp bark. I didn’t need to speak wolf to understand that meant, “Hurry!”

I grabbed at his scruff, my elbows and knees digging into his flesh as I scrambled onto him with no grace at all. I balanced across his back, pressing my legs in at his sides and clutching his thick fur. “I’m ready!” I cried.

Grey took off.

He set a crazed, supernatural pace that made me afraid to do anything but hold on as tightly as I could. Wind snapped at my face. Sand bit at my ankles. My flip-flops became instant casualties, and the sword handle bumped against my skull with a painful rhythm. Though we were headed toward the fight of our lives with the dire hope we would arrive in time to save those we loved, I couldn’t stop the thrill that raced down my spine and settled into my belly like balled lightning.

I felt fierce.

The wild blasts of dry desert air forced tears from my eyes. I closed them against the assault. I lay against Grey, my face buried in his neck, as he raced through the bleak Nevada landscape.

Would we be able to save my parents and the other citizens of Bleed City? Who among the pack was still loyal to Grey? And the biggest question of all: Could we defeat Kelt?

* * *

GREY STOPPED RUNNING. I opened my eyes and pushed myself into a sitting position. I had no idea how much time had passed, but I did recognize the area. He crept forward, nose raised to sniff the air. We were headed toward a jumbled set of boulders that looked like a giant child’s discarded toys. The stones abutted a colossal red cliff. This was the primary landmark that signified the southern border of Bleed City.

Grey crouched, bunching his muscles and emitting a low growl. Seconds later, I saw what got his dander up. Another werewolf slunk around one of the massive rocks. It was smaller than Grey and had fur the color of dark roast coffee. The wolf stopped a couple of feet away and bowed, its head touching the ground in complete submission.

Grey barked.

The wolf raised up, but kept its head lowered, and then it turned around and trotted away. Grey took off after it.

The wolf led us around the rocks to the towering escarpment, slipping into a large crevice hidden by boulders. As Grey cautiously followed, I tightly held on to his fur, my heart tripling its beat as we descended into cool darkness. The crack immediately widened into a large cave, a fact I only knew because torches lit the interior.

Mac sat on a flat rock, his attention riveted to a map spread on the ground between his feet.

He looked up as we arrived and caught my gaze. He didn’t exactly look sorry about kidnapping me and giving me to Rick as a blood penance. I slid off Grey and stepped away. The coffee-colored wolf had already begun a transformation into a human female. When she was done, she crouched on the floor, her curtain of curly brunette locks giving away her identity.

Neela.

She rose to her feet and strode to a pile of clothes near Mac. As Grey resumed his own human form, she efficiently dressed in the leather attire she seemed to prefer.

“We brought you some clothes, Grey,” said Mac. He avoided my gaze, and in fact, seemed to be pretending that I wasn’t here at all.

Neela scooped up a folded pair of jeans and a black T-shirt, which she tossed to Grey. My husband dressed in silence, no doubt assessing the situation carefully. Were Neela and Mac our friends…or our foes?

Neela’s gaze roved over me, lingering on my dirty, bare feet. “You need shoes.” She grabbed the silver-chained black boots she hadn’t yet put on—and handed them to me.

“I can’t take your boots.”

“I can shift. You can’t. These are heavy—there’s steel in toes. If you kick anyone, it’ll hurt ‘em.”

“Okay.” I really wanted to kick her and Mac, but I kept that thought to myself as I put on the boots. They were two sizes too big, but still better than bare feet or plastic flip-flops.

“How did you get out of prison, Mac?” asked Grey. He hadn’t yet approached the beta. In fact, he hung back, away from the two werewolves. I stayed near him, ready to spring out of the way if he needed to throw a punch.

“I let him out. He was the only one I could trust,” said Neela. “My father has his claws into nearly half the enforcers.”

“And the rest?”

Her expression turned bitter. “Dead, imprisoned, or with the few humans who escaped the round-up.”

“You chose me over your father?” His question held doubt, suspicion.

“Father,” she spit. “He lost that privilege when he decided to go against the alpha. Against the pack.”

“We’re both loyal to you,” interjected Mac.

“Are you?” asked Grey. “You handed over my bride to the Blood Pack. You sanctioned her murder.”

“Blood for blood,” snapped Mac. He got to his feet, slowly, his head bowed submissively, but his hands clenched into fists. “Besides, I was convinced that Arabelle killed Murdock, too. I believed my daughter.”

“Your daughter?” Grey bared his teeth. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“A youthful indiscretion more than nineteen years ago. The child was not born a shifter, so I didn’t claim her before the pack. Her mother raised her as a human with no knowledge of her heritage.”

“Until Kelt told her.” Neela’s gaze flicked to me. “Mac’s daughter was the witness who testified against you for Murdock’s death. Of course, I didn’t know that at the time.”

Murdock. He was the enforcer who’d been killed before the Choosing ceremony—his murder and the circumstantial evidence linking me to it had gotten me imprisoned.

“She was also one of the brides,” continued Neela. “Her name is Cacie Lynn.”

My knees almost buckled. Cacie Lynn was my friend. Just a naïve, clueless girl who thought being engaged to a werewolf was the epitome of her life.

“Cacie Lynn is Mac’s daughter?” My voice held tears. Grief and disbelief cascaded through me. Cacie Lynn had betrayed me? It made no sense. “Why would she accuse me of murder?”

“Because she thinks she’s in love with my father,” snapped Neela. “He recruited Cacie Lynn months ago, around the time he started all this insane plotting crap with Rick. Then you came along and screwed up their plans, first by killing Cody, and second, by being chosen as the alpha’s mate prior to the Choosing. Before that, they were determined for Grey to choose Cacie Lynn as his mate.”

As Grey’s wife I wanted to ask why they believed Grey would pick Cacie Lynn. Did he prefer blondes? The jealousy pricked at my pride, but I put it away. I could hardly indulge in such petty emotions when so much was at stake.Right now, we needed to focus on our survival and our plan to defeat Kelt—who was a far more nefarious individual than I’d previously thought. He made the murderous Rick look like a newborn kitten.

“Cody’s death was supposed to be laid at Grey’s feet. The Blood Pack alpha is an unstable, vengeful bitch. She would’ve gone after Grey with everything she had,” added Mac.

“And Kelt’s enforcers would’ve led him right to slaughter,” I said softly.

“Exactly.” Neela started pacing. “Then when Grey was killed in revenge for Cody’s death—Cacie Lynn would take Kelt as her husband.”

“What difference would that make?” I asked.

“If the alpha dies while still in the leadership position, tradition dictates that his mate can choose a new spouse. And that spouse would be considered the interim alpha,” said Grey.

“All it would’ve have taken was a pack vote and my father would be named alpha. He had a spotless record of service—he was respected. Beloved.” Neela choked out the words. She pressed a fist against her mouth, and her eyes glittered with tears I knew she would never shed.

“If it had gone down that way,” said Mac, “Kelt would’ve been alpha with no fuss, no muss.”

“And your daughter would be the alpha’s mate,” I accused Mac. Grey’s arms tensed around me, as though he feared I would break free and attack his ex-beta.

“No! I had no part of this! I didn’t know about Cacie Lynn’s involvement until Neela told me. I swear, Grey.” Mac’s gaze sought forgiveness from his alpha. “Kelt came to me and said he’d been contacted by the Blood Pack’s beta. When I talked to Rick, he told me if I turned Arabelle over to them for penance, they’d consider the matter closed. Damn it, Grey! She killed their alpha’s mate. I didn’t want a pack war!”

“You’re a fool. Kelt used you to get rid of Arabelle and keep his plan in motion,” said Grey. “Whether he took the Shadow Pack through peaceful or forceful means is irrelevant. Kelt wants war for the same reason that pathetic asshole Rick wanted war. He wants power. He wants to dissemble the current pack system and rebuild it his way.”

“Everything I did,” said Mac through gritted teeth, “I did for the pack. I made the hard decisions because I knew you couldn’t!”

“Is that what you’re telling yourself?” asked Grey quietly. “That you lied to protect the Shadows? That you betrayed me because I wouldn’t give my wife to the Bloods?”Anger unfurled in each word he uttered. Grey tensed, and this time it was I who held on to him. It seems we both wished to pummel Mac. “You kept your daughter a secret—even from me. I’m the alpha, but more than that, I am—I was—your friend. You aren’t even worthy of being beta. When this is over, you will pay for your mistakes.”

Mac nodded. A muscle ticked in his jaw. I didn’t trust him. For that matter, I didn’t trust Neela. What if they were colluding with Kelt and planned to lead us into a trap?

“My father’s in Bleed City,” said Neela. “They’re rooting out the people who’re hiding.”

“Has he gotten to Aunt Lila’s place?”

“Twice,” said Neela. “Nobody’s there.”

“They were taken?” I asked.

Neela lifted an eyebrow. “There was no one to take. Her place was empty.”

I didn’t understand. I had just talked to my mother and she’d said they were holed up at Aunt Lila’s. Had they moved elsewhere? Had they decided to flee?

Grey squeezed me, either in comfort or in an effort to keep from asking questions. I pressed my lips together and swallowed the knot lodged in my throat.

“How do you know what your father’s doing?”

“We have an insider,” she said. “My father killed Murdock because the man was about to betray him—to you. Between the time the elder and I had exited the tunnel and Belle entered it, he’d cut the man’s throat and disappeared through one of the offshoot tunnels.”

Wrong place. Wrong time. I really did have a knack for it.

“And you trust this insider?” asked Grey.

“Murdock’s younger brother, Chris. His brother had come to him before the Choosing, told him what was going on and what he planned to do. Chris is a new enforcer trainee—and hadn’t been part of the conspiracy. Once Kelt made his move, Chris pretended to follow Kelt so he could keep tabs for me.”

“Why aren’t you with your father?” I asked.

“Because what he’s doing is wrong. He tried to get me to join up, but I refused and then bolted.” Neela’s eyes were pure fury. “He doesn’t care about the pack. About his family. About me. He’s selfish and cold-hearted. He needs to be put down like the dog he is!”

“Neela.” Mac reached out and touched her shoulder, but she shrugged off his hand.

A ringing sound filling the cavern, and Neela dug into her back pocket and pulled out a slim cell phone. “Yeah?” She listened for a moment and then ended the call, tucking the phone away. “That was Chris. My father’s at the library taking a personal approach to torturing the human prisoners. He’s trying to find out where the others are hiding.”

* * *

WE HUDDLED BEHIND the small home of poor old Mr. Sanders. In less than three days, I had come full circle. I stood right in the place where my life had changed forever—and might well be the very place where it ended.

Neela and Mac were in werewolf form. Grey remained human and I—well, I only had the one option. Light spilled out from the building’s anterior though the backside remained in relative darkness. Chris had told Neela that Kelt planned to drag three humans out at time from their basement confinement onto the library’s xeriscaped front gardens. He wanted one person to torture and two to watch the inhumane treatment—the goal, of course, was to get someone to talk.

From our vantage point at the corner of the tiny house, we saw that the rear of the library only had two sentries.

They prowled back and forth, sniffing at the air, and would no doubt soon catch our scent.

A scream split the air—an ax of utter pain chopping right through me.

My stomach clenched, and I pressed a hand over my mouth to keep from giving voice to my anguish. I knew nearly every soul in this town. I couldn’t imagine one being tormented by the pack who was supposed to protect us.

Grey nodded toward the wolves.

Neela and Mac took off, straight at them. Snarling, barking, and snapping ensued. While they fought each other, Grey and I took off for the library.

The plan was simple. While Chris and I rescued the Bleed City citizens from their imprisonment, Grey would go after Kelt. Pack law dictated that two alphas vying to lead the pack would be left alone to battle it out.

Since those who followed Kelt didn’t seem to give a damn about the pack, much less its laws, I had little faith that they would step aside and allow a fair fight.

Grey felt strongly that pack law would be honored if he challenged Kelt outright in front of the werewolves.

I had to trust his instincts.

But still, I worried. Though we’d been together for mere days, it felt like so much longer. Grey putting himself in peril tore at me. As Grey took off to confront his enemy, my hatred for Kelt grew a hundredfold. Please, dear Lord, protect him. Keep my alpha safe.

I entered the library. A leanly muscled boy, no more than eighteen or nineteen years old, appeared from the shadowy confines of what appeared to be a storage room.

“Arabelle?”

“Belle. And you’re Chris.”

He nodded. “The stairs are over there. I’m the guard at the top. We’ve got two enforcers below. Five are out front with Kelt. A least a dozen were left at the compound to keep order—and another half dozen or so are combing the town for the other citizens and for Grey.”

“So many,” I whispered.

Chris grimaced. “Sucks, I know.” He gestured for me to follow and turned, leading me to the staircase. “Go ahead of me, like I caught you.” He gaze flicked to the sword I still wore strapped to my back. Colt’s weapon had become my talisman. “Can you use that thing?”

“Yes,” I lied. I started down the dimly lit concrete steps, Chris right behind me.

“What’s going on?” The gravelly voice came from a scar-faced man who was the roughly the size and shape of a boulder. His gray-streaked locks, including his beard, sported many tiny braids. “Who’s she?”

“Arabelle Burke,” said Chris. He unsheathed my sword, as though to take it from me. “I caught her sneaking in to the library.”

“Where’s your husband?”

I glared at him. The man laughed. His compatriot was smaller, but not by much. He, too, had long hair, but wore his in a ponytail.

Behind them cowered more than two dozen Bleed City residents. Men. Women. Children. They huddled against the wall, protecting each other, their wrists bound with plastic ties. Their feet remained unbound, but what idiot human would dare go against a werewolf?

Well, I would, of course.

Rage exploded, flowing through me like fear-melting lava. I grabbed the sword out of Chris’s hands and used it like a baseball bat, thwacking Braid Man across the abdomen.

He looked at me, shocked. His shirt gapped open and revealed a thin line of red across his tanned flesh.

While Chris handled the other guard, I took advantage of my opponent’s hesitation and rammed the sword into his stomach. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the strength to carve out his innards, but the blade sank into his flesh a good couple of inches.

I pulled out the sword—which took a great deal of wrenching—and went in for another blow.

He reared back, his face a mask of pain and fury. He snarled at me and reached for Colt’s sword.

What he couldn’t know was three male prisoners were running at him. Before he could take one more menacing step toward me, the men barreled into his massive backside. I twirled away, sword still clutched in my hands, as the giant crashed to the ground.

He rapped his head hard on the concrete floor, offered one fearsome groan, and went still.

The guard scuffling with Chris made the mistake of looking at his downed compatriot. A right hook to the jaw snapped his head back and he collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

“Let’s get them tied up. Is there a place we can put them?” I said.

“There’s a janitor’s closet down here,” said Chris. “We can lock them inside.”

I offered my sword to him. “Let’s free them.”

Chris smiled. He dug into his back pocket and pulled out a jackknife. “This might be more practical.” He began removing the ties from everyone’s bound wrists.

“It safer for you all to stay down here,” I said to the crowd. “As soon as Grey deals with Kelt, I’ll send someone to get you.”

“Belle!”

I turned at the sound of the familiar voice and saw my former boss, Charlie, stride across the room. He was in late ‘50s and was long-time friends with my father. He hadn’t had any girls, so he’d never needed to worry about sending a daughter to the Choosing. But he was a kind man with a gentle wife and two grown sons who’d joined the Army.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“To join my husband.”

“It’s not any safer for you out there,” he said, concerned. “You’re better off in here with us.”

“I’m the alpha’s mate. I stand with him.”

Charlie grasped my shoulder. “What happens to us if Grey doesn’t win?”

“He will win,” I said. “So that question is pointless.” I shrugged out of his grip and hurried up the stairs.

15

I RAN THROUGH the library, dodging carts and books and turned over shelves. Kelt’s werewolves had been destructive, completely inconsiderate of the town and its possessions. Such actions told me Bleed City was in for a world of hurt with Kelt as the Shadow Pack alpha.

He will never be alpha, I assured myself.

I wanted to barrel outside and make sure Grey was still alive, but I managed to calm myself enough to slow down and stop at one of the floor-to-ceiling windows near the entrance. I leaned the sword against the wall and peeked out the glass pane.

A group of werewolves in both human and wolf forms stood on one side of the library’s rock-strewn garden. On the other side were two men taking swings at each other.

Grey and Kelt.

My husband was leanly muscled and fast. He ducked, punched, whirled away. Kelt was clumsier—perhaps because he was heavier, older, or maybe just exhausted. He’d had a busy day of being a complete and utter asshole.

If Kelt’s battered face was any indication, Grey was winning. Hope trilled in my heart. How soon would this be over? Did alphas fight to the death or just until one knocked the other out?

I didn’t know.

Movement caught my eye and I tracked it to a blue flutter near an oversized cactus plant. A blonde head poked up—and I immediately recognized Cacie Lynn.

She held a gun.

Her arms were steady. Her gaze locked onto Grey. She was waiting for the perfect shot. Once her own lover moved out of the way, she would kill my husband.

I grabbed my sword. I couldn’t bust out there because my sudden presence might distract Grey enough to get shot.

I flew across the library, to the far right side. There was a side entrance, one I only knew about because as a little girl I liked “sneaking” into the library. Carolyn and I pretended to be spies who needed to find our enemy’s secrets—which were usually tucked into the books we checked out.

Mr. Sanders had started locking the entrance after one too many teenagers used it to sneak inside and put their overdue books onto the shelves without paying the fines. What can I say? Bleed City bred more than its fair share of book nerds. Ruffian behavior in children or adults was unusual. A run-in with a Shadow Pack enforcer curbed any of those tendencies.

I unlocked the metal door and eased out. My heart pounded so hard it pulsed in my throat and banged in my eardrums. I could only think about stopping Cacie Lynn before she had a chance to use that gun.

Neela’s boots were loose on my feet, but I’d gotten used to their weight. I reached the edge of the building, my gaze seeking out Cacie Lynn. She was still huddled behind the cactus, her gun aimed at the fighting men, waiting for the opportune moment to kill Grey.

I only had seconds.

I rushed across the garden, coming up behind Cacie Lynn. She heard me, of course, as did everyone else in the area. But my focus was on the blonde betrayer who’d been part of this whole mess from the start.

Cacie Lynn’s expression was one of pure hatred, her sweet face only a façade for her true nature.

She whipped her arms up and the gun went off, but I whacked her on top of the head with the flat side of the blade. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she slumped over.

“Arabelle!”

Grey’s voice sounded far away. Further than it should have. I walked toward him, him and Kelt who both stared at me strangely. I guess there wasn’t such a thing as time-out in a werewolf fight because I watched Kelt bunch up his fist and aim it at Grey’s head.

I don’t know how I reached them before he landed that punch, but I did and I kicked Kelt in the shins with my steel-toed boot. He went down yowling. Then I raised the blade and brought it down.

The sword missed his skull, but sliced through his long, brown ponytail. He screamed like I’d actually stabbed him. I don’t think I really meant to decapitate Kelt, but I was getting sick and tired of him hurting people I loved.

“Does cutting off werewolf hair hurt?” I asked Grey, befuddled by Kelt’s odd reaction. The man was grabbing at the hair now scattered across the ground like it was strands of gold.

“Shadows wear their hair long as a sign of strength. Getting it cut off by an enemy is the ultimate insult.”

Good. I hoped Kelt choked on his defeat.

I felt suddenly, unaccountably tired. I was sweating, too, particularly on my left side. I slid my hand down my T-shirt, frowning when it came away red. “How very strange,” I said. The words tripped over my tongue.

“Sweetheart.” Grey scooped me into his arms. “You’ve been shot.”

“Oh.” I looked at him, but blackness edged my vision and his face went all blurry.

As Grey turned to walk away, Kelt snarled and bounded to his feet. I opened my mouth to shout at Grey, but before I could utter a warning, a coffee-brown werewolf appeared like a wraith. Neela. She grabbed Kelt’s leg and jerked him off his feet.

Other werewolves joined her. After a moment, I couldn’t see Kelt at all as the wolves snarled and snapped. He screamed as they tore at his flesh, but I had no empathy.

None at all.

Grey didn’t even turn around. He strode away, obviously confident in pack justice.

“We won, right?”

“Yes, Arabelle. We won.”

Those were the last words I heard.

* * *

I DREAMED OF the ocean. I’d never seen the Pacific—never gone outside the borders of Nevada—yet I stood on the beach, my toes digging into cool, wet sand. Night clung to the water and to the sky, clutching both in slippery black folds. A curl of moon hung in the midnight sky, the only light in an otherwise stygian world.

I walked into the ocean sedately. The water covered my calves, my hips, my waist. I felt at peace. Buoyed by its strength. Its unaccountable warmth.

As the water hit my shoulders and my feet left the sand, I heard him.

“Arabelle!”

I felt pulled in two directions. One toward the horizon. The other toward shore.

I tread water, considering.

Forward—into the ocean, into the arms of God.

Backward—to the shore line, into the arms of man.

One man.

Grey.

* * *

MY EYES FLUTTERED open. As I looked around the room, I wondered if I’d died and gone to heaven. A very luxurious heaven that had big, dark furniture, gold and brown accents, comfortable bedding—and was that a chaise? Beyond that, I saw a huge hearth with bookshelves all around it.

“Arabelle.”

I turned my head. Grey lay next to me. He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks. I reached out and touched the hair that had sprouted along his cheeks and chin. “You grew a beard in a day? How often do you werewolves have to shave?”

He choked out a laugh. “You’ve been unconscious for nearly two weeks. I’ve had doctors, healers—hell, I even called Lisa Pearson to come look at you.”

“But I’m not a werewolf.”

“You are the best werewolf I have ever known.” He kissed my lips, my cheeks, my forehead, even my eyelids. “I thought I’d lost you.”

“What happened?”

“Cacie Lynn shot you.”

“I whacked her with Colt’s sword.” I gasped. “Colt!”

“He’s fine. He came through surgery like a champ. He’s been back here for almost a week, driving me crazy, as usual.”

“I would like to see him. I owe him an apology for using his sword wrong.”

Grey chuckled. “You used it exactly right.”

My head throbbed, and my side was really quite sore.

“My parents? Aunt Lila?”

“Everyone’s fine. There were tunnels hidden under the elder’s house. She took everyone out that way. Cacie Lynn is in prison awaiting tribunal.”

“Kelt is dead.”

“Yes. The pack took care of that.”

“I cut off his hair,” I said. “I didn’t mean to.” I glanced at Grey. “I think I was aiming for his head.”

“That act was enough to denigrate him in the eyes of the pack. Our hair is important. Keeping it long is part of our tradition, part of our belief in the old gods. It represents our strength. It’s like your Samson and Delilah story.”

“I cut off his hair … and he lost his strength?”

“It was the ultimate symbol of his defeat.”

I was glad that Kelt was dead, and out of our lives. “How is Neela?”

“She’s … Neela. After Kelt was defeated, Mac took off. I have enforcers looking for him, but I doubt we’ll find him.”

“I don’t think Mac was a good person.”

“Nor was he a good werewolf,” agreed Grey.

“I’m not sure Neela is a good person, either.”

“We’ll see,” said Grey. “She’s young. Impulsive. Ruled by her anger.”

“She has daddy issues.”

He smiled. “That, too. She’s still taking sabbatical to the Earth Pack. She needs to learn patience.”

I couldn’t say that I liked Neela all that much, but maybe given time we could learn not to snarl at each other too much. She’d shown her true loyalties, and for that, I would always be grateful.

“I’m tired, Grey.” I yawned. “By the way, where are we?”

“This is our bedroom.”

“Sweet mercy! It’s amazing.”

“Wait until you see the rest of our place,” he murmured. “I’ll show you the compound. I’ll show the whole world, Arabelle. Just please stay with me.”

“I’m right here,” I said.

“You left for a while.” He looked at me. “I’m in love with you.”

“I’m in love with you, too,” I said.

“I thought as much—after you took a bullet for me.”

“That’s what wives do for their husbands.”

“When you’re better, I’ll reward you probably.” His gaze turned wicked then he gave me smacking kiss. “Rest now, sweetheart.”

“Okay.” I settled into his embrace, resting my head against his chest, the beat of his heart my very own lullaby.

It is a wonderful thing, I tell you, to be loved by the alpha.

The Werewolf Bodyguard

1

“RANDALL HAS AN excellent chance of recovery. He’s strong, somewhat healthy, and he’s as stubborn as a mule.”

“Don’t you mean stubborn as a werewolf?” Stephanie Draper had never known any other creatures as stubborn as werewolves. She looked into Dr. Lee’s kind brown eyes. The small private hospital had been built by the Moon Pack specifically to treat shifters. Her stepfather’s heart attack had landed him inside the facility. If she hadn’t moved back home last week, he probably would have died. He lived alone in a house far too big for a single being, but since it was a family home, he wouldn’t sell. She didn’t blame him. She’d love the gigantic house, too.

Stephanie looked down at her dad, not of blood but certainly of heart, and thought him too pale. He’d always been so strong, so confident. God! She’d lost enough. Randall had raised her since she was six-months-old. She didn’t know anything about her sperm donor—and never had the urge to find out.

Randall Draper was her father.

And that was that.

Stephanie was human, but she’d known about werewolves her whole life. Randall, in both the human courts and in the werewolf pack, had adopted her. She was considered a Moon Pack member even though she couldn’t sprout fur and howl at the moon.

When she was ten, her mother died in a car accident, and after it had been Randall and Stephanie against the world.

Well, until five years ago, when she went to off to California to attend college and ended up marrying the wrong man.

But she wasn’t going to think about that.

“Dr. Lee, when can he come home?”

“It will be at least a week, maybe longer, I’m afraid. I want to monitor his progress closely. And it will give me the chance to get him to exercise more and eat right. Maybe if he gets into the habit at the hospital, he’ll continue to do it at home.”

She smiled slightly. “I doubt Dad will give up his double-decker cheeseburgers. But it’s worth a shot.”

Dr. Lee patted her on the shoulder. Stephanie flinched, gritted her teeth, and sent him an apologetic smile.

The doctor said nothing, although she was sure he knew what she’d went through—everyone in the pack did. As soon as she’d called him to ask for help, he’d immediately got her onto a private jet and whisked her back to Tulsa. Then he’d gone straight to Kade Stonewell, the Moon Pack alpha, who’d promised her protection.

The doctor left her father’s dark, quiet hospital room. The monitor’s constant beep-beep reassured her that all was well. At least with Dad. She slid into a chair and clasped her father’s limp hand. He’d regained consciousness in the ambulance and had given the paramedics hell all the way into the hospital. Dr. Lee had confirmed that he’d suffered a heart attack, ordered a battery of tests, and promptly shut up the old man’s mutterings with a shot of pain medication.

The door opened. Stephanie turned, expecting the nurse.

“Hello there.” The man stood inside the door, his broad shoulders blocking out most of the light spilling in from the busy hallway. Stephanie’s mouth dried. He was so big. Dark hair curled around the collar of his pale blue shirt, and he wore faded, tight Levis. He might have been handsome, but his face was all angles, his nose crooked in the middle, his chin rough with stubble. He smiled at her, and she noticed the sensual fullness of his lips.

“Who are you?” Her question sounded brusque, but she didn’t apologize. She didn’t want him here. Didn’t want him evoking the rusty desire screeching upward—a starved beast wanting a meal.

But the normal feeling of attraction one human had for another brought her no joy. Following her heart had led her straight into hell.

“My name is Nolan Wright. The alpha sent me to look in on you. I’m an officer with the Tulsa Police Department.”

He was a werewolf. That explained his size and why he exuded so much machismo. Her girly parts awakened in his presence, and she didn’t like it one bit.

She glanced at him through her lashes, finally seeing the offering in his left hand. “Are those flowers?”

“Leave it to a woman to notice gifts,” he teased, stepping forward. The door shut behind him. Stephanie released her father’s hand, stood, and blindly reached for the light switch. She couldn’t remain in the darkness with such a powerful man. Before her fingers could touch the panel, soft light invaded the room.

“Light. The better to see you with.” The teasing glint in his voice made her uncomfortably warm. She sat in the chair, and then stood, not wanting him to tower over her—although he already did by at least a foot.

“Are you making a Red Riding Hood joke?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I try to stick with the classics.” He pulled a wallet out of his back pocket, flipped it open, and handed it to her. “I’ve been assigned to oversee your security.”

Stephanie studied his badge, memorizing the number etched in the metal. She looked closely at the picture ID, flipped it closed, and handed it back. “I’m Stephanie Draper.”

She felt foolish for introducing herself. He knew who she was … that’s why he was here.

“Stephanie.” He said her name as if he were savoring a fine wine. She shivered—desire winding through her like silk ropes.

Her gaze locked onto the bouquet he held. “You can put them over there,” she said, pointing to a table in the corner. Many flowers and balloons already inhabited the room. Her Dad had a lot of friends.

“These aren’t for your father. They’re for you.”

He handed her the bouquet and stepped away as if he knew how his size affected her. Stephanie blinked down at the unexpected gift. She brushed the delicate tulips with a fingertip.

“Beautiful,” she whispered. Gratitude and wonder fill her, but she thrust the flowers at him. Who was he to give her flowers? She’d had enough of niceties followed by earnest promises followed by ... she pushed the ugly thoughts away.

“I don’t want them.” God, she sounded rude. He made no move to take the bouquet. The plastic wrapping crinkled in her hand as she clenched it. The flowers shook in her trembling grasp.

“My mother once told me tulips were kissed by angels and sent to earth to give us happiness.” He looked at her, his midnight eyes holding her hostage. “She planted them every spring. Said they gave her hope. Renewed her spirit.”

His hand curled gently around hers. The heat of his skin penetrated her fingertips. A warmth, a calmness flowed through her, which was as unexpected as the flowers. “Enjoy them, Stephanie. Please.”

Words failed her. She nodded, and then clutched the flowers close, as though hope really was somehow imbued in the petals and could belong to her again.

“How’s your father?”

“He’ll be all right, but he’ll be in the hospital for a while. It turns out not even werewolves are invincible.”

“What about you? Are you going to be okay?”

An awkward silence fell as she scrambled to gather her scattered thoughts. She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and inhaled deeply. “I’m fine.”

“There are two men stationed outside the door for your safety. You need anything, call me.” He reached into his back jean pocket, drew out his wallet and extracted a small, white card. “My home number is on the front, and my personal cell number on the back.”

Stephanie took the card, glanced at the scrawled black ink, and stared at him. “I’m used to handling things on my own.” And look where that’s gotten you. She swallowed hard. “But thank you. I’m grateful for your assistance.”

“You’re not alone.” The corner of his mouth lifted into a half-smile. “We’ll take care you. Someone will always be within shouting distance. You won’t always see us, but we’ll be there.”

“Thank you.”

“Kade sent enforcers to track the man who hurt you.”

Stephanie sucked in a sharp breath. “What? Why?”

“You’re part of the pack, Stephanie. If you threaten one of us, then you threaten all of us.”

She felt the blood drain from her face. She’d given her stepfather the bare-bones story, but there was so much she hadn’t told him. How could she?

“Hey, you all right?”

“Yes. I … I’m good.”

“Okay. Someone will follow you home and keep watch at the house. You’re safe, Stephanie. I promise.”

She nodded, unable to say anything else. He offered one last gentle smile before he strode to the door. She watched him grab the handle, saw the corded muscles in his arm, and felt a mix of need and fear that confused her.

The door swished shut behind him.

Stephanie held onto the tulips, strangely reluctant to put down her gift. Instead, she sank into the chair and struggled with her new burdens.

She’d been a fool to think she could escape Garrett. Less than two weeks had passed since she managed to free herself. Damn it. She didn’t want to be the type of woman who needed rescuing. It still shamed her to realize she’d fallen for Garrett’s charms despite the warning signs of his controlling, abusive behavior. She suffered the consequences of that decision—and now, she’d drawn a target on her father.

And the Moon Pack.

* * *

NOLAN WATCHED HIS younger sister maneuver through eight cats, two dogs, and one toddler. She shoved a pan of lasagna into the oven.

“Hallie?”

“No, pumpkin, kitty doesn’t like haircuts,” she told the dark-haired munchkin. Nolan grinned and shook his head. “Uh, Hallie?”

She turned, ushering the child out of the kitchen. “Kevin! Come get your sister.”

“I’m doing homework,” came a shout from the living room.

“I fell for that last time. Besides, I can hear the noise from the television.”

“Okay, okay.” Nolan’s six-foot tall nephew ambled into the kitchen, lithely avoiding cats and dogs, and scooped up the girl. “What should I do with her? The garbage man comes tomorrow—maybe we could put her out by the curb.”

“No-o-o-o-o,” squealed Emma, giggling. “Swing now, brudder.”

Kevin looked at Nolan, a mock expression of long suffering lighting his features. His brown eyes, however, twinkled. “Sheesh, Uncle Nolan, couldn’t you take her off my hands?”

“Your uncle and I are trying to have a discussion,” Hallie said. “Take the dogs out with you, okay?”

“Swing, brudder,” Emma demanded from her upside-down position.

Nolan smiled at them, an odd pang in his heart. “You might as well get used to women winning, whether or not they deserve it.”

A fresh-baked roll popped him in the head and tumbled to the floor. He swiveled on the bar stool and caught Hallie’s satisfied smirk. He rubbed his cheek. “Hey!”

“I’m getting out of here,” Kevin said, laughing. “C’mon Tito. Casanova, here boy.”

The two hound dogs shuffled through the kitchen, following Kevin out the sliding glass doors. Nolan watched as the boy-man took his sister to the wood and metal swing set. Two swings. Three slides. Monkey bars. And tunnels. “Your daughter isn’t spoiled at all,” he observed.

“You bought that hideous thing as I recall.”

“Spent a month recovering from putting it together, too,” Nolan said, scooping up the roll and tossing it back at his sister.

She caught it then deposited it into the trashcan under the sink. “Now, what were we talking about?”

A giant Persian leapt into Nolan’s lap, settling across his legs. The Persian looked at him with slitted eyes then yawned and went to sleep. The cat’s ears were gone, sliced off by a cruel owner. One would think that a werewolf might make cats uneasy, but nature

“Tell me again why you have eight cats.”

“Nine. I rescued another one from the pound yesterday. Chuck. He’s upstairs in the isolation room.”

Nolan smiled. He knew why his sister rescued animals. Her particular fondness for injured, maimed, and otherwise disabled creatures was easily guessed at as well.

Hallie’s smile brightened her once beautiful face. Still beautiful to him. The scars on her neck were visible, but reconstructive surgery had repaired her face. Of course such surgery would never replace the sight in her left eye.

They had the same mother, a werewolf. She’d mated with Nolan’s werewolf father, who died in a car accident when Nolan was only two. Then Mom had fallen in love with a human, and married him. Hallie was born from that union—and she wasn’t a shifter.

And that’s why her asshole human husband had been able to nearly kill her.

“I should have known. I should have done something.”

Hallie looked at him, knowing full well what he meant. “You couldn’t help if I didn’t tell you.”

It was an old conversation. Nolan felt as though he and Hallie were actors repeating memorized lines in a play. No matter how hard he’d tried, he’d been unable to put aside his guilt—his horror—for his baby sister.

She shook her head. “Why are we talking about this? It happened almost ten years ago. Tim can’t hurt me ever again. Rehashing the past isn’t productive.” One of her eyebrows lifted. “Does this have something to do with Stephanie Draper?”

“I’m in charge of her protection detail. I met her today at the hospital.”

“Is Randall going to be okay?”

“Yeah. But he’s not going home any time soon.” Nolan sighed, thinking of Stephanie. She was a beautiful woman. Her long, straight brown hair framed a heart-shaped face. She had wide green eyes and a rosebud mouth. He smelled the change her pheromones—knew she was attracted to him instantly. And he also knew she feared him. She’d been through some hard times. She was bone-thin and obviously sleep-deprived. The shadows under her pretty green eyes had probably been there for months. “She’s still real jumpy.”

“I never stopped looking over my shoulder,” said Hallie. “I just started doing it less. The process of healing is different for everybody. Maybe she didn’t give the alpha all the details, but that doesn’t matter. Her husband hurt her. He deserves the wrath of the pack.”

“Hell, yes, he does.”

“C’mon. Help me set the table for dinner.”

Nolan gently removed the cat from his lap and went into the kitchen, where his sister commenced to happily bossing him around. He was lucky to be part of a loving family, and he couldn’t help but think about Stephanie—about how alone she’d been.

There was something special about her. He hadn’t been able to get her out of his thoughts since he’d met her. She looked physically fragile, but her inner strength shone in the way she comported herself, the way she looked him in the eyes. Scared, but not giving in. She’d escaped a bad situation. And she was still in fear that her asshole husband would find her. Hurt her.

As much as he wanted to part of the team hunting Garrett Ford, he knew he could better serve the pack, and Stephanie, by staying close.

2

“I FOUND THE birth control, Stephanie.”

Stephanie froze. The boar-bristled brush stilled on her long blonde strands. Every night, she endured five hundred strokes with the heavy wooden brush. That was the rule. He counted. She’d been on 398 when he delivered the information bomb. He lounged in the bathroom doorway, arms crossed, his handsome face sharp with fury.

Her fingers began to tremble, and she clutched the brush so she wouldn’t drop it.

“More than four years.” Garrett sauntered inside, and leaned against the marble countertop. His dark eyes held accusation. “I knew it would be difficult. You’re a human. And my kind does not easily breed. Here, I thought I was being patient.”

“You are patient, Garrett.”

“And you are a liar.” He smacked the marble with an open palm, and Stephanie jumped. A thin smile slit his lips. “You’ve denied me a child. You’ve broken the sacred rule of our mating.” The smile disappeared. “You will not take any more measures to prevent a pregnancy. Do you understand?”

She nodded as she swallowed the knot in her throat. Cold fear ghosted through her. She knew too well that look in his eyes.

Punishment.

He slipped the brush out of her hand. He grabbed the back of her nightgown and yanked. The material ripped quite easily, giving in to his immense strength, and fluttered to the floor. Naked except for her underwear, Stephanie waited.

“Three hundred and ninety-eight.” Garrett caught her gaze. “Count.”

He slammed the brush against her back. Pain shot up her spine and she bit back the cry of anguish.

“Three hundred and ninety-nine,” she whispered, choking on her agony.

Stephanie blinked at the memory and tears fell. She stared at her reflection in the mirror. Pale. Haunted. Lost. Wiping away the moisture, she rose from the dressing table and wandered to her four-poster bed. She slipped between the cool sheets, settling against the fluffy pillows.

The lights blared overhead, but she wouldn’t turn them off. She’d rather never sleep again than have to be alone in the darkness. Drawing her legs up, she rested her chin on her knees.

Memories of Garrett threatened her peace of mind. Her sanity. She never remembered the good times. She knew she’d been happy once—back when she believed Garrett loved her. She was a rare human that moved between her world and that of the shifters. She thought she knew so much about the paranormal side, and she’d been wrong. Werewolves were strong, and generally a moral lot. They wished no harm on others. Well, except for the Blood Pack, but they were often too busy killing each other to bother with others.

She’d believed Garrett was a werewolf, because that’s what he’d wanted her to think. Only after they were married did she find out the truth: He was a Wendigo.

Wendigo shifters believed themselves superior to all other species. They refused to breed with shifters or humans, sometimes interbreeding within families to avoid the possibility of tainting their pure blood. But all they’d really done is decimate their entire population. And that suited Stephanie just fine. Given how hellish her marriage to Garrett had been, she had not an ounce of sympathy for any of them.

Wendigos populated the Pacific Northwest, from Northern California to Canada. Once there had been thousands of them. The Wendigos liked to eat humans, and their animal form was beyond horrific. They’d gained a fierce reputation among the indigenous tribes. The tribes painted the shifters as cannibalistic men who’d given in to gluttony and greed, and became Wendigo to pay the price—always hungry and never satisfied.

It was a close description to the real Wendigo—to Garrett.

There were only dozens left, or so her husband had claimed. Desperation had forced him and his brothers out of the Sierra Nevada mountains to find suitable breeding partners—and Garrett had chosen her. A mere hundred years ago, he might’ve eaten her for dinner. It galled him and his crazy siblings to no end that they had been driven to mate with those they once considered prey.

Unable to bear thinking about Garrett a second longer, Stephanie scooted out of bed and walked to the window. Her bare feet sank into the plush carpet. She dug her toes into it as she pushed aside the gauzy white curtain. The rumble of car engine drew her attention to the street.

A dark sedan slid smoothly past, slowing in front of the house. Her heart skipped a beat, and she placed a hand against her throat. Was that him?

Breathe, Steph.

The car continued to the end of the lane and made a right. Her paranoia was getting out of control. What was the saying? Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean someone isn’t after you.

Garrett would come for her.

He wanted to her to pay for what happened. He blamed her for the early labor. For the tragic loss. Stephanie placed her hand against her stomach, stroking her abdomen.

Her baby had died.

She hadn’t cared that the life growing within was part-Wendigo. She had run away, so she could raise her child to be a bright light in the world. Garrett had found her. Furious that she dared to escape, he struck her so hard she fell down the stairs. She could’ve broken her neck. Died.

Instead, she lost her baby.

Anguish crashed through her so suddenly she thought she might drown in it.

It wasn’t just that she’d gone into labor early and produced a baby who only took a single breath outside her womb. It was that Garrett knew it was possible for her to carry his offspring. Being his wife was a human social construct. One he had dispensed with after the loss of their child. In what was left of the Wendigo culture, females were for breeding and raising young. He’d intended to keep her confined to his home in the mountains, her only role to be a baby-making machine.

That’s when she’d escaped. Begged for help. Ran home to Daddy.

Stephanie turned away from the window, unable to shake off the residue of fear clinging to her. Her gaze caught the beautiful tulips that now occupied a glass vase on her nightstand. She touched the petals and smiled. Nolan’s face rose clearly in her mind—his concerned brown eyes, his reassuring smile.

Removing a pink tulip from the vase, Stephanie crawled back into bed and cradled the precious flower in her hands. With the stem clutched in her fingers, she slept.

* * *

STEPHANIE WOKE SUDDENLY. Her heart was trying to pound out of her chest. She recognized the symptoms of a panic attack. Even with the lights on, she felt suddenly, inexplicably terrified.

She put on her robe and went downstairs, compelled to look out the peephole. She knew werewolves were out there, watching her.

Yet, she felt exposed and vulnerable.

Shit. The porch light had burned out. She saw the play of shadows outside. Moonlight splattered on the landscaped yard. Frowning, she clasped the doorknob and remembered every horror film she’d watched eagerly as a teenager where stupid people always investigated dark corners and got their heads cut off. She thought that should be funny, but a cold finger of fear trailed her spine.

Stephanie double-checked the locks and chain. She looked through the peephole again and saw nothing, no one. The wind shrieked and she shivered. A rough tempo began beating against the living room window. Huge splats soon turned into pounding fists. She curled onto the couch, gathered an afghan around her, and picked up her e-reader. The mystery that had intrigued her earlier in the day held no magic for her now.

After Stephanie read the same paragraph three times, she gave up finishing the chapter.

Biting her lip, she tried to shake off the uneasiness swirling through her. She walked to the huge picture window and drew aside the sheer curtains. The night was thick with rain; the moon had taken refuge behind the clouds. Funny, the streetlight had gone out, too. Hadn’t it been on earlier? She pressed against the window, trying to see through the storm. The glass cooled her face and she briefly wanted to feel the rain dance against her skin.

Thunder cracked. Startled, Stephanie jerked away from the window, her heart pounding. Lightning flashed, and a man’s face appeared only inches above where hers had been seconds ago. Shock rooted her feet to the floor. Cold blue eyes chilled her and the slight smile, twisted at the corners, shredded her illusions about safety. Rain ran in rivulets down his chiseled face, giving her the impression that he was crying.

He grinned, showing off his awful, sharp teeth, double, jagged rows of flesh-tearing death.

Stephanie screamed, and the sound of her own terror forced her to turn away, stumble toward the phone. She grasped the receiver, her trembling fingers hovering above the numbers. Thunder rumbled again and her gaze locked onto the window. When the lightning flashed, Garrett’s awful face was gone. Had she imagined him?

No. No, he’d been there. He was a master at terror. Stephanie sobbed and clutched the receiver. Was she going crazy? Had she finally stepped over the edge of insanity? Tears blinding her, she looked down at the phone.

Who the hell was she supposed to call?

* * *

NOLAN JOLTED AWAKE. Running a hand through his hair as he stiffly stretched against the recliner. He groggily wondered what had awakened him.

The phone trilled insistently. So that’s what had interrupted a very interesting dream about Stephanie. An image of smooth, pale flesh flashed in his mind; his groin tightened. Another shrill ring echoed through the uncarpeted room. Nolan reached down to the floor and grabbed the receiver. “Wright.”

Silence met his abrupt greeting. Prank caller? He pressed his ear against the phone and heard the shuddering breath. No. He’d heard this kind of silence before. “Hello? Can I help you?”

“Nolan.”

The whispery voice slid across his skin. He straightened in the chair. “I’m here.”

“He was … he was in my window. I—I think.”

The last words skittered like cold water down his spine. “Stephanie?”

“I didn’t have anyone else to call.”

Her entreat, her unspoken plea forced Nolan to his feet. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m on my way. It’ll take me ten minutes. Can you hold on for ten minutes?”

“Yes.” He heard her strength in that one word and hoped she was right.

She screamed.

“Stephanie, what is it? What’s wrong?”

“The lights went out. The storm—” Thunder punctuated her shaky words and Nolan realized it was raining. Not just raining, but storming. He looked out the window. Lightning flashed, a bright stab of light against the night sky.

“I hate the dark,” she whispered.

“I’m on my way.”

“Nolan, thank you. I feel so stu—”

Several clicks followed by the dial tone made the hairs on the back of Nolan’s neck rise.

The storm knocked out the lines, he told himself as he put on his shoes and grabbed his keys and wallet. Cell service was spotty, and he couldn’t get through to Josiah Cave, a pack enforcer on Stephanie’s detail tonight. If her husband had shown up, why hadn’t Cave noticed him? Why hadn’t he protected her? Was her ex’s appearance just her imagination playing tricks? It didn’t matter. Stephanie needed him.

Neither the rain nor his self-reassurances stopped him from speeding down the expressway. The Mustang’s tires squealed as he exited, barely yielding for the stop sign. He fishtailed then straightened the car with a swift twist of the steering wheel. Within minutes, he was pulling up to Randall Draper’s house.

Cave’s car was parked across the street. Nolan would deal with his enforcer in a minute. He needed to check on Stephanie. The rain pounded him unmercifully as he jogged up the winding sidewalk to the front door.

The house, totally dark, stood like one of the mansions in a horror movie. Rain hit the sidewalk, sounding like a thousand pebbles rattling against stone. Thunder rumbled and lightning cracked the sky, a backdrop that reinforced Nolan’s initial impression of the house. He rang the doorbell and pounded on the solid wood of the door. “Stephanie!”

No one answered. Nolan tried the doorknob, but soon realized the door had been locked tight. “Damn it.”

He knocked again, ringing the doorbell at the same time. Why would she call him and not answer the door? With a sick tightening of his gut, he answered his own question. She’d been hurt or worse—by someone. And he hadn’t been here to protect her.

He jogged across the street to Cave’s car and looked inside. Cave’s head lolled to one side, the big man’s mouth open. Nolan banged on the window and called the enforcer’s name.

Goddamn it. Cave was also a cop, but like Nolan, he was a werewolf first. Protecting the pack and its members were the number-one priority of the enforcers. What was wrong with him?

Cave jerked upright, rubbed his face, and peered outside.

Cave lowered the window. “Shit. What’s wrong?”

“Stephanie called me and said she saw someone outside. What the hell are you doing sleeping?”

“Sorry, man. I pulled a double at the station.” He shook his head, ashamed. “That’s a sorry-assed excuse.”

“No shit. C’mon. She’s not answering the door,” said Nolan.

Cave eased his bulk from the car.

Motioning his enforcer to cover the backside of the mansion, Nolan pulled his 9mm and went to the door. “Stephanie?” he shouted. “Open up, sweetheart. I’m here.”

He heard a scream, then a crash. He stilled, the rain cold against his neck as he clicked off the 9mm’s safety and checked the chamber to make sure it housed a bullet. He’d loaded them with silver just in case. Silver hurt nearly ever kind of shifter, and he wasn’t taking any chances. Just as he raised his foot to kick at the door, it opened, and Stephanie’s pale face appeared.

“Nolan?”

Nolan’s thoughts disappeared under the onslaught of fear and relief shuddering through him. He gathered Stephanie’s into his arms, careful to hold the gun away from her, and buried his face into her hair. The citrus smell of her shampoo invaded his nostrils, and he inhaled deeply, trying to absorb the trembling of Stephanie’s body.

“Hey, is everything okay?” Cave’s deep voice startled them both, and they jumped apart. Nolan gently pushed Stephanie into the house as Cave stepped onto the porch and followed them inside. As they entered, the lights flickered on.

“Cool digs,” Cave said.

“Thank you,” Stephanie answered and peered at him. “Who are you?”

Cave’s gaze flicked to Nolan.

Nolan unloaded the gun, putting the chamber’s bullet back into the clip. He reinserted the clip, clicked on the safety, and put the gun into the waistband of his jeans. “This is Josiah Cave. He’s a pack enforcer—and a police offer.”

Nolan watched as Stephanie assessed the big man. Cave loved to pump iron and was four inches taller than Nolan. Cave was oversized even by werewolf standards. He saw the tremors in her fingers as she reached out and shook his hand. Brave Stephanie, he thought, knowing Cave’s size probably terrified her.

“Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

Nolan saw the interested look Cave gave Stephanie. Jealousy arrowed hotly into his gut. He walked his friend to the door, clapped a hand on Cave’s shoulder, and said, “Don’t even think about it.”

Cave stared at Nolan and grinned. “I get it. Hands off. Nice looker, though.”

“Yeah. Stay the hell away from her.”

“Okay, okay.” Cave stepped into the rain and turned. “I was probably only out for a few minutes,” he said apologetically.

“She’s all right. That’s what matters. But if you ever do it again, I’ll gut you.”

Cave nodded. “Yeah, man.”

Nolan watched Cave disappear into the rain, and then he shut the door, locking it behind him. When he turned, he saw Stephanie watching him.

“What was that all about?”

“Nothing.” He strode into the living room, grimacing when she took a step backwards. She shivered and wrapped her pale arms around her waist. “I heard you scream before the door opened.”

Her shaky laugh nearly undid him. She was being brave again, and he wanted to kiss her. “I knocked over a lamp. I couldn’t see anything, and when I bumped into it...I was being silly.”

“You were frightened. Tell me what you saw in the window.”

“I saw a face. Garrett’s.” She took a shuddering breath and hugged herself.

Nolan kept his distance, knowing that he shouldn’t have put his hands on her to begin with—but he couldn’t stop himself, and thankfully, she hadn’t protested. What the hell had he been thinking taking her in his arms … comforting her like that?

“At least. I thought so. But when I looked again, he was gone. I can’t be sure now if it was real.” He watched her lick her lips, her eyes wide when she looked at him.

Awareness buzzed along his nerves.

Emotions swirled in her green eyes—and he recognized the desire that twirled with her caution. A pink tongue flicked her bottom lip, and he swallowed back a groan. The urge to kiss her senseless riveted his feet to the floor. If he got within an arm’s length of her, that’s just what he’d do.

“You ready to go to bed?” he asked.

“What?”

“I didn’t mean for—what I meant was—are you ready to go to sleep?”

“Sleep?” The tongue appeared again, this time caressing the upper lip. The action wouldn’t be nearly so erotic if she had known what she was doing. Her nervous reactions were causing some decidedly ungentlemanly thoughts in his head.

Then she did something extraordinary. She put a cool hand against his cheek, her palm caressing the stubble. Her hands memorized his face: a finger stroking his brow, a palm on his cheek, a thumb tracing his lower lip. His control nearly snapped under her hesitant touches, but he knew this moment was brittle. He wanted her to trust him, so he kept still.

When her hands explored his neck, fingers dipping under his T-shirt, he groaned. The soft skin of her hands against his collarbone felt like silk. “Stephanie?”

Moments stretched into forever as she gazed at him, her head tilted. He saw the freckles sprinkled across her nose like cinnamon and wanted to kiss her there. Frustration—sexual and emotional—ravaged him. He wanted to take away the memories that haunted her. He wanted to make her happy.

He didn’t know what she’d seen in his gaze, but it made her step back, putting distance between them. She was retreating again.

Damn it! Nolan raked a hand through his hair. “How about a pillow and a blanket?”

She blinked at him.

“There’s no way in hell I’m leaving. So, I’ll take the couch.”

“Nolan, this house has ten bedrooms. You can have your pick.”

Nolan laughed. “Okay, then.” He smiled. “A room close to you would be great. In case you need me.”

“Thank you.” He could sense her apprehension; smell the rusty tang of her fear. But in that mix was her desire, too.

She led him to the staircase and helped him get settled in the bedroom next to hers. She left, and he heard the sound of her door closing. He left his own door open, so he could hear if anyone decided to sneak down the hall.

Or a certain beautiful woman decided she wanted him.

He fell onto the bed and put his arms behind his head. Staring at the ceiling, he thought about Stephanie. Her scent was still on him, and she smelled like sage and earth. He could feel the light touch of her fingers across his collarbone, and his cock hardened.

It was gonna be a long night.

3

THE LOUD CHIME of the doorbell startled Stephanie so badly she dropped her e-reader onto the floor. She’d gotten comfortable on the couch, feeling a little better in the big room with its huge windows and abundance of sunshine. Nolan had been in her thoughts from the moment she’d woken up. She was utterly attracted to him—on a primal level that scared her.

“Shit.” She picked up the e-reader and placed it on the coffee table. When she got to the door, she peered through the peephole. Her heart did a double flip. She unlocked the top two deadbolts and unchained the door, easing it open.

“Morning,” said Nolan, grinning.

“Good morning.” She stared at him. Like most werewolves, he was too goddamned handsome. He carried confidence as easily as he did the gun holstered on his hip. “I thought you were still asleep.”

“I was out hunting and gathering. There are two enforcers outside.” His gaze was earnest. “I wouldn’t leave you unprotected. Now. Do I need to cite you for obstruction?”

Her eyebrows rose. “What am I obstructing?”

“Me.” Nolan’s grin widened, and she noticed a small dimple in the left corner of his mouth. Oh, man. He had dimples. “I have coffee,” he said, drawing her attention to a white paper sack in his hand. “And donuts.”

Her stomach growled. “What kind of donuts?”

“Chocolate.”

“If there’s one with nuts and coconut flakes, you’re in.”

“Would you settle for candy sprinkles?”

Stephanie opened the door and allowed Nolan entrance. Her breath hitched when he passed her. The earthy scent of his masculinity wrapped around her, but it was the broadness of his shoulders and the muscles rippling under his shirt that made her feel like she’d fallen into lava.

She shut the door and walked past him. She ignored the trembling in her knees as her arm brushed his. The betraying ache of desire danced with that ever-present fear as she led him through the living room into the large kitchen. Her attraction to Nolan terrified her more than his size and strength.

God. She shouldn’t even think about jumping into a relationship—or even a bed—with Nolan until she’d gotten truly free of Garrett.

Stephanie sat on a bar stool next to the cook’s island. Fortunately, the other stool was on the opposite side. Nolan’s presence still disturbed her, but at least she could breathe easier with sixteen feet of granite between them. She watched as he removed two foam cups from the sack and a small box. Her mouth salivated at the plump, fragrant donuts inside. “I didn’t eat breakfast.”

She saw him glance around the chrome-and-white kitchen. “I imagine it’s because you gave up finding anything to eat. Do they give maps out at the door?”

“It is rather big, isn’t it?”

“You grow up in this house?”

Stephanie accepted the gooey chocolate donut and the hot cup of coffee. “Yes. And I grew up rich if that’s what you’re really asking. Rich, spoiled brat—that’s me.”

“Not anymore, I bet.”

She looked at him and saw the emotion gathering in his dark eyes. Sympathy. Understanding. Desire. She dropped her gaze and bit into the donut. The chocolate melted on her tongue but the taste lacked pleasure. She glanced at Nolan just in time to see his tongue gather a crumb off his bottom lip. Pure electricity zapped her stomach. Aw, damn.

“I have a confession.” He finished his donut casually and sipped his coffee. “I thought if I filled you up with coffee and donuts, you’d want to work off the calories.”

He glanced at her, apparently saw her shocked expression, and hurriedly swallowed the chunk of donut he’d crammed into his mouth. “Ice skating. There’s a rink close to here. It’ll be fun.”

Stephanie hid her discomfort by picking out another chocolate donut. “Oh. I—I don’t think that...I don’t skate. Ice skate or whatever.”

“If you don’t want to go ice skating, that’s fine. I just…I don’t want you to feel like you have to stay in this house. If you want to go have some fun, I’ll take you. I want you to feel safe.”

“Thank you. But…I can’t.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yep.”

Stephanie looked into his eyes and realized that he understood her on a deeper level, as though he’d had experience dealing with fragile women. But the tilt of his smile and the dark flare in his eyes warned her of his attraction. She shook her head as if that slight action could fend off their sexual sparks.

“Nolan, I—”

The screech of tires accompanied a crash of glass. Shock coursed through her and she stiffened, watching Nolan draw his gun. She ran after him into the living room. The huge glass window was shattered, and the sheer white curtains billowed in the aftermath of the damage.

He sheathed his gun. He crunched across the carpet and crouched down. “What the fuck?”

Stephanie tread as carefully as she could, ignoring the stinging cuts inflicted on the bottoms of her feet. Bile rose in her throat as she looked at the object on the floor.

“Oh, God.” She clamped a hand over her mouth as a wave of nausea rose in her throat. It was a Totem, no doubt carved by Garrett. Totems were part of the Wendigo belief system, one of the traditions that somehow became entrenched in a few Native American cultures. This particular Totem was often called a “shame pole.” About six inches tall and three inches wide, the intricately carved being was the epitome of suffering. The creature’s grotesque face was out of proportion—its eyes gouged out and its tongue removed. The Totem was covered in viscous, blackened blood.

“I’m gonna get this thing outta here.” Nolan sniffed and she saw his wolf react to the foul scent. “Death.”

Stephanie hugged herself. “It’s a shame Totem. A message from Garrett.”

Nolan glanced up sharply at her. “He’s here?”

“He is, or maybe he sent one of his brothers. It doesn’t matter. Eventually, he’ll come for me.”

“He won’t get you, Stephanie.”

Oh, but he would. No doubt he’d spent every hour plotting revenge as he recovered from her attack. She’d learned the folly of trying to sneak away in the middle of the night. That’s why she poisoned the bastard before running away the second time.

She should’ve just taken a silver blade and stabbed him in the heart.

Her knees wanted to buckle, and she began to sway.

“Hey, now.” Nolan rose swiftly and gathered her close. Stephanie didn’t protest. For an endless moment, she let herself be needy, allowing his strength to seep into her, taking the security he offered. Eventually, she pulled back, feeling awkward about how easily she fit into his embrace.

“We need to call the alpha,” said Nolan. He looked down at the object. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”

“It’s Wendigo,” said Stephanie. “I’ve only seen one other shame Totem. And the person who received it is dead.”

“Wait. Wendigo?” Nolan frowned. “Those shifters went extinct. Why would—” He stared at her. “Are you saying your husband is a Wendigo?”

Stephanie nodded.

Nolan sucked in a shocked breath. “Well, shit.”

* * *

STEPHANIE SAT ON the couch, her cold hands wrapped around an even colder cup of coffee.

“Your father didn’t mention the Wendigo.” Kade Stonewell was young, probably about her age, but there was no mistaking his air of command. He was definitely the most dominant werewolf in the room—and right now, there were six of them.

Nolan sat next to her on the couch and pried the coffee mug out of her hands.

“I didn’t tell him,” she said. “I was already so ashamed about…everything.” She bit her lower lip. “I tried to kill Garrett. I put silver flakes in his bourbon. It took him down fast. I grabbed the car keys and left. I took my purse because it was by the door, but I didn’t put on shoes or grab a coat. I didn’t have any money. I was so scared. I drove the car until it ran out of gas in Sacramento. That’s when I called Dad.”

“Do you know how many Wendigos there are?” asked Kade.

“Dozens—at least that’s what Garrett told me. But if the man’s lips were moving, he was lying. The only other Wendigos I met were Garrett’s two brothers—and they’re just as vicious and vindictive.”

Kade nodded. He didn’t look angry, although he had every right to be upset with her for withholding certain pertinent facts.

“You said silver flakes incapacitated him?”

“Silver’s the only thing that can really hurt him.”

“I could cut off his head,” said Kade conversationally.

Stephanie stared at the alpha. “Yeah. That might do the trick.”

Kade nodded. “Okay. We’re going to reconvene at headquarters and come up with a plan.” He stood up. “We won’t let anything happen to you. As of now, Nolan is your full-time bodyguard until we catch Garrett.”

“Thank you.”

She walked the alpha and the other werewolves to the door, then shut and locked it.

“You okay?”

Stephanie sighed. “You know, you ask me that a lot. I’m fine. Really.”

She dared his gaze and was immediately drawn in by the concern in his eyes—and the emotions beyond. Want. Need. Desire.

Hope.

“How about dinner? I’ll take you to one of the best places in town to eat.”

She crossed her arms. “This is the second time you’ve tried to bribe me with food.”

“I told you, I like the classics.”

She laughed. “Maybe another time. I need to visit Dad. I’ll get something at the hospital cafeteria.”

“Two of my enforcers will follow you and keep an eye on you. I’m going to go home and pack a bag. I hope you don’t mind having a full-time house guest.”

“Not at all.”

Their gazes met, and a shock of awareness nearly melted her. How on earth would she be able to resist the man if he was in her space twenty-four-seven?

Nolan waited as she locked the mansion’s huge front door. He walked her to her father’s Mercedes and motioned for his enforcers to follow her.

GARRETT WATCHED HIS wife drive into the hospital parking lot. The car that followed her no doubt belonged to those foul-tasting werewolves. Such stupid, slow creatures. No better than humans.

After last night’s little scare and his Totem message, the werewolves had gone on high alert. He couldn’t risk staying around her neighborhood. So, he’d staked out the hospital waiting for her to visit her pathetic, weakling father.

He watched Stephanie get out of the Mercedes, swinging the strap of a small brown purse over her shoulder. Hatred rose like bile in his throat, and he swallowed it back.

He gripped the steering wheel of his rental car, resisting the urge to kill her right now. Never in his life had he so badly wanted to shift into his real self and rip someone apart.

The only thing saving her life was that she could carry Wendigo babies.

Throughout intervening years of their long lives, he and his brothers had tried mating with human women. They all died from the strain of pregnancy. None had made it past six months. But Stephanie had made it nearly eight months. If she hadn’t run away, hadn’t forced him to punish her, his child would not have died.

As soon as he got her back where she belonged, she would learn her place. She would give him children. And when he finished with her—he’d eat that bitch in three bites.

4

“I’M GOING TO bed.”

Her words were innocuous, but the images evoked by the word “bed” coming out of Stephanie’s mouth left Nolan dealing with surges of hot lust.

He cleared his throat. “I’m going to turn in, too. I checked all the windows and doors. All locked up tight. Why doesn’t this place have an alarm?”

“You expect my stubborn werewolf father to trust a human-made alarm system?”

Stephanie had seemed rattled when she’d met Nolan back at the house. She claimed her visit with Randall had gone well. Yet … he couldn’t quite shake the feeling something at the hospital had spooked her. When he’d asked her if something had happened, she’d dismissed his concern, blaming her own skittishness as the reason. Now, she stood in front of him, looking vulnerable. Lost. Beautiful.

“Good point.” Unable to stop himself, Nolan stroked her cheek. She didn’t pull away, so he traced her earlobe. “You look beat.”

A sad smile turned up the corners of her sensuous lips. “I don’t sleep well.”

“Understandable.” He dropped his hand, wishing he could take her in his arms and kiss her until her worries faded away. She’d been abused by someone who was supposed to love her. And because of his sister Hallie, Nolan knew she wouldn’t thank him if he took liberties.

“Any word from Kade about Garrett?”

Nolan shook his head, and Stephanie’s look of disappointment undid him. He saw the battle raging in her eyes: terror and control.

Trying to be brave again.

Nobody knew how to deal with a Wendigo threat—but he’d heard stories about the creatures. Stories he thought were legends. Stephanie’s own descriptions added to the troublesome conclusion that catching her husband and his brothers would be challenging, if not impossible.

She opened her mouth, and Nolan hoped she would confide more, trust him with how she felt, but her expression blanked. Instead, she said, “I need to visit my dad tomorrow morning. He’s getting feisty with the nurses.”

She turned sideways to touch the tulips he’d given her at the hospital. She’d placed them in a vase on a stand just inside her bedroom door. From this angle, her curves were on full display. Stephanie Draper was all woman. Lush from head to toe. How any man, crazy-Wendigo or not, could have mistreated this beauty was beyond Nolan. If given the chance, he’d cherish every single inch of her. Over and over again.

He laughed to hide his growing arousal. “That sounds like Randall. I’ll take you in my SUV.”

“Sounds good.” She glanced up at him, and for a moment, he thought he saw the same longing in her eyes that he felt burning through him. Damn. It had been a long time since he’d wanted a woman as much as he wanted her.

“Good night, Nolan.”

“Good night, Stephanie.”

He watched her leave the living room and head up the stairs. He checked the downstairs doors and windows again, made sure the lights were off, and then he went to his own room.

After getting into bed, he felt instantly restless. He tussled with the covers. The pillows were plump and soft—high-end luxury like everything else in the house. Still, he punched them, trying to create a comfortable spot to lay his head.

Fuck! It wasn’t the goddamned pillows. Nope. His tossing and turning wasn’t the lack of comfort. It was the constant need for Stephanie that thrummed inside him. He ached for her in a primal way. He wanted to be near her. He wanted to know she was okay. He wanted to make her happy. He wanted to bring her pleasure. All these emotions rioted through him, destroying his ability to think straight.

Groaning, Nolan turned onto his side and stared into the darkness. The last thing Stephanie needed was him slobbering all over her. She deserved protection. From her husband. From me, too. He lusted after her—a woman who’d suffered so much at the hands of a man who treated her like property. And here he was, wanting her, unable to stand the idea of anyone else having her. He’d even postured at his enforcer for just looking at Stephanie. It made him ashamed.

Still. He was a werewolf. Werewolves weren’t exactly patient creatures, especially when it came to mating. Maybe after Garrett had been dealt with and Stephanie was free of the Wendigo threat, she might be open to his advances.

But first he had to keep her safe.

* * *

STEPHANIE BOLTED AWAKE, the scream lodged in her throat. Frantic, she pushed off the thick coverlet and sat up. Pre-dawn light filtered through her bedroom window. Scooting off the bed, she padded over and leaned against the cool glass, drinking in the soft light. No more darkness, she thought. Slowly, the remnants of the dream—a memory replayed—faded. Garrett hitting her. Blood. Screams. Hers.

“You’re safe,” she whispered against the glass. Too bad she couldn’t convince herself.

As the sun stretched lazy yellow fingers across the purple sky, Stephanie faced the truth. The man in the window last night had not been an apparition or a nightmare. Garrett had come to her home—had scared her on purpose.

Stephanie rubbed the sleep from her eyes, suddenly remembering that Nolan Wright, alpha-appointed werewolf bodyguard, was sleeping in the room next to hers. The thought comforted her.

She turned around and inhaled deeply. New day, new attitude. Stephanie smiled. She couldn’t take a single moment for granted. Humming, she went into her private bathroom to shower.

Half an hour later, Stephanie descended the staircase. The delicious smell of coffee and—was that pancakes?—wafted up to meet her.

In the kitchen, a blue mixing bowl set on the counter with drips of white batter running down the side. Next to it was an open box of pancake mix with a thin layer of the powder across the counter. Nolan stood in front of the stove a few feet away in a pair of ass hugging, dangerously low-riding jeans and no shoes. His broad back and shoulders were naked except for a white bow behind his neck and around his waist. He turned around, armed with a spatula in one hand, a plate of flap jacks in the other, a dusting of pancake mix in his hair, and a scowl on his face. The apron he wore said, Beware of Cook.

Stephanie burst out laughing. “You look like hell,” she said. “But the apron’s cute on you.”

Nolan’s grin lit his craggy features. “Gee thanks.” He looked down at the apron. “I thought it was me.”

He turned around, giving her a nice view of his muscled back and firm ass. She watched him flip a pancake, admiring the bulging biceps of his arms. Stephanie had a sudden urge to trail a finger up his spine. Gah! Nolan was too tempting, too easy to have around. If she invited him into her bed, she had no doubt he would rock her world.

“Coffee’s ready. Have a cup.”

“Thanks. You want one, too?”

“That’d be great.”

Stephanie took two mugs out of the cabinet and poured both. Grasping a warm mug between her hands, she took a sip. “Is making breakfast part of your guarding service?”

“It is for you.” He glanced over his shoulder and sent a smoldering look that made her mouth dry. She knew there could be other perks if she just slipped into his embrace and let him kiss her. Touch her with those big, confident hands of his... Everywhere. She shivered, and then drank half the coffee.

“Where are the servants?” Nolan asked. She saw him turn off the burners before he presented her with a full plate of pancakes. “Don’t you have a butler or a housekeeper?”

“We don’t have in-house staff anymore. After I left … Dad preferred taking care of himself, I guess. But we do have a housekeeping team that comes in twice a week.”

Nolan looked around at the mess he’d made in the kitchen. “You’re going to need them.” He handed her a full plate of fluffy pancakes. “Here’s the syrup.”

She laughed, drowning the short stack in the sticky, sweet liquid. They ate in comfortable silence. Stephanie couldn’t help but watch the way Nolan ate. It was that mouth of his—kissable, sensual lips. She envied the fork. She thought she was being discreet in her observations until she caught Nolan’s gaze—and his knowing grin.

She felt a blush heat her cheeks. “That was great. I didn’t know you could cook.” Although making pancakes from a box wasn’t exactly a Michelin star meal, she was still impressed he could do more than burn water.

“Neither does my sister. Don’t tell her or she won’t let me come over and mooch meals at her house.”

“You have a sister?”

“Yep.” He handed her a tea towel. “I wash. You dry.”

“Why do you think dishwashers were invented?” Stephanie dropped the towel onto the counter. “I’ll hand, you stack.”

As they loaded the dishwasher, Nolan told her about his nephew and niece, and the crazy week he spent putting together a monster play set. Then he told her about his sister Hallie and her affinity for cats. She laughed at his stories, slowly relaxing in his presence.

“I envy you. I would have loved to have a sister or brother. But my mother died when I was young, and it was just me and Dad”

“I’m sorry.”

“History, now. Dad still keeps a picture of her by his bed. I wish I could have known her.”

“Had to be tough for you.”

“I was lucky in a lot of ways.” She rose from the island and dumped her coffee into the sink. Turning, Stephanie leaned against the counter and crossed her arms. “Thank you for staying with me.” And she didn’t just mean at night. She’d felt as if he’d been with her since the moment she’d arrived. And while it was nuts to think so, Nolan made her feel safe.

“My pleasure.”

They stared at each other, and Stephanie felt every inch of her flesh tingle. Oh, to feel his lips on hers. To feel those calloused fingers trail down her stomach and reach inside her jeans, dip inside her panties, stroke her wet flesh. She nearly swallowed her tongue.

Stop thinking like that, Steph. Jeez!

She watched as Nolan stood, untied the apron, and took it off. Despite his easygoing attitude, Nolan had a coiled sexuality that intrigued her. His movements were unconsciously sexy. Part of being a werewolf was an inherent power, graceful and sleek. She idly wondered what he looked like in his wolf form.

When her gaze drew to his face and their eyes met, he grinned. Stephanie took in his features, noting the beard growth and the boyish way his dark blond hair hung over his forehead. A yearning so unrecognizable, and yet familiar, filled her. She pushed it away, startled at its appearance in her heart. She couldn’t afford emotions around him. She was in enough trouble without throwing herself at a new man. A new monster. That wasn’t fair to Nolan. Werewolves were not Wendigos on any level, but she couldn’t stop the tiny voice telling her that she couldn’t trust her instincts. Not when it came to relationships.

Nolan cleared his throat. “I like you.”

Startled by his declaration, Stephanie stared at him open-mouthed. An ache echoed in her heart; a deep longing that cracked her soul. She fiddled with the belt loop on her pink shorts. “I like you, too.” She looked up, her eyes drawn to his firmly muscled chest, to the dark hair that arrowed into his jeans. “Why are you interested in me?”

His gaze flickered, and he looked away for a moment. When his gaze returned, a thousand emotions glimmered. “You’re gutsy. Beautiful. I want to hold you all the time. You grace my dreams at night. My thoughts during the day. I want you.”

“You want to sleep with me.”

“Yes,” he said boldly. “But, Stephanie, I want to be more than just your lover.”

Her heart slowed, pounding in a thump-thump-thump that echoed in her head. “Everything’s so complicated right now, Nolan.”

“I know,” he said. “I won’t ask for what you can’t give. But I need you to know that I’m very, very attracted to you. I ache to hold you. Touch you.”

“Kiss me.”

He nodded, his expression raw with need.

“It’s been a long time since I…” She laughed bitterly. “Being with Garrett was more rutting than making love. Especially after he found out I’d been taking birth control.”

Nolan’s gaze turned empathetic. “You didn’t want his baby.”

“He’d shown his true character by then. I thought he loved me. But then … I found out I was just a breeder for him.” Stephanie looked into Nolan’s dark, blue eyes. “I tried to escape before, you know. Eight months pregnant. I thought if I could get away—I could save my child from being like his father.”

“What happened?”

“Garrett found me. Beat me. Tossed me down the stairs. I went into labor, but my son died right after he was born. Complications due to my fall.” Stephanie swallowed the knot in her throat. Tears threatened, as they always did, when she thought about her child. “It took me a couple of months to recover before I was strong enough to mate again. The night Garrett intended sleep with me would’ve been the first time he’d … we’d … um, in nearly a year. I couldn’t bear the idea of him putting his hands on me. So, I dosed him with the silver-spiked bourbon and ran.”

“I’m sorry about your son.”

“Thank you.” Stephanie felt her lips tremble, and she pressed them together. She didn’t want to give in to the grief. Hadn’t she cried enough?

“C’mere.” Nolan held her tightly. The sorrow receded in his embrace. She basked in his comfort, in his acceptance. God, it was so wonderful to be held with such tender regard.

They stood pressed together for a long time until Stephanie finally broke away and stepped back. She smiled at him. “Thanks. I really needed that.”

“Me, too.” Nolan took her hand. “The pack will look out for you. And I promise to keep you safe. Trust me?”

“Yes,” she said softly. “I do.”

“Good. I need to catch a shower.”

“Didn’t you forget something?”

“Huh?”

Stephanie swallowed hard and then tilted her chin. Her heart started to pound wildly. “My kiss.”

Hot need flared in the werewolf’s gaze as he once again took her into his embrace. Instead of comfort, however, he offered something far more thrilling—passion.

His lips descended on hers, and though he could’ve taken, could’ve conquered, he asked. His lips were soft, tender. He teased her with small brushes, taunting her, making her want.

Need.

When his tongue finally split the seam of her mouth, she clutched him as she met his hunger with one of her own.

She didn’t know how many moments passed before Nolan dragged his mouth from hers. His expression was dark and raw. His eyes held an animalistic gleam.

“I … need to stop,” he said roughly. “Before I can’t. My wolf wants you—and that might be a little much for us both right now.”

He really meant her, but that was okay. Stephanie nodded, stepping back just a little, secretly pleased that she’d managed to make him as weak in the knees as she felt.

“Meet you downstairs in thirty... Unless you’d like to join me.” He winked at her.

All the same, she could tell he was only half-kidding. Her feet almost followed after him, but her head kept her planted in place. “Dad has some tests this morning. You mind if we go to the mall and kill a couple of hours?” she asked. “It should be enough time for him to get back to his room before we go visit.”

“No problem.”

“Great!” Stephanie pecked him on the cheek then left the kitchen, her heart as light as her steps. She could almost forget about her psychopathic ex-husband who happened to be a very rare and hard to kill Wendigo.

A small bit of despair doused her lightened mood. She wouldn’t be truly safe until Garrett was caught.

5

STEPHANIE WATCHED NOLAN as he played with a rain stick. The long piece of wood made a rattling sound reminiscent of raindrops each time he turned it upside down. His boyish pleasure in something so simple warmed her heart.

They stood in a nature store of some sort—one more shop in a long line of shops she had dragged him to in the past couple of hours. Had he complained? Had he rolled his eyes in a masculine chauvinistic way? Had he once suggested they stop? Nope. As she witnessed him putting down the rain stick in favor of a wolf hand puppet, Stephanie realized the truth. Nolan liked to shop.

A man who enjoyed going to the mall? Was he for real? Did he have no flaws?

Stephanie looked down at the two bags she held in one hand. The Nordstrom’s bag contained two pair of shoes that didn’t match a single item she owned. But the electric blue flats and the green stiletto heels were on sale and too beautiful to pass up. Her one weakness was shoes. Other than the shoes, she’d bought some books for her father—two weighty tomes on the Wild West and a couple of paperback thrillers. Honestly, she’d thought Nolan would whither like a rose on a hot afternoon if he stayed in the mall for more than five minutes. But he was wearing her out. Oh, the irony. She smiled.

“Something amusing?” Nolan’s voice was a dark thread of sensuality winding like a ribbon through her. She whirled around, cursing the sudden pounding of her heart.

“Are you finished playing with your toys?”

“For now,” he said. He curled his lips and sniffed the air. “Do you smell that?”

Stephanie looked around the shoppers clutching their bags as they moved from one item to the next. “Desperation?”

Nolan shook his head and smiled. “Did I mention that I out-shop my sister? Took her to the outlet mall in Stroud, and she ended up begging for mercy.”

“Are you a robot?”

“Flesh and blood. Every hot inch,” he said. “Believe it.” His gaze sent electric tingles zipping right through her.

She believed! “You ready to go?” she asked, flustered.

“Sure. Right after I buy this rain stick.” He gave it another shake.

His grin made her lower parts clench. She gave a quick nod and turned around, heading for the exit. How could this man do such incredible things to her emotions? What the man did to her body was torment enough.

Sighing deeply, she walked into the main mall. She sat down on a bench outside the store, not minding the hard wooden seat. Setting the bags next to her, she leaned back and closed her eyes. The rattle of a paper bag interrupted her drowsy thoughts. Opening her eyes, she saw a young man with a hoop earring in his nose leaning over her. He wore a black ball cap backwards on his shaved head. He grinned engagingly, and then whisked the Nordstrom’s bag off the bench.

“Hey,” she cried out, jumping up. “Those are my shoes!”

He disappeared through the mall crowd, but she could see the black ball cap bobbing through the people. She grabbed her purse and book bag then ran after him, passing Nolan as he walked out of the store. She felt the barest touch of his fingers on her arm, but slipped away from his grasp as she threaded her way through the throng.

“Stephanie!”

Nolan’s voice faded as she drew closer to the running boy. How dare he take her shoes! She’d cram a stiletto heel down his throat for stealing those pumps. And her flats! They’d been on sale, for the love of God! She ran faster, determined to get her property back. In the background, she heard Nolan’s shouts, but the boy was now only a few feet away. A large fountain circled by a one-foot brick wall stood in the way of the hooligan and the mall entrance. He ran around several small children who were throwing pennies into the fountain. With a wild yell, Stephanie launched forward and grabbed the kid by the waist. She heard his startled cry as they both crashed to the marbled floor of the mall.

The boy landed on his back, his hat flying off. Stephanie sat on his chest, her hands twisted into his T-shirt.

“Give me my shoes, kid,” she growled.

“Damn, lady! You can have the shoes,” he cried, his eyes wide in amazement. “Get the hell off me.”

“Police!” Nolan’s voice boomed, announcing his presence when he caught up to them. He held his badge in one hand and pressed the rain stick against the teenager’s chest with the other.

Stephanie loosened her hands from the thief’s clothes as Nolan simultaneously helped her up and lifted the kid by the scruff of his shirt.

“Hey man, she tackled me,” the teenager yelled. “I was minding my own damn business. Ask anyone.”

Nolan looked at Stephanie. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. He took my shoes,” she stated. “There they are.” She grabbed the bag that had somehow landed upright. Triumphant, she held the bag up and grinned at Nolan.

His look was unreadable, but she realized he was angry. He arrested the teenager, pulling a pair of handcuffs from inside his jacket. He handed the cuffs to Stephanie and patted down the kid. She saw his grimace as he extracted a switchblade from the thief’s front pocket. She felt her heart stop beating as she stared at the polished black handle. She met Nolan’s hard glance as she gave him back the cuffs, but her insides felt like Jell-O. Two security men arrived and Nolan released the boy to their custody. Stephanie watched as Nolan flashed his badge again, gave a brief statement of events, and then left the matter in their hands.

“Time to go.” His words were clipped. He really was angry. Thanks to Garrett, she knew the consequences of making a man angry—especially when it was her fault. Her heart began a familiar cadence of pounding, pumping adrenaline along every vein. How would Nolan act when he got her alone? She wanted to run the minute sunlight hit their faces when they exited the building. Instead, she held tightly onto the strap of her purse and her shopping bags, and silently followed him out to the car.

Nolan didn’t say anything as they got into the Mustang. The snap of fastening seatbelts cracked in the silence. Old reactions encouraged her to cry, to beg forgiveness, but she refused to give in to fear. When he didn’t start the car, she dared a glance.

His eyes were hard, glittering. “Don’t ever pull a stupid stunt like that again,” he said. “That kid had a knife on him. He could have stabbed you.”

She hadn’t thought about the danger—she’d only thought about the little creep stealing her stuff. “I’ve been through worse,” she said pointedly. “Besides, he took my shoes.”

“Shoes are replaceable,” he said. “You are not.”

A small relief filled her when she realized he wasn’t going to hurt her, followed by a flash of her own anger. “Those shoes are not irreplaceable. They were half-off the original price, and the last pairs in my size.”

Nolan closed his eyes, as though he were trying to compose himself. “I almost shifted. In a damned mall full of humans.” He opened his eyes and looked at her. “I didn’t know what had happened—if you’d seen Garrett and were trying to get away.”

Fear chilled Stephanie to the core as her anger left as swiftly as it had come. Suddenly, she felt like a foolish child. If Garrett had been watching them … he would’ve easily gotten to her. Nolan was right. Shoes weren’t worth her life.

“I’m sorry.”

Nolan reached out and grabbed her hand. “Hey.”

She resisted the urge to pull away and looked at him, hoping she looked remorseful.

He squeezed her hand and smiled. “I have to admit that was a nice tackle.”

She couldn’t help but return his smile. “Thanks.”

Nolan started the car. He backed out of the parking space and maneuvered the car onto 71st street. Realization dawned slowly, brightly. His anger was a result of his fear for her. He cared about what happened to her. She swallowed back the words of gratitude as even more guilt filled her. Damn it. His easy, calming presence, his ability to make her laugh, and his gentleness were creeping vines crawling the emotional wall she’d built around her heart.

* * *

“YOU PASSED THE hospital. Where are we going?”

“Swan Lake.” Nolan offered Stephanie an apologetic smile. “It’s just for a few minutes. Get the mall stench off of us.”

She laughed. “I haven’t been there since Lee Stephens.” Nolan found himself the recipient of a suspicious stare. “You’re not planning on kissing me and trying to cop a feel, are you?”

“Why? Is that what good ole Lee did?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

Her husky laugh sent prickles of awareness through him. He gripped the steering wheel.

“Lee got pushed into the lake.”

Nolan laughed. “Difficult to do. There’s a fence around it.”

“Yeah. He toppled over pretty good. He was six-feet seven-inches, and his ego was just as huge. Must have made him top-heavy.” She sighed. “I was different then. Brave. I didn’t take crap off men.”

“You don’t take crap off men now.”

Her silence warned him that she didn’t want to talk anymore, but he hoped, deep down, she knew he believed she was strong. A couple minutes later, they pulled into the exclusive Swan Lake neighborhood. He parked the car and killed the engine. Turning in his seat, he faced Stephanie.

“About kissing... I’m not making any promises,” he said wickedly. “And you can’t push me into the lake. They’ve reinforced the fence.”

Stephanie’s slow grin matched his. “A fence is a minor obstruction, Nolan.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“Keep your lips to yourself,” she said in a breathless voice.

“Whatever you say.” He got out of the car, and walked to the passenger side. She’d already opened the door. He took her hand and led her to the sidewalk.

They circled the lake, their shoes scraping against the concrete. The gentle swish of water relaxed him. Swans, oblivious to rhythms of man, preened and swam the perimeter of the lake. Stephanie stopped, and Nolan felt the loss keenly when she withdrew her hand to lean against the fence. “They’re so beautiful.”

“They are,” he agreed. “So are you.”

She glanced at him, her expression uncertain. “Thank you.”

“Compliments make you uncomfortable, don’t they?”

“I guess so. Garrett’s glossy charm wooed me. I couldn’t see past his façade to the real man. To the monster he hid with pretty lies and expensive gifts. It’s not fair to you, I know. I think you’re a good man, Nolan. I really do.”

“But you don’t trust yourself.”

“No.”

He watched Stephanie move away from the fence. She walked toward the car, not looking to see if he would follow. He stood there for a few seconds, watching the stiff way she walked. Nolan grimaced, then shoved his hands into his jean pockets and trailed after her.

“I really like you,” he said again, reiterating what he’d told her at the house earlier in the day.

From across the Mustang’s roof, she stared at him. Silence stretched tautly between them. He dug the car keys out of his pocket, their jingle sliding across his nerves. Remembering the way she’d felt in his arms—remembering how she tasted when they’d kissed.

“I know,” she said, wetting her lips. “I haven’t changed my mind. I like you too.”

He recognized the flickers of doubt, of need in her eyes. Relief made his fingers tremble, and he dropped the keys. She still wanted him. That was the first step. “We’ll start small. Then we’ll build.”

“I can’t make any promises either.”

“I’m not asking for any.” He scooped up the keys, walked to her side and unlocked the door. He dipped his head, happy when she tilted her face to him. He grazed her lips with his own, his pulse pounding as he moved back so she could get in the passenger side.

He rounded to the driver’s door, barely feeling the ground beneath his feet, and heard a click as she unlocked it from the inside. He slid into the seat and started the car. “Would you be interested in having dinner later … with me? I’ll take you to the best restaurant in town.”

He sensed her hesitation and glanced at her profile.

“Yes,” she finally said.

Elation filled him. “I love that word,” he said.

6

WHEN THEY FINALLY ARRIVED at the hospital, Stephanie watched Nolan turn off the engine then twist in his seat to face her. “I will protect you. I will fight for you. I will be there for you.”

“My werewolf in shining armor?” she asked softly.

“That, and whatever else you want me to be.”

It was an unspoken promise. An invitation.

She nodded, unable to form words. Instead she leaned forward and brushed her lips across his as he’d done to her at the park. And in the kitchen. Dear Lord, she craved him. For a moment, they breathed into each other, lips parted, centimeters of space between their mouths.

Nolan took control, cupping her face as he deepened their kiss. His lips were warm and firm. He tasted vaguely of mints and coffee. It had been too long since she’d had tenderness, and she reacted with a hunger that frightened her. She tasted desire, felt the hot pull of more, more, more.

She slid over the console and onto his lap, straddling his growing erection. She wanted him on a primal level—something that went beyond mere sex. It was frightening how connected she felt to him.

“Stephanie.” Nolan broke away, his fingers sifting into her hair as he struggled to regain his breath.

“I know,” she said. “I know.”

He offered her one more soft kiss. Yet another promise.

And she wanted him to keep it.

* * *

“HOW’S BODYGUARDING?” ASKED Andrew.

“I think Stephanie might need another bodyguard.”

Andrew raised an eyebrow.

“To protect her from me.”

Andrew chuckled. “Hallie said you had the hots for her.”

“She did, did she?” Nolan looked at his brother-in-law. Andrew was a doctor in the pediatrics unit at the Moon Pack’s shifter hospital, one of the few humans who worked here. In fact, that’s how Andrew met Nolan’s sister. After she recovered from the attack that nearly took her life, Hallie had begun volunteering in the children’s wing. While Stephanie visited her dad, Nolan met with Andrew in the cafeteria for a quick bite of lunch.

He planned to bring Stephanie a sandwich, and he hoped she ate it.

Nolan watched in part-amusement, part-disgust as Andrew loaded his mug with sugar. Humans really loved sweets. And Andrew had a bigger sweet tooth than most.

“What no creamer? Why not completely ruin a perfectly good cup of coffee?”

“Lactose intolerance. You know how it is for us fragile humans. Hallie doesn’t mind, though, because she says it means more ice cream for her.”

Nolan laughed. “Yeah. Don’t mess with that woman and a pint of Ben & Jerry’s.”

“One of the many reasons Hallie and I are so perfect for each other.” Andrew smiled, his longish face reminding Nolan of a beagle. “So tell me about Stephanie.”

Nolan sighed and shifted in the uncomfortable plastic chair. Nolan had been restless about his feelings for Stephanie—needing to talk, needing not to talk. And that wasn’t all. He couldn’t shake the sense of danger he’d felt when Stephanie had taken off in a run at the mall. Even though his brain knew she hadn’t been in immediate danger, his body couldn’t turn off its early warning alarm. The fact that he’d almost shifted in a crowded place full of humans and in broad daylight, and the fact that he still itched under his skin, told him Stephanie meant so much more to him than he was willing to admit out loud.

He answered his brother-in-law’s question about Stephanie, but not with what he really wanted to say. “She seems fragile, you know? But she’s not. She’s tough. Still, she has good reason to be scared of her husband.”

“Married to a Wendigo … I still can’t fathom that.”

“You and me both.”

Nolan inhaled the crisp scent of bacon and eggs. He scooped up some eggs, watching as Andrew squirted Light-Italian dressing onto his salad. “Hallie’s got you on a diet again?”

“Hell yes.”

Andrew plunged the fork into his salad and eyed Nolan’s cheeseburger. Nolan took pity on his brother-in-law and split the burger in half. He plunked a portion onto Andrew’s plate. “Don’t tell Hallie. She’ll skin me alive.”

“I’d sooner die than rat on such a generous guy.”

They ate in silence, and soon, Nolan pushed his empty plate away. Even with a full belly, he couldn’t shake the foreboding he’d felt since the Mall.

“You almost done fixin’ up your fixer-upper?”

Nolan shook his head, grateful for the distraction. “It’s a mess. I don’t know where to begin.”

“At the beginning.”

“Gee, thanks.” He’d bought the fixer-upper because he’d fallen in love with the house, but he hadn’t actually gotten around to doing anything with it. He had the insane urge to share it with Stephanie—to show her that he could provide a home, a home that they created together.

Holy shit.

Did he really just think about Stephanie as his future?

Yes. Yes, he did. And it felt right.

It felt perfect.

“Maybe you should hire a general contractor.” Andrew glanced at his watch and drained his coffee. “Time to do rounds. Why don’t you bring Stephanie around for dinner this week?”

“I may need to ease her into the chaos at your house.”

“It’s happy chaos.” Andrew stood up, and Nolan rose, too, putting his napkin onto the table. “You take care, Nolan.”

“You, too, man.”

They shook hands, and Nolan watched Andrew leave the cafeteria.

The back of his neck prickled as the sense of danger heightened. His nostrils flared as he picked up a strange scent ... no, a stench. The awful smell was familiar, something he’d smelled for a brief moment at the mall earlier. He scanned the cafeteria. Just a few people were seated and none seemed to be out of place.

His inner wolf was edgy, and he felt the impression of his ears pricking forward. He wanted to growl, but he managed to keep his cool. He wandered around the space, covertly checking out the diners. Not a single one seemed interested in him—and none were responsible for the stink clogging his nose.

What the hell? His first thoughts were for Stephanie. He’d left her with Randall and the two guards on his room. She should be safe for the moment.

He circled back to the table. The dishes had already been bussed by a cafeteria worker, but as he got closer, not even the citrus scent of the cleaner used on the table could overpower that odd, terrible smell. Then Nolan remembered. He berated himself for not realizing earlier. If he hadn’t been half-sick with worry and fear for Stephanie at the mall, he might have remembered sooner.

The shame totem that had been tossed through Stephanie’s window … it smelled bad like this. Death. He straightened, chills racing down his spine.

Garrett.

He’d been following them all day, at the mall, maybe Swan Lake, and definitely, he’d been here in the lunchroom. Nolan’s heart pounded as adrenaline surged through his veins and threatened to split his skin with fur and fangs.

That Wendigo bastard was in the hospital.

7

FOREBODING COATED STEPHANIE like a light frost. She shivered, settling back into the chair and stared at the sleeping form of her father. He looked so fragile strapped to the bed with wires and tubes coming out of him. She knew he was recovering. Before the pain meds had kicked in, he’d been as ornery as hell—every bit the werewolf she’d always known. Seeing him vulnerable, almost human, made her worry. He’d always seemed so strong, so confident. She couldn’t imagine him being felled by such an ordinary and common ailment. Knowing she could lose her only family had sliced her off at the knees.

Added to the weight of that worry was the constant fear that Garrett would get to her. The two werewolves standing watch at the hospital door should’ve provided her with a sense of security, but she couldn’t quell her fear. She rubbed her arms as if she could brush off her growing unease. She’d told Nolan to go have lunch when they’d arrived, but now Stephanie wished she’d asked him to stay. The only time she felt safe was when he was near.

With a deep sigh, she tried to shake the negative thoughts from her mind and stared at the door for a moment, hoping Nolan would walk into the room. No such luck. Why was she so drawn to him? She’d thought her attraction to Garrett had been strong, but his pull on her was nothing compared to Nolan’s. The thought scared her. She couldn’t fall down into that rabbit hole again. It wasn’t that she believed Nolan was anything like Garrett. No. It was her desire to be strong on her own. She wanted to reclaim her confidence.

Stephanie stood and stretched, feeling the bones in her back pop. She walked to the hospital window and pushed aside the curtain. She looked at her reflection. Unbidden, came the memory of Garrett’s snarling face, and his image interposed with hers on the pane. A cold chill zipped straight down her spine.

The roar of a car engine drew her attention to the parking lot. Instinctively, she stepped back and let the curtain fall. Her heart skipped a beat, and she placed a hand against her throat. She was in a room ten stories up, for heaven’s sake! No one could see her from the parking lot, not even a Wendigo. Right?

She was safe, she told herself, though she didn’t really believe it.

Stephanie placed her hand against her stomach, stroking her abdomen. The anguish crashed through her so suddenly she thought she might drown in it.

“What are you doing?” she cried as Garrett backhanded her onto the bed. She scrambled backward against the pillows, wiping the blood from the corner of her mouth. The thick red substance smeared the back of her hand as she thrust her arms in front of her to thwart him.

“No,” she screamed, as he tore at her clothes, “No!”

Desperation made her fight back. She didn’t want him to know about the baby. He was too strong, too persistent. He ripped off her shirt and shredded her shorts with violent tugs until she was naked and exposed.

His hands stilled when he saw her swollen stomach.

“You kept this from me. ME!” His face changed, morphing from human to Wendigo in seconds, the monster’s face was gray and gaunt with eyes as yellow as a poisoned moon. “You bitch.”

Nausea cramped Stephanie’s insides, and she bent over, drawing deep breaths until the sick feeling passed. She glanced over to see if her panic attack had awoken her father, but he slept peacefully. Goddamn it. She couldn’t stay here alone with her thoughts. She couldn’t stay here and fight the ghost of Garrett. Not by herself. Hands shaking, she grabbed her purse and went to the door.

She had to get out of here and find Nolan. Now.

* * *

NOLAN STRODE toward Stephanie as she stepped into the hallway, relief sliding through him. Her shoulders were hunched forward, and she held her purse tight to her body. “Stephanie!” he shouted.

She jerked and let out a startled yelp, fumbling to keep the contents of her bag from spilling out.

“You okay?” He’d ran most the way to the room, even taking the stairs, because the elevator was too damned slow. Garrett had been in the hospital and might still be around. His first priority was to get Stephanie somewhere less crowded, more fortified. Somewhere he could protect her.

“I don’t know. I guess.” She glanced at the two werewolves standing on either side of the door. “I’m ready to go home.”

Even though he could see she didn’t know about Garrett, he knew something had spooked her. He looked at the guards. “Stay with Randall. Team Two will follow us back to the house.”

The men nodded.

Nolan kept his werewolf nose tuned to the horrendous smell of Wendigo, but the stench wasn’t as apparent as they left the hospital and entered the parking lot. All the same, he kept a firm grip on Stephanie’s hand as he steered her toward the car.

She scooted into the passenger seat. “You seem on edge.”

He shut the door, and then slid into the driver’s seat. “I could say the same to you.” He smiled. “Want some music?”

“Nolan.”

He didn’t want her to worry, but he didn’t want to keep anything from her either. Even though she was already pale and wearing her fear like a thick winter coat, he knew she was strong enough to take it. “Shit. Look, your husband’s been tracking us. Him or one of his brothers. The stench is unmistakable. Like the totem.”

“I’m glad I don’t have a werewolf nose,” she said. She sucked in a shaky breath. “I’ve been feeling skittish as all hell.”

“Instincts are powerful,” said Nolan as he smoothly backed out of the parking spot and headed to the freeway. “You should always trust them.”

“Now you tell me,” she said. A wry smile tightened the corners of her mouth. Her voice was filled with such weariness it tore his heart out.

“Don’t give up, Stephanie.”

“I’m not.” She offered him a genuine, yet wavering, smile. “I won’t.”

“Good.” They were in this together, whether Stephanie knew it or not, and he’d be damned if he’d let Garrett or any other bastard take her from him. He held his hand out, palm up. Stephanie took it, twining her fingers with his. “Good,” he said again, and with a quick nod, focused on the drive to the Draper mansion.

When they arrived, Nolan pulled into the large driveway and the headlights flickered across the garage door. He heard Stephanie’s gasp at the same time he saw the dark letters smeared across the panels. Pure horror uncurled in his stomach. The message scrawled across the white garage door was a vicious accusation—written for the entire neighborhood to see.

BABY KILLER.

8

GARRETT WATCHED HIS wife climb out of the werewolf’s vehicle. A grin twisted his lips as he watched her shoulders collapse. It almost seemed like she was shrinking inward, getting smaller and more pathetic, as she stared at his work. Luckily, his hiding spot was far enough away for him not to be spotted by humans or shifters, but close enough for him to see her reaction.

The werewolf rounded the car and wrapped his arms around her.

Garrett’s fury surged.

How dare that mangy creature touch what belonged to him! Oh, he would pay for that.

And so would his whore mate.

* * *

NOLAN ARRANGED FOR Josiah Cave, a police officer and one of his enforcers who was already familiar with Stephanie’s case, to answer the call. Cave asked Stephanie questions about the graffiti and took the report. The words had been written in blood. Fucking blood! Nolan had no idea where the Wendigo acquired the fetid, black blood. Was it his? It didn’t smell human and it wasn’t werewolf, either. Regardless, Garrett definitely knew what buttons to push. The psychopath had beaten Stephanie until she’d lost her child. It had been Garrett’s own hand that had killed his unborn son. All the same, Nolan saw how the words “Baby Killer” had shaken Stephanie to her core.

Cave’s cop car parked next to Nolan’s SUV was only a show for the humans living in the neighborhood—to let them know they were still secure and ultimately protected from bad guys.

One small silver lining was that no one else could see the horrendous act of vandalism. The garage was separate from the massive home, and it sat at the very back of the long drive. At least none of the neighbors would ask questions about Stephanie and her father.

Nolan quivered with an animalistic need to stop Garrett. Fucking asshole! Oh, yeah, Nolan would definitely do something about that prick. The rage lashing through him clawed to the surface, and he could barely contain his shift. Inside, his werewolf snarled, wanting to be unleashed.

Not yet.

But soon.

After Cave finished his interview with Stephanie, he helped Nolan clean off the ugly, thick blood dripping down the garage. They took a sample to give to the Moon Pack’s enforcers—maybe it would help track down the Wendigos faster. He couldn’t believe Garrett or his brothers had been able to hide from the werewolves. He’d never met a shifter able to escape the persistence and cunning of a werewolf.

It took more than half an hour with both him and Cave scrubbing like crazy, but finally the awful words had been erased.

After Cave left, Nolan joined Stephanie inside the house.

He immediately did another check of windows and doors—and goddamn this house had a lot of ‘em. He returned to the living room and saw Stephanie curled on the couch, her eyes closed. Given the rhythm of her breathing and the fluttering of her eyelids, he knew she wasn’t really asleep.

He sat next to her and patted her thigh. “Hey. You hungry?”

Her eyes flickered open. “Not really.”

“I’ll take you to the best eats in town.”

She smiled, and it made his heart skip a beat. “You’ve made that promise before.”

“Well … let me keep it.”

She stared at him for a second then nodded. “Okay.”

* * *

STEPHANIE SHIFTED IN the SUV’s passenger seat and peered out the windshield. Nolan said he would take her to the best restaurant in town. Get her something to eat. Calm her nerves. She didn’t care. He could drive all the way to New Jersey, and she wouldn’t care. Hell, drive the car into the Atlantic and let her drown in the salty, cold sea.

God. All she could see was the bloody accusation scrawled on the garage door. And that face, that awful face with its toothy grin staring at her in the rain-soaked window. Garrett was trying to terrify her.

And he was succeeding.

Now, after driving down the bumpiest road Stephanie had ever been on, Nolan pulled into the gravel driveway of a modest two-story house. It was too dark to see much of it, but she could make out the huge wraparound porch. This was definitely not a steak house. “This is the best restaurant in town?”

“Yep.” He grinned, but she saw the worry in his eyes, and behind that, the anger. He’d taken her burden as his own. “I make a mean bowl of chili.”

“You took me to your house?” She blinked. “For chili?”

“If you stop acting so cynical, I might even throw in cornbread.” He opened his door. “C’mon.”

Nolan got out of the car. Yeah. She’d definitely seen the worried looks he’d been casting in her direction. Several times, he’d opened his mouth, and then closed it again. She knew he was trying to figure out what to say to her. Werewolves weren’t exactly the warm-fuzzy type.

She got out, too, grateful her legs held up. Her insides might feel wobbly, but her body was still functioning normally. She leaned against the car, partly to get her bearings, partly to keep from going into Nolan’s house. She soaked in the soothing effects of the Oklahoma night. Honeysuckle perfumed the air, crickets chirped, and a warm breeze rattled the leaves of the trees surrounding the house.

The crunch of gravel warned her of Nolan’s approach. He stood, silhouetted in the light of a half-moon, his angular face shadowed, and his stance casual as he looked at her.

She stared back as he raked a hand through his hair.

“You all right?” He grimaced. “That’s a stupid question. Of course, you’re not.” He looked at her, his gaze serious. “I just want to make you feel better. I want you to feel safe. You can trust me.”

“I know.” Stephanie realized she meant it. For the first time since she’d left California and escaped Garrett, she wanted to reach out to someone. Share the weight of the pain she carried with her … let someone help her take the load.

She didn’t have to feel alone.

“Let me take care of you, Stephanie. Or at the very least, make you a meal.” Nolan held out his hand and she took it, enjoying how his big, warm palm enveloped hers. She marveled that such a small gesture made her feel more secure than all the werewolves who’d taken a perimeter around the house.

* * *

NOLAN HADN’T BEEN kidding. He did make a mean bowl of chili—the mild heat warmed her blood, but it hadn’t been so hot as to make her eyelids sweat. His homemade cornbread had been moist and light, with just the right amount of sweetness. It had paired perfectly with the spice. All in all, one of the most satisfying meals she’d had in a very long time... Although the company might have had something to do with the way she felt about the food.

While Nolan had cooked, Stephanie had wandered the big house, discovering more about the man who wanted to save her, to take care of her. She warmed when she thought about how he’d taken her in his arms earlier in the day. She drew her fingers to her lips, touching them, remembering the way Nolan’s kiss had sent butterflies through her stomach. Her lower body clenched at the memory. Shoot. She had it bad for this wolf. No doubt about it.

His library was stocked with Shakespeare and Robert Ludlum—and the fact that he had a library at all made her fall even harder for Nolan. His video collection included “The Quiet Man” and “While You Were Sleeping.” Photographs, paintings, and sketches crowded the walls. Framed photos decorated the fireplace mantle in the living room. She knew she should still be afraid, but being here, surrounded by everything “Nolan” had chased most of the fear away. For the first time in hours, Stephanie felt like she could breathe again.

After dinner, they’d retired there. Restless, Stephanie took her wine and studied the photos on the fireplace. She found herself picking up the framed photo of a dark-haired woman who looked remarkably like Nolan.

“Who is this?”

Nolan joined her and took the picture. “My sister. Hallie.”

She felt a light release of anxiety, and berated herself for the reason. Hallie was beautiful, and she’d been a little jealous. “She’s your only sibling?”

“Yes. Half-sister. My mom and dad were werewolves. My step-dad was a human. Hallie’s not a shifter.”

Stephanie saw his fingers tense on the metal frame as he placed it back on the mantle. She didn’t have brothers or sisters. She’d been so alone when she’d first met Garrett. Vulnerable. Needy. And he’d been so understanding and loving and kind. The flood of memories threatened to break through, so she turned away from the snapshots of Nolan’s family.

Then Nolan dropped a bombshell. “Hallie was almost beaten to death by her ex-husband.”

Pain, sharp and swift, buckled Stephanie’s knees. The wine glass slipped out her hand, bounced off the thick carpet, and rolled under a wingback chair near the fireplace. The red wine stained the crème-colored carpet in a pattern that looked too much like blood spatters.

Nolan put his glass on the mantle and grabbed her arm, guiding her to the couch. “Are you all right, sweetheart?”

Stephanie tried to stop her shaking. It was too much. It was all too much.

“I’m sorry, babe.” He sat next to her and took her hands. “Fuck. I shouldn’t have just blurted that out.”

His voice was so gentle, so kind. His eyes were filled with understanding and concern, and he did understand, didn’t he? He’d seen his own flesh and blood go through the trauma of an abusive relationship.

She was tired of crying, of running, of feeling broken and battered. No more. She wanted the comfort Nolan offered—no matter how temporary it might turn out to be. She needed someone to take away the chill inside her body, the cold squeezing her heart. If only for a moment, a night, to feel safe … looked after … cared for … oh, how she wanted that.

Stephanie gathered her courage, her heart pounding a mile a minute, and looked at Nolan. Then she asked, “Will you make love to me?”

Nolan said nothing. Instead, he swiftly scooped her up from the couch and into his arms as he stood. His whole body seemed to vibrate around her, and she was pretty sure she could hear a hint of a rumble in his wide, muscular chest—which she just happened to be pressed against. She barely caught her breath as he carried her down the hall to the master suite and kicked the door open.

The take charge Nolan had her seriously turned on, but it had been a very long time since she’d been with anyone except her abusive ex, and she was suddenly nervous. “Can we take it slow and easy?” she asked, worried she would kill the mood.

Nolan set her down gently on his large, rustic bed. “We’ll go at whatever pace you want.”

Stephanie nodded, gulping down her nerves, as she focused in on the man who made her, once again, wish for something more. She nodded when he tugged at the bottom of her shirt and enjoyed the leisurely pace in which he took it off. Next, he pulled off her shoes and socks, rubbing her feet until she sighed with happiness.

A man who gives good foot, she thought, smiling.

But her werewolf had much more to show her. Much more to give.

After, he unbuttoned her jeans, his knuckles grazing her stomach as he unzipped them. Where he touched her skin, it quivered with an almost electrical pulse. She raised her buttocks as he pulled the jeans over her hips, taking her simply cotton panties down, too, while his fingers stroked down her thighs, her calves.

She moved her legs to allow him to pull her jeans and underwear completely past her feet, and felt absolutely vulnerable in only her bra. However, Nolan wasn’t about to let her chicken out. He sat next to Stephanie, reached around her back, and unsnapped the bra. His light, tender touches, the barest flutter of his fingers against her tingling flesh, had her hungry, aching.

He cupped her face, and he kissed her.

His warm lips tasted like merlot. His fingers hovered above her hips, not touching, but waiting, wanting, respecting her need to go slow. His tongue parted her lips and dipped inside. Heat exploded inside her stomach, spiraling down to her woman’s core. Her heart stalled then tha-thumped in a staccato rhythm that stole her breath.

He showed incredible restraint for a werewolf—a species well known for their fierce appetites. It made her want him all the more. His kiss deepened, his tongue slipping inside her mouth to tangle with hers. She melted into his embrace, fingers sliding through the hair at the back of his neck.

Stephanie moaned.

He broke the kiss, and she protested.

“Clothes,” she muttered, her fingers reaching for his belt. “Off.”

“No, babe. This is just for you right now. We’ll have plenty of time to explore all our fantasies together.”

She let a devilish smile play on her lips. “If it’s really for me then you’ll take off your clothes.” She wanted to see him naked. He was getting to see her naked, and fair was fair.

Nolan laughed then stood up. Stephanie watched him efficiently and quickly strip down. God, he was simply gorgeous—muscular, thick, and a smattering of chest hair that turned into a happy trail leading to his hard and hefty erection. She tried not to ogle, but that powerful cock of his was damn near pointing at her.

Nolan smirked.

Stephanie blushed and lay back on the bed. She stretched, lifting her breasts as if to an invisible lover and sighed when her nipples puckered, aching to being touch, to be kissed.

“Close your eyes,” he told her, his voice low and seductive. “I want you to concentrate on feeling nothing but me giving you pleasure.”

A thrill raced through Stephanie as she obeyed. Eyes closed. Wanting. Waiting.

The bed dipped as Nolan joined her. Then his hands were on her breasts, cupping and molding. Oh, God. His lips coasted down her throat, trailing to the dimple at its base, a soft kiss to mark the place. His tongue trailed a hot, wet line between her breasts, past her belly button, and stopping short of the juncture of her thighs.

Her body flushed with need. She stretched, the material beneath her stroked her sensitized flesh like tiny fingers. Oh yes. It had been too long since she’d felt the hot, insistent need for touch, for sex. A bonfire of passion filled her, and she grew even wetter as aching necessity crept through her.

He kissed his way back to her neck then said, “Stephanie.”

“Uhm hmm,” she murmured, lost in her pleasure.

“I need you to look at me now.”

Her eyes flickered open, and she sighed. God, he was gorgeous. The hard planes of his cheeks warred with the soft fullness of his mouth. In the chocolate depths of his gaze, she saw desire, tenderness, and passion.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said. He swept a finger across her cheek and down her neck. Then he stroked around her areola, circling and circling until the tip of his finger brushed her nipple.

“I want to taste you,” he whispered.

Her nipple was a hard, throbbing point. She looked down at his circling finger and drew in a sharp breath. “Yes.”

Nolan lowered his head to her chest until his mouth was a kiss away from her nipple. He blew on it, and the swoosh of air tightened the peak even more.

His lips closed over the nipple. Stephanie squirmed with pleasure. He suckled, his warm, wet tongue swirling against the sensitive flesh. A low moan rose from her throat as hot desire jabbed at her. Her hands wound into his soft hair, and she pressed him closer, encouraging his gentle assault.

“More,” she said hoarsely. “Please.”

Nolan obliged. He cupped her other breast and used his tongue to worship it. God, it felt good to have someone play with her breasts, suck and cajole her nipples into response. She already felt slick and ready for him.

He lifted his head and looked at her. “You taste as sweet and fresh as a peach.” His gaze flicked at the valley between her breasts and traveled to her navel before he again looked up at her. “I want to taste more of you.”

Her heart thundered, a mixture of wanton lust and sexual frenzy zipping down her spine. She wanted to feel his lips on her skin, the flick of his tongue on the pearls of sweat formed by her longing.

She nodded.

His lips pressed against her quivering stomach muscles, and his tongue stroked a long, slow line to her navel. He encircled it then flicked into the dint, making her giggle nervously. Ashamed at her schoolgirl reaction, she fisted her hands, but failed to stop squirming as blissful sensations poured over her.

Stephanie felt submerged in desire, hot and heady, and she wanted … she wanted to feel his hard length slide into her, to show her how to want again, how to come again. No more pain. No more fear. Just ecstasy…

Her pussy convulsed, trembled. Oh yes. She wanted Nolan. Wanted him more than anything else in the world in that very moment. She desired the pounding of flesh on flesh, oh heavens…the smell and taste and feel of a man giving and taking pleasure. For the first time since—since forever, the idea of getting fucked didn’t equate to abuse or rape.

It meant only rapture.

Nolan’s hands coasted to her hips, his mouth following an invisible trail to the edge of her pussy. Oh God. He was so close to her clit. Just a few strokes of his tongue…maybe a slow suckling there, a nip of his teeth…

But he paused, and after a moment, she looked down to see why he waited.

“I’m not going to lie to you, Stephanie. I want to be inside you. I want to feel you around me, taking me, moving with me. I want to give you pleasure.” His gaze flickered with yearning. “Do you want my mouth? Or do you want my cock?”

9

THE WORDS “YOUR COCK,” trembled on her lips, but Stephanie felt frozen. She wanted him inside her so achingly bad, but it scared her that he cared so much, or that she cared so much, or maybe what scared her was that she’d believed Garrett had cared once, and look at the lie that had turned out to be. Nolan wasn’t Garrett, and in her heart she knew him to be true.

“Here. Maybe you need another look to help you decide,” said Nolan, giving her an audacious wink. “I’ll show you.”

He rolled onto his back, and she looked down at the apex of his thighs. His cock was still magnificent, just like the rest of him. Most shifters were uncircumcised, but she was unsure if werewolves were extremely gifted, or if that was just Nolan’s family genetics. Long and thick—and holy hell, ready to do some damage

“Good God,” she muttered.

She allowed herself the idea of feeling his girth thrust inside her. Her breath hitched. She reached down and wrapped her hand around his shaft. Her fingers didn’t touch. She looked at him, amazed. “Is this thing registered?”

“Yeah,” he said, laughing, “it’s my second lethal weapon. You’re in control, babe.” He stroked her cheek. “Get on top of me. Take as much or as little of me as you want.”

She wanted all of him.

She crawled on top of Nolan, her knees planted on either side of his thighs. She settled onto him, a few inches below his ball sac, and felt her heart turn over in her chest.

“You can take it. Take me. All of me.” His voice was light, his body relaxed under her tense one, and his gaze filled with a tender emotion that bespoke patience.

She watched him wrap his hand around his shaft and stroke it. Seeing his strong fist pumping his hard cock made her pulse jump. It was sexy and beautiful to see him pleasure himself. She licked her lips and cupped her own breasts, pulling at her nipples.

“You are so sexy,” he said. “So gorgeous.”

“So are you,” she replied, her voice hoarse. She took control of his cock, of his pleasure, before positioning herself over his impressive length. He helped steady her while she guided him, taking him inside her slowly … as he stretched and filled her inch by glorious inch.

Stephanie stilled for a moment to adjust to his size and then began to move. She increased her pace, and Nolan reached up to tug on her nipples. She moaned as pleasure tumbled through her, spikes of joy radiating to her wet heat. Her hips pumped hard now. But the werewolf in Nolan showed itself. He pulled her down, fisting one hand in her hair and grasping her hip with the other. He thrust inside her, pulling her down so he could put his mouth on her nipples, tempting, teasing, tugging.

The edge of orgasm bloomed into fierce joy.

She screamed as she came, but her release wasn’t enough for Nolan. He continued pleasuring her until sweat dripped down his neck and his eyes glazed with passion. She fell into another orgasm, this one so hard, her thighs shook as she clenched around his cock.

“Stephanie!” Nolan roared as his own climax hit. He arched, his thighs tensed under her buttocks. He kept himself deep inside her as he came hard, holding her tightly against him until the last of his orgasm was spent.

* * *

STEPHANIE AWOKE IN Nolan’s bed feeling like she’d slept for a week. She felt lighter in spirit and, yes, for the first time in a long time, hopeful that the day held something wondrous in store.

The smell of strong coffee propelled her from the bed. She slipped into Nolan’s T-shirt, which nearly covered her almost to her knees. Finding her panties was out of the question right now.

As she entered the hallway, she realized that major parts of the house were under construction. She passed two more bedrooms, a bathroom, and the entrance to a sun porch. She went through the living room, into the dining room, and through a set of swinging doors into the kitchen.

Once again she was greeted by the sight of her big, bad wolf playing Rachel Ray at a stove. This time shirtless and no apron. Yum. “Hello,” she said, unable to stop the smiling.

Nolan turned, meeting her gaze, and grinned. “Hi.”

She sat on one of the three barstools lining the counter. “That smells heavenly.”

She watched Nolan fill a plate with eggs, bacon, and toast. “You want some coffee?”

“God, yes.”

He poured a cup and brought it along with the plate. “Dig in.”

She scooped up a bite of fluffy eggs and groaned. “Heavy on the butter. That’s the only way to eat ‘em.”

“Glad you like.”

Nolan filled his own plate and joined her. “So, what do you want to do today?”

“Don’t you ever go to work? You’re the laziest cop I’ve ever met.”

“Very funny. Like I don’t get enough donut jokes.” He sipped his coffee. “I’m sort of on vacation. I’m supposed to be working on fixing up the house.”

Stephanie found the whole “do it yourself” thing very sexy. Though, truthfully, it didn’t take much for her to find Nolan sexy. She loved that he was fixing his own home, and she long to be a part of his world. “I need to visit my dad, but other than that...I could help out around here...if you’d like.”

His look of surprise was priceless, but the light in his eyes dimmed. He cleared his throat. “My sister Hallie is a volunteer at the women’s shelter. She can recommend a really good counselor—”

“What?” Dread settled like a concrete block in her stomach.

“Domestic violence is one of my specialties. In fact, I’m trying to get funding to start a special investigation unit geared toward...” He frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“You want to help me?” She blew out a breath. “Oh God. I’m so stupid. I thought ... shit. You just want to save me. Project Stephanie, right?”

“No! It’s not like that. I care about you, Stephanie. You’re important to me.”

“I believe you,” she said, but she was still hurt. She didn’t want to be his project—the human he saved from the homicidal Wendigo. She wanted him to want her, not because she was a victim in need of rescue, but because she was Stephanie Draper, flaws and all. The very thought shocked her. How could she want something with Nolan when she was still trying to escape the past? Garrett hadn’t made his final move, not yet, but he would. Either he would die—or she would. And if she wasn’t careful, Nolan might die, too.

“Stephanie—”

“Damn it! I don’t need saving from domestic violence. I’ve already saved myself.”

“I know, babe.”

He came around the island and cupped the back of her neck. He nudged her thighs apart with his knee and slipped between. “You’re not a project. I swear. I’m stupid. I shouldn’t have...” His words trailed off as he slid his hands under the T-shirt she wore like a nightgown. His fingers caressed her thighs, lifting the material until her lack of underwear was revealed. “Being in the same room with you makes me so hard. Hearing your voice—I fucking melt. Damn, Steph,” he said. His voice lowered and roughened. “I’m hard for you now.” He leaned forward until his lips brushed her ear. “I want to bend you over this center island and take you from behind until you’re screaming my name.”

She’d lost the ability to speak. Her mind fogged with desire, its heat prickling her skin. God, she was so wet. It wasn’t possible…shouldn’t be possible…

He waited, demanding nothing. His fierce passion released her from her lingering doubts. She let them go, and with them, her inhibitions.

Stephanie took off the T-shirt. Nolan’s eyes darkened as he watched her reveal her breasts, cup them, and then offer them.

Leaning forward, he suckled the hardening nipple of her left breast, the pressure of his mouth, the swirl of his tongue, shooting fire down to her groin. She moaned, arching back to offer him more. He switched to her right breast, lavishing attention on the aching peak.

“That feels so good, Nolan.”

He sucked, kissed, licked for endless, wonderful moments…then he used his hands to knead the sweet flesh, pinching and tugging the nipples until Stephanie panted and moaned and wiggled.

She needed something…something more…she looked down at Nolan, watched him pleasure her breasts with hands and mouth. Her knees quaked, threatening to buckle. She pulled Nolan’s head away from her chest, and stared at him, knowing her eyes had the glazed look of someone on the edge of orgasm. Her body shivered with terrible need.

Words wouldn’t come so she turned, pushing him back to give her space to move. She eyeballed the plush carpet in the living room before heading there. She sank down, ignoring his confused expression, and got on her hands and knees. She knew exposing herself to a werewolf like this was akin to giving him the ultimate sign of submission, but she didn’t care. She wanted to give Nolan every part of her. She wasn’t going to hold anything back. Not anymore.

Not to mention, she was suffering from the biggest, hottest bout of lust she’d ever encountered.

She offered her ass to him, her breathing reedy, her heart thumping fiercely, as she waited to feel his cock slid into her. She heard Nolan’s jeans hit the floor, and then felt his legs brush her buttocks as he knelt behind her. The thick length of his cock slid between her thighs and rubbed her sensitive clit. She moaned as pleasure electrified her.

Nolan rocked his hips, his rigid length sliding in and out to tease at her opening, to bump her sensitized bundle. Little waves of bliss rolled through her. Soon, she relaxed and simply enjoyed the pseudo-fucking. The sway of their bodies, the smack of flesh on flesh, oh yes. Joy shuddered through her, its heat melting away everything … everything but Nolan.

Nolan wrapped an arm around her stomach, and slipped his hand down to her pussy, one long finger sliding in the perfect spot along her clit. Then he edged the tip of his shaft into her opening. It felt too good, too delicious to deny. Nolan pushed inside, inch by inch, until he once again filled her.

She breathed deeply, feeling the nearness of her orgasm. Already! God, she was turned on. She bumped him with her ass, and he took the hint, starting a slow thrusting rhythm.

Quickly, he increased the pace, his chest rubbing against her back. His primal groans and growls made her pussy clench and pulsate. How he managed to rub right spot and keep his perfect rhythm was beyond her, but goddamned it felt beyond pleasurable.

“Oh God. Yes. Yes!” she said, her voice hoarse with lust. Bliss threatened, spikes of pleasure pierced her, and then she came...hard. Her screams echoed as she shouted his name.

Her clit was too sensitive for Nolan’s ceaseless movements, but he was merciless. He pounded into her now, his cock plunging into her slickened sex, and kept rubbing and moving until another orgasm rolled through her.

Nolan cried out, the sound nearly a howl, as he took her deeply, penetrating her to the womb and giving way to his own earth-shattering release.

Nolan chuffed a final, rough sound and collapsed on top of her. For a moment, Stephanie reveled in being the one who’d given him such bone-melting pleasure. Her own muscles felt as though they’d turned to liquid.

Then she realized Nolan wasn’t moving.

He was utterly still, and his full weight bared down on her, pinning her to the floor.

“Nolan?” Panic rose. Had he had a heart attack or worse? Had sex with her killed him? She wiggled, trying to get out from underneath him. “Oh my God. Nolan!”

Suddenly, she felt his weight lifted from her, and then she saw as Nolan was tossed next to her unconscious.

“Whore,” a menacing voice whispered.

Stephanie rolled onto her back and stared up into the livid, purpled face of her husband. She screamed and tried to scramble away.

Garrett was too quick. He grabbed her by the hair and waved an ugly black pistol in her face. “He’s lucky I’m out of silver bullets.” He yanked her to her feet. Then he gave Nolan’s ribcage a swift, hard kick.

“No!” Stephanie shouted as she heard ominous bone-cracking sounds. “Nolan!” She lashed out at Garrett, raking her fingernails across his face, ripping the flesh off his cheek.

He snarled, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her like a rag doll.

She screamed again, but even as Garrett unleashed his rage on her, all she could think about was Nolan. She had no doubt her ex had broken some of the werewolf’s ribs—and she knew he’d had to hit Nolan pretty damned hard to knock him out. Werewolves were tough. How had he gotten past the rest of the security? Oh, no. Out of silver bullets. A part of her mourned for the loss of the enforcers, but another part was glad that Nolan wouldn’t be at the end of a kill shot. She needed to keep the Wendigo distracted. Keep him off Nolan as a target.

“Garrett!” a man yelled.

Garrett turned, dragging Stephanie into his arms, the gun pressed coldly against her naked belly. “What!”

Stephanie’s eyes filled with hot tears as her scalp throbbed with pain. She recognized Tommy, Garrett’s youngest brother. He was a vicious prick—and the hatred in his gaze started nausea roiling in her gut. “We gotta go.”

Garrett growled and stepped toward Nolan. Stephanie jerked in his embrace, trying to shift his focus, but what stopped him was Tommy.

“C’mon, Garrett!” he said with more persistence. “We have to go now.”

“What’s the goddamned hurry?”

“Lester let one of the enforcers escaped,” he admitted through clenched teeth. “We’re gonna be ass-deep in werewolves, including their alpha, if we don’t leave now.”

Garrett snarled then he dragged Stephanie out of the house.

A black SUV was parked out front, the engine running. Tommy scurried to the other side and climbed into the front passenger seat. Garrett opened the back door and tossed Stephanie inside. Her head hit the opposite window, and she tumbled into the floorboard.

Garrett climbed in behind her and pulled her up in the seat. He wrapped steely fingers around her arm. “We’re going home, baby,” he said, offering her a grim smile. “And this time, you will learn your place, and do what you’re fucking told.” He pounded on the driver’s side headset. “Go, Lester.”

The SUV took off, wheels spinning in the gravel.

Stephanie jerked her arm out of Garrett’s grasp and collapsed against the far door.

Surrounded by Garrett and his brothers, she had a singular terrifying realization: No one could save her.

10

STEPHANIE LOOKED AT the man—the monster—who’d beaten her lover and then kidnapped her. She was sickened by the vision of Nolan unconscious and alone. At least he’d been alive. Werewolves were a lot stronger than humans. They could withstand a brutal beating. It was the only thought keeping Stephanie sane. She wanted to get away from Garrett and back to Nolan, even it meant risking her life. She thought about opening the door and taking her chances of surviving a fall at fifty-miles-an-hour, but Garrett seemed to sense her desperate thoughts.

He grabbed her knee and squeezed so hard, she cried out. “You try to leave me again, Stephanie, and I’ll kill your father. Hell, I’ll kill everyone you’ve ever known.” His menacing smile when he spoke his next words sent a shiver to her bones. “I’ll kill your lover.”

She knew it wasn’t an idle threat. After all, he and his brothers had just murdered several of the toughest werewolves in the pack so they could steal her from the only safety she’d had in years. And they’d done it with practiced ease. Stephanie had a sinking feeling that nothing could stop her ex—nothing short of a miracle. Still, she couldn’t let him see just how scared she was that he’d make good on his threat.

When she didn’t react, Garrett snarled at her. Without warning, he turned his furious gaze in the direction of his youngest brother.

“Pull over, Lester,” demanded Garrett.

Obediently, Lester pulled the SUV to the side of the gravel road. The darkness bled across the trees, giving them a surreally wicked appearance. Stephanie felt her stomach drop to her toes. Everything seemed even more sinister now that Garrett had her trapped. She was living her nightmare. Did she dare curl her fingers around the door handle and jerk it open? Run for her life?

Could she escape?

“Lester, go back to the house and kill that werewolf.”

“No!” Stephanie yelled. She turned to Garrett and grabbed his arm. “You can’t!”

Garrett backhanded her. Pain jagged through her jaw, and she felt blood fill her mouth. Damn it. She’d bitten the side of her cheek. She pressed a hand against her aching face and scooted as far away from Garrett as she could.

He grinned at her, obviously pleased that he’d hurt her. She knew from past experience that he fed off her terror and pain. It was nectar for him. For his kind. But though she knew what awful acts were in store for her—her thoughts were for Nolan.

Please let Nolan wake up. Please let him be okay. Stephanie wasn’t a believer, but she prayed anyway to any deity who might listen and offer Nolan protection.

“Lester! I gave you an order!”

Lester turned around so he could see them in the backseat. “Why should I?”

If Stephanie didn’t know Lester, she’d probably empathize with his look of dread. But Lester was just as mean as his brothers, even if he if had the brain capacity of a hamster.

“Because you owe me a werewolf, you dumb son-of-a-bitch.”

“What about the alpha?” asked Tommy.

“Yeah, Garrett. What about the alpha?” echoed Lester.

“Not my problem. You kill Nolan Wright and get your ass back to our hidey hole.”

“You’re not gonna wait for me?” he whined.

“No.” Garrett nodded at Tommy. “You drive.” His gaze riveted to his youngest sibling. “Get the fuck out. And don’t come back unless you’ve got proof that you sliced off that mutt’s head.”

Lester punched the steering wheel. Cursing under his breath, he opened the door with enough force to make it squeal in protest.

Tommy laughed as he exited the car, rounded the hood, and gave his little bro a smack on the back of his head. “Stupid fucker.”

“Shut up.”

Garrett rolled down his window. “You’re wasting time.”

“I don’t got no bullets,” said Lester.

“You don’t got no gun, neither,” mimicked Tommy. He slid into the driver’s side seat and opened the center console. He pulled out a .38 revolver and opened the chamber. “Two left. That’s it. And we can’t just buy more silver bullets at the local store.” He handed Lester the gun. “Make ‘em count.”

Lester took the gun, tossed Tommy one last “fuck you” look, and started running toward Nolan’s house.

Stephanie cradled her cheek, keeping her back to Garrett.

Please, she prayed, wake up, Nolan. Please be all right. Please kill that son-of-a-bitch before he kills you.

Then she grabbed the door handle, her heart jumping into her throat, and yanked up as hard as she could.

Nothing happened.

Shocked, Stephanie pulled on the handle again and again, but the door didn’t budge.

Garrett’s laugh was ugly. “Child’s lock,” he said. “You’re not getting out, babe.” He reached over and stroked his fingers through her hair. “You’re not getting away ever again.”

* * *

NOLAN STRUGGLED TO his feet, his ribs throbbing in a staccato rhythm of pain. He could feel the bones knit together as his werewolf genetics took over the healing process. But no amount of superior genes could stop the ringing in his ears and the feeling that his brain had been good and rattled.

Stephanie.

He ran into his bedroom, scooped the cell phone off his nightstand, and speed dialed the alpha. “Kade! We’ve got trouble.” He succinctly explained what happened while he pulled on sweats and a pair of running shoes. “I’m going to check on the enforcers now, but he had silver bullets. And he had help.”

“We’re on the way. We’re getting these bastards tonight,” promised Kade before he ended the call.

Nolan tossed his cell onto the bed and headed out of the bedroom. He needed to focus, to keep his worry for Stephanie from clouding his judgment. Yet his rage threatened to obliterate any logic.

He was going to annihilate Garrett the Wendigo, and his fucking brothers too. He wouldn’t stop until he’d nullified them as threats to Stephanie. He wouldn’t tracking them until she was back in his arms.

Nolan heard the creak of the floorboards seconds before he heard a popping sound. The doorjamb next to him exploded. He dropped into a crouching position and scuttled backward. The scent of gun powder and silver hung acrid in the air.

Fuck!

He had seconds to decide if he should get his gun, or if he should shift. He knew regular bullets wouldn’t do enough damage to Wendigo. But it was possible his wolf wouldn’t have a chance, either. He’d never fought a Wendigo—to his knowledge, no shifter had. At least none that lived to tell about it.

He grabbed the .9mm from his nightstand drawer, took off the safety, and loaded one in the chamber. He knew if he could hear the bad guy then the bad guy could hear him. On cue, the bastard appeared in the doorway. He was tall and broad with a flat face and dead eyes.

Nolan wasted no time emptying the clip into the Wendigo’s chest and stomach. The creature staggered backward, screaming. A small lift of triumph shot through Nolan when the beast dropped his .38.

He grabbed the extra clip from the nightstand drawer, released the empty mag, and reloaded. He ran to the wounded shifter, the man on his knees, thick black blood oozing from his wounds. It smelled like death, but the dude wasn’t close to dead.

Christ. Even a werewolf would succumb that much damage.

Nolan raised the pistol and shot the Wendigo in the head twice. He slumped to the floor, his black eyes wide open.

No way it’s that easy.

It wasn’t.

The man stirred, blinking, and snarled up at Nolan.

Nolan once again emptied the clip—in the Wendigo’s head and chest. Now, the creature choked up viscous, stinky blood. But even as Nolan watched the bullets began to expel from the wounds, and the holes in his flesh began to mend.

Fuck.

He went into the kitchen and grabbed the biggest knife from the block. He’d saw off the fucker’s head. See if you can survive that. Nolan readied himself for physical battle. Sweat rolled down his face and neck, his heart pounded, adrenaline rushed through him.

He turned and saw the bloodied man aim the .38 at him. He took a run at the Wendigo, but even with werewolf speed, he couldn’t get to the gun fast enough.

It went off.

The bullet seared into him.

The pain ricocheted—as hot and fast as lightning. Still, he managed to wrap his arms around the Wendigo and bring him down hard.

“Nolan!”

The alpha’s voice barely penetrated the haze of agony and rage compelling Nolan to keep pummeling the bastard beneath him. The next thing he knew, he was being pulled off and held back by two enforcers.

Kade stepped into the kitchen and put his foot on the Wendigo’s throat while three other enforcers knelt down to hold the growling, writhing creature.

“You’ve been shot,” said Kade. “You need to calm down and get your wound treated.”

Nolan responded to the command in his alpha’s voice. He stopped struggling and shook off the two men holding onto him. He leaned against the counter, his gaze narrowed on the Wendigo pinned to the floor by four werewolves. He stopped trying to free himself, and instead turned his dark gaze on the alpha. “You’re gonna die.” Bloody spittle ejected from his mouth.

“You first.” Kade pressed down on the Wendigo’s throat, causing him to gasp for air.

Cave ambled into the kitchen with the werewolf version of a First Aid kit. He opened it and pulled out items. Cave poured cleanser into Nolan’s wound. It felt like acid. “Fuck!” he yelled.

“Don’t be a bitch,” muttered Cave. “Through and through in your shoulder. It’ll take a while longer to heal because of the silver.”

The enforcer began to bandage Nolan’s wound, which he covered with enough gauze to mummify his left side.

Rage and anxiety sat heavy in Nolan’s gut. What they hell were they doing sitting around playing doctor for? He didn’t give a crap about his wound. It would eventually heal, but Stephanie, she was human. Whatever Garrett did to her would be permanent. Every cell in his body strained to take action—anything that put him on the path toward Stephanie. He would save her or die trying.

“The other enforcers?” he asked Kade. A muscle ticked in the alpha’s jaw. “Three dead. Two critical. The sixth got away. Contacted us right after you did.”

“Shit.” Nolan stared down at the Wendigo. “I know you’re not Garrett. Who the hell are you? One of his asshole brothers?”

All he got for an answer was a red, toothy smile. The double rows of needle-sharp teeth were meant to terrorize.

But Nolan wasn’t scared.

He was pissed off.

“Perhaps I can be more persuasive.” The deep voice was pure Irish, and so was the large, dark-haired stranger the voice belonged to. The man maneuvered past the werewolves and their prisoner. He was tall and broad, both bigger and taller than the largest werewolf in the Moon Pack. He dressed well—from the designer long-sleeved shirt and belted pants to the Italian leather loafers. He could’ve walked out of a fashion magazine were in not for the strange-looking double-axe clasped in his left hand. The blade wasn’t made of metal, but bone. And it looked very, very sharp.

Nolan flared his nostrils taking in the faint scent of char and ash, and couldn’t believe his nose. “Dragon?”

“Aiden Kearney,” the man said, holding out his right hand. Nolan shook it. “I’ve known Kade’s family for a while.” He smiled grimly down at the Wendigo. “Bet you haven’t seen one of these in a while, boyo.” He placed the blade against the Wendigo’s knee.

Nolan noted the instant change of demeanor in the beast. His eyes widened and he grew deathly still. Well, well, well. It seemed something existed that Wendigos feared.

“You know what’s more rare than a Wendigo?” asked Aiden conversationally. “Unicorns. In fact, they don’t exist anymore. The Wendigos wiped them out.” Aiden glanced at Nolan. “This particular weapon has been in my family for generations. Wendigos don’t exist in Ireland—thanks to this beauty. The horn of a unicorn tempered in pure silver along with the blood of a virgin creates the only weapon known to kill Wendigos.

Nolan raised a brow at the swarthy dragon. “The blood of a virgin?”

“A willing sacrifice, I assure you. I’d explain the weapon’s potency in more details, but I’d rather make this manky bastard talk.” Aiden crouched down and put the blade against the Wendigo’s stomach. “Now, you’re going to tell us where the girl is,” he said in a low voice, “and don’t take the piss on me, or I’ll be cuttin’ off your limbs one at a time until you tell the truth.” He stood up, raised the blade above the Wendigo’s thigh. “What’s it going to be, boyo?”

11

STEPHANIE CROUCHED IN the dark room, the back of her head throbbing. She swallowed the nausea crowding her throat and tried to center herself. She felt so dizzy, so weak. She’d awakened once—long enough to remember Garrett had dragged her into the basement of the dilapidated house—then he’d hit her hard with the butt of his gun. She didn’t know how long she’d been unconscious.

She couldn’t see in the darkness, but she’d managed to find a loose rotted two-by-four on the ground near her. Her fingers cramped from holding it so tightly, but she wasn’t about to let go of the only weapon she had at her disposal.

Her skull felt like it had exploded. But that was nothing to the pain of her heart. What had happened to Nolan? She had to believe he was okay. She had to believe that Lester hadn’t caught him unawares. In the past with Garrett, survival had been a motivating factor. It had been what gave her the courage to try time and time again to escape, but if he’d managed to kill Nolan... The thought was too awful to even consider.

She had to believe that Nolan would live.

Her own life? What she knew for sure was that she would not be a brooding mare for the Wendigos.

The basement was huge and darker than a tomb. She shivered at thought that it might be her tomb. It smelled like mold and dust. Her vision adjusted somewhat. She saw shapes of various sizes, but she had no idea what objects were stored down here. She didn’t know where the door was located and cursed her human weakness. If she’d been a werewolf like her father, like Nolan, she’d be able to see in the dark. She might even be strong enough to withstand Garrett. She’d definitely be strong enough to figure out an escape plan.

I need to get up. I need to get back to Nolan. Fear’s cold creeping tendrils wrapped around her body and immobilized her. She was tired. Really fucking tired. She’d run away from Garrett. She’d sought safety. And with Nolan, she’d found comfort. She’d found the beginning of real love.

She’d began to finally believe she could be free of the Garrett’s terror.

She laughed—a strangled sound of defeat.

The realist in her knew she was probably going to die. Nolan would never know that she’d fallen in love with him. That she trusted him. That he had, in fact, saved her. Or that when he’d made love to her, when she’d finally submitted completely to him—she’d never experienced such total and complete happiness.

The idealist in her wanted to punch the realist in the face.

She put her head on her knees and cried. In her grief, she let go of the two-by-four, and the board clattered to the concrete floor.

“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.”

Stephanie raised her head, blinded by the glare of high-powered flashlight.

“What do you want?” she asked, sick of his games.

“You.” He laughed. “I’ve decided we should make up, sweetheart.”

Her pulse stepped up a notch as a renewed sense of fear pushed her self-pity away. “Screw you.”

The laugh, the cold laugh she remembered so well, echoed throughout the basement. “Hmmm. I think I’ll take you up on that invitation.”

A cold sweat broke over her skin. “Don’t touch me.”

“Oh, I’m going to do more than that.”

The flashlight seemed to double in two as she became light-headed and dizzy. Nausea roiled violently in her stomach. She leaned over and emptied its contents. The putrid smell of vomit mixed with the musty smell of the basement. She spit the residue out of her mouth and wiped her lips with a trembling hand.

“There now. Feel better?”

She cursed being human once more. How did she stand a fighting chance against such a monster, especially with a concussion? “Just kill me now, you bastard. I’d rather die than have your filthy claws touch me.”

“That’s what you think.”

The light disappeared then she felt his hands on her shoulders. She screamed with fury, and struggled against his grip, but he turned her around and held her across the neck with one strong arm. A cloth covered her nose and mouth, a sickly-sweet smell gagged her...then she felt nothing.

* * *

STEPHANIE STRUGGLED AGAINST the ropes binding her wrists and feet. She’d awakened to find Garrett cutting off her clothes with a huge, jagged knife. A Wendigo’s knife. The knife that she knew her ex would use to humiliate and torture her.

He’d taken her to one of the bedrooms of the abandoned house. The old bed had been covered by a black tarp, but though it covered the ratty mattress, it provided no comfort against the rusted springs poking into her back. He’d already taped her mouth. It took little effort for him to tie her up. She was spread-eagled. The ropes attached to the metal posts gave her enough leeway to move. Just enough, she thought bitterly, to give her the false hope she might get free.

Tears scorched her cheeks. The knowledge that she was going to suffer horribly overwhelmed her. Even if she survived the pain and the rape she was certain would come, how could she live after? And Nolan... Oh God

Tear streamed down the sides of her face, clouding already blurry vision. She could barely breathe as she sobbed, helpless, behind the duct tape concealing her mouth.

Garrett sat at the end of the bed and smiled at her. He would be patient. She didn’t know what was worse—when he was angry and violent or when he was calm and violent.

He got up and rounded the bed, leaning over to look into her eyes. “Terrified, aren’t you, my love?” He stroked her breast with his hand, and then leaned down and suckled her nipple, biting it hard enough to break the skin as she screamed against the tape. She felt sick and violated. She knew which was worse now. Calm and violent. So much worse.

Garrett slid on top of her, still clothed in jeans and a Polo shirt. She twisted her hips, trying to fight him, but the bindings made it impossible, and the extra movement seemed to excite him.

Oh God, she thought, is this really happening? This can’t be happening.

His sneakers banged her shins as he slithered over her—his hands and mouth took terrible liberties. She thought she might choke on her own vomit. She tried to buck him off her body. She owed it to Nolan to fight back. She owed it to herself not to give up.

Nolan, Stephanie called out with her thoughts, Where are you? If he was alive, wouldn’t he have found her already? She believed he would move heaven and earth to be at her side. She believed in him.

Garrett began to unbutton his jeans. She tried to scream, but it came out as a high-pitched strangled noise.

He ripped off the duct tape. She cried out from stinging pain. “Keep doing that, sweetie. Turns me on. Not that I ever have a problem getting hard for you.” He winked at her. “Let’s make a baby.”

“No!” She turned her face away when he tried too kiss her. “Stop. Don’t do this, Garrett. Don’t.” Her pleas fell on deaf ears.

He stroked her thigh. She yanked her leg, but the gesture excited him even more. He took perverted pleasure in grabbing her knee and holding it in place as his other hand crept toward her womanhood.

Horror squeezed her insides so tightly that she didn’t think she’d ever breathe normally again. She felt tendrils of anger curl through her. Not enough to overwhelm her terror, but enough to know she wouldn’t give him any of the satisfaction he craved. If given the chance, she would take her own life first.

She jerked her chin out of his hand and bit the side of his palm until she tasted his foul blood.

“Bitch!” He slapped her so hard her ears rang and her vision blurred. Fresh nausea hit her as he aggravated her concussion. An ache crept across her face. But her anger strengthened her resolve, and the fury made the shaking in her limbs recede a little. Garrett leapt off the bed and started pacing. “You’ve always been ungrateful. I’m sharing the greatest opportunity any human female’s ever had. Ever.” He smacked his fist into his freshly blooded palm.

“I don’t want your child,” she spat. “You’re a monster. A soulless, horrible bastard.” His face reddened at her accusations, and she instantly formed a plan. Maybe she could piss him off enough that he’d kill her before doing worse. “The idea that I ever loved you, that I ever could, makes me sick. You and your kind are a mistake of nature. You’re not a superior species,” she spat. “You’re inferior!”

He shoved his hands through his hair and held his head, muttering under his breath. He turned, and Stephanie saw the gleam of hatred in his eye. “I will show you just what a monster I am.” Then his skin split open, revealing a bumpy skull, a veiny throb of thin, gray skin. His menacing voice slid over her like cold slime.

Stephanie struggled against the ropes, screaming.

But she couldn’t escape the massive beast coming for her.

12

DREAD LODGED IN Nolan’s gut and grew heavier as time passed. The dragon’s tactics had worked like magic against Garrett’s brother. A few pokes with the unicorn blade had him spilling all of the Wendigo’s plans. Nolan shuddered at Lester’s vivid descriptions, but fear for Stephanie kept him laser focused.

Lester’s directions had gotten them as far a gutted dirt road winding through an Oklahoma field with waist-high weeds. Beyond it was a thick, gnarly forest—and supposedly beyond those was the old farmhouse where the Wendigo brothers had holed up. And where Garrett planned to make Stephanie pay the price for leaving him.

Nolan sat shotgun with Cave at the wheel. Ahead of them was the alpha, the Irish dragon and his handy ancient weaponry, and an entire backseat of werewolves. Nolan’s own werewolf instincts were yelling to hurry, hurry, fucking hurry.

His heart clenched as he thought about what Stephanie might be suffering at the hands of her insane ex-husband.

“Stephanie,” he murmured as he checked his loaded gun for the eighteenth time. “Hang on, sweetheart. We’re on the way.”

Were they too late? He couldn’t let himself think that way. He had to believe she was still alive. His brave girl.

After they cleared the trees, the road sloped upward. On top of a small hill sat a decrepit farmhouse. It was dark, with only half a moon glowing in the night sky, but with his superior wolf vision it was easy to see the caved-in roof, the broken windows, and the warped porch.

Entry would be easy.

Surprising the Wendigos … not so much.

The alpha and dragon exited the car, as did the enforcers. Nolan and Cave followed suit. Lester’s information was proving completely accurate, but he’d been convincingly forthcoming, especially after Aiden Kearney had removed one of his arms. Apparently, Wendigos could grow any of their limbs back—even their own heads, unless they were removed with Kearney’s ancient weapon.

Nolan was impressed by the dragon’s knowledge and skill, and was glad the creature had a pact with the Moon Pack werewolves.

Since they’d discussed the plan before leaving his home, Nolan followed the shifted wolves toward the farmhouse.

He couldn’t imagine the Wendigos weren’t preparing a counterattack.

However, the entire downstairs was empty. The eerie silence of the house was broken by the slight scuffles of wolves and men as they stole through the lower rooms.

Nothing.

Had Lester given them bad information?

Nolan’s heart thundered in his chest. He couldn’t lose Stephanie. In a very short amount of time, he’d connected with her on a soul-deep level. He wanted her for his wife.

For his mate.

As Nolan started up the creaky narrow staircase, he prayed Stephanie was alive.

A woman’s terrified scream stopped him cold. Stephanie. He bolted up the stairs. He was followed by the alpha, dragon, and enforces. When he reached the top, another scream sent him into action. Nolan zigzagged across the hall, sniffing at the air, trying to figure out which room she was in.

He took a deep breath, scenting his own sweat and fear before he edged along the wall.

Cave was next to him, his face tipped into the air. He was an excellent tracker. “Last door,” he whispered. “On the left.”

Nolan sped to the door, raising his gun as he stumbling into a nightmare in progress.

Stephanie was naked and bloody, tied spread-eagled on the bed, though one of her hands had come loose from the ropes. Thank God! She was alive. Gray duct tape covered her mouth in a haphazard fashion, as if hastily applied. She was frantically trying to rip off the tape. Her eyes were wide with fear and warning. Nolan knew, too late, he’d made a fatal error.

Thick, strong hands grabbed his shoulders and flung him forward. The gun flew from his grasp as he hit the floor. The air was knocked out of him, and Nolan struggled for breath as he was flipped onto his back.

The big asshole who’d nailed him laughed and used his monstrous foot with its curved claws to crush Nolan’s chest. Garrett was half-Wendigo, half-human, and all-asshole. The human half of his face sported a vicious scratch. Nolan took some satisfaction in the bloodied cheek, though he wanted to put a bullet in the guy’s forehead.

Cave had come into the room, his gun raised.

“Mine!” yelled Nolan. “He’s attacked my mate.”

Nolan’s declaration made Garrett’s horrific face twist in rage. “Your mate? She’s mine. She’s always been mine.”

Fuck that.

Nolan grabbed the man’s ankle and twisted. The creature flailed off balance and crashed to the floor. They both rolled to crouching positions. The wicked edges of the Wendigo’s claws were stained with Stephanie’s blood.

White-hot fury flowed through Nolan.

Garrett lurched forward, wielding his claws with expert precision. He went for Nolan’s ribs. Nolan felt the stinging nicks of the sharp nails slice him as he tried to move out of range. He pressed a hand against the wound and prepared for the next attack.

He didn’t have to wait long. Garrett lunged forward. Nolan twirled away, and as gravity made the Wendigo stumble, he brought his foot down hard onto the creature’s malformed, scaly back.

“Nolan!” The dragon stood in the doorway, the unicorn weapon held loosely in his hand. He tossed it to Nolan. He grabbed it mid-air and began to swing it in a tight, well-aimed arc toward Garrett’s neck until—

“No!” Stephanie screamed, scrambling from the bed. She’d managed to get her other hand and feet unbound. Her tangled hair, the blood, and the wounds made her look as fierce as any warrior.

Nolan pushed his foot down harder into the Wendigo’s back, intuitively knowing what Stephanie wanted. What she needed. He handed her the heavy blade, worried for only a heart beat that she wouldn’t be able to manage.

It wasn’t pretty or skillful, but Nolan took intense satisfaction at the strangled look in Garrett’s eyes as Stephanie turned him into the victim he’d once made her and viciously chopped off his head. Only after it separated from his body did she stop hacking away at him. She dropped the ancient sword and fell into Nolan’s arms, exhaustion taking over where rage left off.

“Is he dead?” she asked, as if unable to believe what she’d just done.

“Yes,” said Nolan, her voice drawing him back from the dark edges of his own rage.

“Good.” She sagged against him with relief.

Nolan leaned sideways, still holding her tightly, and picked up the weapon. He handed it back to Aiden. After, he lifted Stephanie into his arms, huddling her in the warmth of his love as he cradled her against his body.

He saw the multiple knife wounds, the raw skin around her wrists and ankles, and wished he could let her kill her torturer again. But she was alive, and the son-of-a-bitch was dead. Nothing else mattered.

She peered up at him, her eyes half-lidded, her expression weary. Mine. He kissed her swollen, battered lips. Mine, he thought again.

“Is she okay?”

Nolan looked at the alpha. “She will be.”

“Yes,” said Stephanie. “I will be.”

13

Three months later…

STEPHANIE PLAYED FRISBEE with Nolan’s niece, laughing when the little whirlwind tackled her instead of the flying disc. The grass tickled her bare arms and legs. The scent of honeysuckle and roses teased her senses. She felt so alive.

“Not the ribs!” she cried in mock horror. Of course, the toddler enthusiastically went for the ribs, her sweet baby fingers poking her relentlessly.

She was rescued by Hallie and escaped the tiny arms only to find herself pinned from behind by two strong man-sized arms. Nolan kissed the nape of her neck, and she felt a delicious shiver.

“Later,” he promised in a husky whisper.

Stephanie snuggled in his arms and looked at the scenes unfolding the backyard. Her dad, now out of the hospital and fully recovered, played with the dogs, Hallie’s husband grilled hamburgers, the toddler now chased her older brother, and various members of the Moon Pack gathered at tables and in groups.

Stephanie had never been happier.

She felt more loved and more secure than she ever had in her life. After she had recovered from her injuries, she agreed to go to a psychologist for therapy. While chopping off Garrett’s head had gone a long way toward healing her battered soul, she was able to finally admit she needed help to overcome her past and move into her future. When she was ready, she planned to help counsel abused women at the same shelter where Hallie worked. Maybe she’d even go back to school and get licensed.

Nolan had been there every step of the way, loving her, supporting her, and never asking her for anything. She loved him more than her next breath. She turned in his arms and faced him. His gaze, as always, was filled with tenderness and love.

“Did they find Tommy?”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, babe. He probably scurried away the minute we showed up. Wendigos aren’t much for family loyalty.”

“They suck,” she agreed. She nibbled her lower lip, her heart pounding.

“What is it?” Nolan asked. He smiled at her. “When you chew on your lip, it means you’re thinking too hard. Just tell me.”

“I’m pregnant.”

“What?” He looked stunned. His smile turned into a wide grin. “Holy shit!” He grabbed her and swung her around. “I’m going to be a daddy!” he yelled.

Everyone broke out into cheers and applause.

Stephanie lightly punched his shoulder. “You sure know how to make a girl sweat.”

“You bet I do. Wanna see some other ways later?”

Anticipation curled inside her. “Oh hell yeah.” She cupped his face and placed a tender kiss on his lips.

Two Alphas and a Lady

1

JACK HARRISON INHALED the salty scent of ocean air as he readjusted his position. His rear end throbbed from sitting too long on the sand. Grit had crept inside his wet swim trunks and abraded his skin.

Fake.

The whole damned thing was fake.

The earliness of the house was too much for most guests staying at the Drift Resort, so the Waves of Love attraction was pretty much deserted.

It blew his mind that the Drift Resort had gone to so much trouble to recreate a beach, complete with “ocean” AKA “the wave pool” and an artificial sunrise. Actually, the sunrise was pretty good. He watched the light move across the far wall, which had been painted to look like endless ocean waves. The golden shimmer mimicked the sun rising, spreading orange and yellow filaments across the tapestry of topaz water.

He loved being outdoors just before the day started—ah, the smell of crisp air, freshly turned earth, and dewy grass. The sun rose, and the blue sky kissed the dark earth. Yes. Beauty everywhere, and in that beauty, soul-deep peace. Jack eyed the fakeness around him, and sighed. He supposed this man-made contraption was as close as it got to nature’s beauty in June in Las Vegas. The skin-melting heat made wise people stay inside—tromping from hotel to hotel through connected walkways, zippy trams, and if one wanted to brave the blistering outside, zippier cabs.

He should be in Oregon at the Earth Pack’s farm, doing his morning run, checking on the animals, helping with the harvesting, and taking care of the endless tasks that besieged the Earth Pack alphas on a daily basis. His co-alpha, Grantham Wells, enjoyed nature, too, but preferred the rigorous training of an outdoorsman preparing for a zombie apocalypse. In fact, the man who was supposed to be helping Jack track down their mate was too busy right now conquering Drift Resort’s spectacular gymnasium.

Jack was fit, but didn’t have Grant’s ardent devotion to muscle building and punching things. Most people thought of Jack as the brains and Grant as the brawn of their pack, but the truth was that Grant had brains—and Jack had brawn.

It was strange how people needed to label—to put things and people into neat boxes so they could comprehend purpose. He knew some things, some ideas, didn’t fit perfectly into anywhere. Take this hunt for their mate as an example: He and Grant had journeyed to Las Vegas because the pack’s psychic Elsa had been adamant.

Well, according to her, dearly departed Matchmaking Matilda was the one who’d insisted. And this is what they got for listening to a woman twenty years dead.

You’ll find your mate, drifting in the desert, her fiery heart the sign she belongs to you both.

Somehow, Elsa had figured out—this time with the help of her crystals—that the Drift Resort in Las Vegas was the “drifting in the desert.” The rest she’d been unable to interpret, but all the same, he and Grant had booked the trip and spent a lot of time looking around for women who might display fiery hearts.

The Earth Pack werewolves were peace-makers. Some liked think they were lovers, not fighters, but those people were wrong. The Earth Pack members worked hard in every aspect of their lives, including training in self-defense and martial arts. The policy was mediate first, and if that didn’t work, then kick ass. Grant was mostly in charge of kicking ass because he liked the physical aspects of the alpha job. The data computation, chart-marking, and number-crunching were Jack’s specialties.

They needed a mate who could balance reason and logic with empathy and action.

Matchmaking Matilda might’ve gotten this one wrong. Maybe being dead had messed with her mojo. Three days had passed and they hadn’t made any progress. He hadn’t connected with any female, shifter or human, who stirred his loins or infiltrated his thoughts. Grant had dismissed every female they met because “Insert Stupid Grant Reason Here.” Too thin. Too blonde. Too young. Too brainless. Okay, okay. So Jack felt stupid for being here, too, but he was less vocal about it. He knew Grant was ready to go home. Damn it. They were getting desperate enough to sign-up on a shifter dating website.

Jack shuddered.

Enough thinking, already. He rose and dusted sand off his legs. The swim he’d taken earlier had stretched his muscles and burned off the beer calories earned the night before. Man, he was starving. He started down the empty, fake beach, heading toward the exit. He’d get some breakfast and find Grant. They’d agreed to one more day of looking for their fiery-hearted woman. Then…hello shifter dating sites.

“Excuse me!” cried a female voice. “Hey, you!”

Jack looked around, trying to determine where the voice hailed from and if, in fact, she was speaking to him. He spotted the woman in a small grove of fake palm trees. When he got closer he realized:

She wore a black bikini.

She was tied up.

She was gorgeous.

And she had a tattoo just beneath her collarbone: a small red heart pierced by a sword of flames.

Whoa.

A fiery heart.

Her breasts were spilling out of the bikini top and, for a moment, he was mesmerized by all that soft, beautiful flesh. She had the reddest hair he’d ever seen, and there was lots of it, wavy and long. She was all lush curves and radiated pure sex. He wanted to fill his hands with her, take her into his mouth, part her thighs, and slide into her.

He wanted to feast on her.

Defiant green eyes stared him down. “Can you untie me?”

“Who did this?” he asked. “Are you hurt?”

“Not unless you count wounded pride. I shouldn’t have been caught off-guard so easily.”

“That sounds like a story.” Jack worked out the knots and the rope fell away. As she stepped from the tree, she rubbed at the lines in her wrists. She flashed him a grateful smile that revealed dimples. He felt as though he’d been knocked on his ass. His pulse stuttered, and his libido revved into high gear.

“Thanks,” she said. “I appreciate the rescue.”

“Believe me, it was my pleasure. I’m Jack.”

“Roxie.”

Even her name was beautiful. He wanted to … to … to lick her.

“Thanks again, Jack. See you around.”

“Wait! You’re leaving?”

“Tied to a tree, remember? I don’t want to be here when my abductor shows up with her cohorts.”

“You’re in trouble.”

“My name should be trouble,” she said. “Trust me, Jack. You don’t want any of my drama.”

Jack’s gaze landed on the fiery heart tattoo. Well, he couldn’t forsake Matchmaking Matilda’s words now. Roxie was his mate. Grant’s mate. She was the one who could complete their sacred triad and insure harmony for the Earth Pack. His nostrils flared as he scented her, tasting the air around her.

Werewolf.

She put her hands on her hips—her lovely, lovely hips—and stared at him. Her breasts jiggled enticingly, giving the impression they might fall out of the top.

“You want to tell me what happened?” he asked.

“Yeah, sure. Why not? I mean, who are you, but a complete stranger?” She looked him over, her own nostrils flaring. She eyed him, her gaze scraping along his torso in a way that made him want to flex his muscles and show off. He barely resisted the urge. “Werewolf,” she said. “What pack?”

“Earth,” he said.

“Earth, huh?” A smile flickered. “I heard you guys are a little kinky.”

“Kinky?”

“Yeah. That whole two alphas sharing one mate thing you have going on.”

“The alpha triad is an integral part of our culture, yes. It creates protection, harmony, harvest, and children.”

“Wow. No pressure there.”

She didn’t sound too enamored of the Earth Pack’s governing structure. Well, he’d deal with that later. “Tell me why you were tied up.”

“Well, Jack, the short version is that I disassociated from my pack, and they weren’t too thrilled with me leaving. Let’s just say their retrieval team is Douchebag City. One of their goons caught me and tied me to the tree.”

“Why didn’t he just take you with him?”

“I grabbed his junk so hard, I made him cry. That was after I scratched up his face and bit his hand.”

“Ah. So, he made the wise decision to tie you up and go get help.”

“Yep. And that’s why we should vamoose.”

“Let me take you to breakfast.”

The idea did not thrill her if the expression on her face was any indication.

“You can tell me the full story. I’m an Earth Pack mediator. I’ll negotiate your release and get you officially emancipated.”

She chuckled, but shook her head. “You Earths are adorable.”

Jack opened his arms in a beseeching gesture, giving her his most soulful look.

“Oh, you’re good.” She stepped forward, presumably to leave, but then her eyes went wide. She fell forward into Jack’s outstretched arms.

His hand slid up her thigh as she knocked him down. Jack wrapped his other arm around her waist and felt her hands clutch his shoulders. He smacked into the gritty beach so hard his lungs nearly collapsed.

Roxie lifted her head and glared at him. “Are you seriously copping a feel?

He flexed automatically on the nicely rounded flesh. “It appears so.”

Her green eyes were flecked with gold. She had ivory skin and a full mouth, the kind that begged to be kissed.

“You’re incorrigible,” she said, her lips quivering to prevent her smile.

“Yeah. I’m lots of other things, too.”

“Horny must be one of them.”

Her amused words infiltrated his lust-fogged thoughts. She was referring to the hard-on that pressed against her stomach.

“I’m very, very, very attracted to you.”

“Wow.” She rolled off and got to her feet. “Was the breakfast going to be in bed?”

“Only if you want it to be.” He stood up and touched her elbow. “Why don’t you let me help you?”

“Take off my clothes?”

“With your pack problem.”

“God, you’re cute.” She shook her head. “Fine. You want to know the deal? I’m the daughter of the Blood Pack alpha—the only pup born of my mother’s union with mate number one twenty-two years ago. I didn’t get any siblings because right after I was born, he offed himself in a dare contest. He got on a motorcycle and played chicken with a canyon wall. The wall won.”

“I’m sorry.”

“If you want to be. I didn’t know him, and Mom moved on to mate number two, an asshat named Cody whose only decent skill was keeping my mother’s temper in check. He disappeared, and Mom lost her mind. I took the opportunity to get the hell out. That was a month ago, and I haven’t been back since.” She blew out an aggravated breath. “Being in the Blood Pack is bad enough for women. Being the daughter of an alpha is worse. I’m the prize in the Suitor’s Brawl.”

Jack absorbed her information, sifting through the various pieces until a picture emerged. “The Suitor’s Brawl,” he said. “Those events are quite … er, legendary among the other packs.”

“Barbaric and idiotic are better descriptions.”

“You came of age at eighteen … but you’re twenty-two now?”

“I avoided the brawl then because I went to college. It was a hard sell because the Bloods aren’t really thinkers. Beating the crap out of someone gives you a lot more cred than engaging in a reasoned argument. But I managed to sway my Mom. I promised to come back and be a good little pack member after I graduated.” She scrunched her nose. “The Bloods were violent, crazy thugs before I left—and when I returned, they had devolved into worse.”

“You evolved into someone better,” said Jack. “It must’ve been difficult growing up in such wild place.”

“It wasn’t completely awful. Autonomy is big there, and one of the reasons the pack isn’t particularly cohesive,” she said. “But it’s not the life I wanted. Still isn’t. And that’s why Sara and company are here no doubt—to ensure I stick around to be the prize.”

The Suitor’s Brawl was problematic. It was as important to the Blood Pack as the Choosing ceremony was to the Shadows and the Winters. The Earth Pack had a more organic approach to mating, thus the consultation with crystals and dead matchmakers. All the same, negotiating Roxie’s freedom would not be possible. Her mother, Karen, was well-known for being a cut-first-beat-questions-out-of-you-later type of alpha.

It was time for bold action.

“Mating would remove your viability as the Suitor’s Brawl prize.”

Roxie stared at him. “Mating. Um … with you?”

And Grant. “It solves your problem.”

“No offense, but you’d be Blood chow before you even scented me.”

“I don’t think so, Roxie. I’m the alpha.”

“You’re the alpha?” She hesitated. “You mean you’re one of the alphas.” She considered him once more, and if he wasn’t mistaken, her gaze lingered seconds too long on his swim trunks. “Where’s the other one?”

“Making his muscles bigger,” said Jack dolefully. “Grant likes to work out.”

“You don’t exactly look like a slouch in that department.”

Her compliment pleased Jack. “Thank you.”

“Look, why the hell would you and muscle-man even think about mating with me? I bet they’re lined up at your door with the preacher in tow.”

“Actually, they’re not. In my pack, there aren’t any females of suitable age who are not already promised or married.” He reached out and stroked her tattoo. “Our pack psychic consulted with Matchmaking Matilda. She said we needed to come here, and that our mate would be a woman with a fiery heart.”

“Uh, yeah. Matilda sounds nutballs.”

“She was—and even more so since she died. But when it comes to mate choosing, she’s never been wrong.”

“Let me get this straight. A crazy dead lady told the Earth Pack alphas to come to Vegas and marry a woman with a fiery heart.”

“Yep.”

“Huh. And you think that’s me?”

“Roxanne!”

The strident female voice had them both turning. A blonde dressed like she was an extra from a Mad Max movie—along with three bigger, broader males who seemed to collectively agree wearing black leather in summertime Vegas was a good idea—hurried toward them.

“Don’t you dare move, you bitch!” screamed the blonde.

“We should probably run,” said Roxanne. She turned and hauled ass. Jack wasn’t about to lose her, even if it meant fending off Blood Pack members. He followed her across the fake beach toward an Exit door that blended into the fake ocean wall.

Shit. What had he gotten himself—and by default, Grant—into with the curvy, tattooed beauty?

2

GRANT WELLS INSERTED the key card to the hotel suite. He was hot, sweaty, and wanted a shower. He’d taken his T-shirt off and wore it slung over his shoulder. He’d gotten some interest in the gym from females and, if he were honest, a couple dudes, too. Not one of ’em had a fiery heart. Of any kind. He looked. On clothing. On skin. On iPods. He even tried to take it to a symbolic level with maybe someone acting fiery-hearted (whatever the hell that meant). Nothing. Nada. Zip.

This whole fucking thing was stupid.

The light went green and he heard the door click. He pushed it open.

“Grant!”

At the sound of Jack’s harried voice, he looked over his shoulder. His co-alpha ran down the hallway, followed by a curvy, red-headed babe dressed in a black bikini. Her breasts bounced in the most beautiful way as she jogged behind Jack.

Holy crap.

“Get in, damn it.” Jack nearly rammed him through the door as he and the mystery woman piled in behind him. Jack turned and made sure the door was shut tight and then engaged the other safety locks.

“What’s going on?” asked Grant. He sniffed the air. The female was a werewolf. He could practically taste her panic. Jack’s vibe was no better.

“Marriage?” The red-head grinned at him, all attitude and fire. She was good at hiding her fear. With that delicious body she could probably distract the freakin’ pope. There. Above awesome breast number one: A heart tattoo with a fiery sword plunged through it.

“She’s the one?” asked Grant.

“I think so.”

“Suits me.” He strode to the red-head, ready to test their attraction level, but she threw her arms up.

“Don’t make me punch you,” she warned. “I don’t even know if I like you yet.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Grant, grinning. He loved a woman with a mouth on her. One he couldn’t easily boss around. “Let’s keep her.”

“Okay, but we might have to fight the entire Blood Pack.”

Grant’s ardor immediately dimmed. “Shit. You’re a Blood?”

“Alpha’s daughter,” added Jack as he strode by and headed toward the wet bar.

“Your Karen’s kid?”

“Don’t look so surprised,” she said snidely. “I hide all my malformations.”

Grant gave her the slow onceover, and then his eyebrow winged up. “Where?”

“I think I will punch you.”

“Bring it, babe.”

“Let’s save that shit for the honeymoon,” said Jack. Ice clinked into an old-fashioned glass and he poured three fingers of single-malt Scotch. “She’s in trouble.”

Grant winked at her, his fiery-hearted bride, and joined his best friend for some booze. He was more a beer guy, so he rounded the bar and pulled open the mini-fridge. He grabbed a bottle of black lager. “You want something, sweetheart?”

“My name is Roxie. Bourbon. Straight-up.”

Grant chuckled. “Bourbon for the lady.” He made her drink, leaving out the bottle. He had a feeling she’d want more than one. He opened his beer and leaned back, sipping on it while Jack filled him in on Miss Trouble. When he was done, Grant shook his head.

“Damn. I know Karen has a rep for being a bi—er, bad ass,” said Grant. “But would she really throw you to the wolves, Roxie?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s what her dad did when he was alpha. My father won her in the Suitor’s Brawl and nine months later, I arrived.”

“He died right after Roxie was born. He crashed his motorcycle into a canyon wall,” inserted Jack.

Grant nodded. No daddy. No-good mom. Roxie had it tough, so she became tough.

“A couple months later, my grandfather’s fourth mate killed him—and my Mom killed her. She became alpha and mated with Cody, who is the biggest asshat of the Blood Pack.”

“You’re the only child?”

“The only daughter. I have a couple of half-brothers. Crawl is a fucking idiot. Yes, his name is Crawl,” she said, answering Grant’s question before it could leave his lips. “Cody named him. I was a little over a year old when Crawl was born. A year after that, Derek came into the world, and Mom put the kibosh on having more babies. Cody took Crawl under his wing, and ignored me and Derek. Mom didn’t really care if we were around or not. So, me and Derek kinda raised each other.” She paused to finish the bourbon. Grant poured her another, and she nodded her thanks. “Derek was the one who convinced Mom that me going to college was a good idea, and then he joined the Marines. He thought going to war in another country gave him a higher survival rate than living in the Blood Pack.”

“Sounds brutal,” said Grant. “I’m sorry.”

She shrugged. “Thanks, but that’s my past. I’m more worried about my future.”

“Sounds like marrying us is your best way out of the Suitor’s Brawl.” Grant finished his beer and tossed it into the trash can under the counter. “I’m going to take a shower.” He shared a look with Jack. He tried to mentally convey one thought: Convince her, dude.

Grant liked Roxie, and he figured that was enough of a foundation to build the alpha triad for the Earth Pack. Jack was more of a thinker, and that was okay. When his friend took to over-thinking things, which was a lot, Grant could step in and get the ball rolling. And when Grant’s first reaction was to barrel into a situation fists flying, which was also a lot, Jack pulled him back. They made a good team—and Roxie would be part of that.

He’d been ready to take the final step for a while. He had faith in the triad, in the Earth Pack, and even in dead Matilda.

All they had to do now was convince Roxie.

Jack found her, so he got the first move. But when it was Grant’s turn … he grinned. He couldn’t wait to see what he and Miss Trouble would do together.

* * *

“MAYBE YOU JUST need convincing.” The rich timbre of Jack’s voice had a sensual quality that made Roxie’s nerves prickle. They both leaned against the wet bar, sipping on their drinks. He put down his glass and plucked hers out of her hand.

The lazy intent glittering in his hazel eyes warned her, but before she could protest, he lowered his head and pressed warm, soft lips against her mouth.

Shocked into stillness, Roxie didn’t move—not even when Jack pulled her closer and deepened the kiss. He tasted of scotch, which wasn’t bad, and his lips did not demand, but coaxed. Her breasts pressed against the hard planes of his chest and her nipples hardened.

Damn, it had been a long time since she’d been kissed. And she couldn’t remember the experience ever being like this. His tongue flicked the corner of her mouth, and a jolt of electricity zapped the pit of her stomach. With that opening salvo, he invaded, his tongue tangling with hers.

Heat coiled her belly and sparked every nerve ending. Arousal liquefied her body, clouded her mind, and dissolved her doubts.

This was what she’d been looking for. Only she hadn’t known it. She’d never really belonged in the Blood Pack. College had been great, but had only filled part of her restless longing to be part of something that mattered.

This experience, this feeling, this need to be fulfilled … well, damn if Jack wasn’t doing a good job of giving it to her.

He stopped kissing her, his breathing erratic as he looked at her and grinned. She hung onto Jack’s shoulders, trying to calm her galloping heart rate. Feeling shaky, Roxie let go of him and touched her mouth, and felt the swelling of her throbbing lips.

God, he was so cute. No, cute wasn’t the right word. He was freaking gorgeous. And Grant? He was a looker, too. Bigger, more muscled, and probably a beast in the sack.

Both of these alphas were panty-melters.

Jack’s face was all sharp angles, softened only by the fullness of his mouth and the warmth sparkling in his hazel eyes. His longish blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail. She wondered what it looked like down … what it might feel like in her hands. Muscled. God, he was muscled. The fit of his swim trunks would be declared illegal in some states.

“Thanks for saving me,” she finally managed to say. “Twice.”

He clasped her wrists and tugged her forward. “Let me scent you.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Scenting is only intent—it’s not true mating. You know that. It’ll give you some protection.” He brushed back her hair. “Would it be so bad to become ours? The Earth Pack is great. We have a beautiful farming community in Oregon. No brawls. No jostling for position within the pack. It’s a different life. A good one.”

It sounded wonderful. Really, her reluctance made no sense, other than feeling like she didn’t have any control over her life anymore. Maybe being in college had given her that illusion. Returning home to her distant mother and raging asshole step-father, not to mention her cruel and stupid brother, had been a bucket of cold water tossed right onto her goddamned ambitions. Somehow, she had convinced herself that with a sociology degree in hand, she could change the Blood Pack’s brutal structure. In the end, though, it boiled down to a little girl wanting her mother to love her. Yeah. Roxie wanted her mother to be different.

Mom would never change.

But Roxie could. She had.

“Roxie?”

She looked at Jack, at his longing, his concern, his gentleness. He would bring her pleasure, she knew it. And Grant—he wasn’t a peaceful man. But he was strong. And she needed strength as much as she needed gentleness.

“Maybe … just scenting.”

He smiled, and his hazel eyes dark with desire. Her heart trilled. Was that the beat of fear? Or of longing? Both, she decided.

Jack dropped to his knees and grasped her hips. He pressed his mouth to the vee of her thighs. Roxie almost fell over. Oh. My. God. His accuracy was uncanny. Shock and pleasure reverberated in her core as she tried to form an objection.

The wet warmth of his lips penetrated the thin material. His breath fluttered through the barriers. She grabbed his shoulders and steadied herself. Was this happening? Really?

He looked up at her.

“Last chance,” he said, his voice hoarse with need. “Do you want me to stop?”

* * *

JACK WAITED AN eternity for Roxie’s answer, but she finally said, “No.”

Relief flooded him, followed by white-hot lust. Jack eased the bikini bottom down her thighs, exposing her smooth, well-trimmed pussy. “That’s a beautiful sight.”

The spice of her sex was ambrosia. He leaned forward and kissed the spot just above her crease. The mere pressing of his lips against her warm skin sent sparks of hot desire shooting through him. Dragging his tongue down the slender line, he feasted on her plump, slick flesh.

He dipped inside, tasting her feminine essence. Then he skimmed along her slick folds until he reached her clitoris. He flicked the swollen nub.

She moaned.

He slid two fingers inside her wet heat and curled them upward.

“Oh, God,” she cried. “What … is … that?”

Bingo. Houston, I’ve found the G-spot. He stroked that bump eagerly. He looked up and noted with satisfaction that her eyes were closed and her face was flushed.

He captured her clit between his lips and sucked on the sweet little nub. He gladly accepted the assault of her fingers digging into his skull as he both pleasured and scented her. He re-settled his hands onto her ass and gorged on the nirvana that was Roxie. He could’ve stayed there forever, licking her and tasting her, but he needed to wait for Grant before he brought her to orgasm.

Both of their scents needed to be on her so that anyone werewolf within sniffing distance would know Roxie belonged to them both, and therefore belonged to the Earth Pack. It was the strongest protection they could give her—until she mated fully with them both.

“Oh, hell yeah.” Grant’s voice infiltrated Jack’s thrumming lust. His wolf wanted to howl and claim Roxie right now.

Grant knelt next to him. He was still wet and only had a towel wrapped around his waist. Jack didn’t want to relinquish his spot, but since his fingers were already inside Roxie, stroking the tender flesh, he moved his mouth to her thigh, and lightly bit her.

She moaned.

Grant pressed his face against her well-soaked pussy, and began to lick. The men held onto to Roxie’s thighs as Jack worked his fingers in and out of her, and Grant suckled her clit.

“Yes! Oh, God!” Roxie now clutched at both of them—her fingers tangled into Jack’s soft blond hair and pulling at Grant’s wet brown strands. Her thighs began to quiver, and she cried out as the orgasm overtook her.

Grant got the first taste of nectar, but he moved his lips over her hip, kissing her trembling flesh, so that Jack could partake of Roxie, too. Jack sucked on her swollen flesh, enjoying the way her pussy sucked at his fingers, the way she moaned as his tongue quickly pushed into another orgasm.

Jack removed his fingers, and he and Grant both offered Roxie twin kisses on her hips, before getting to their feet.

Roxie stared at them, her eyes still glazed with lust, her thighs glistening with the evidence of her pleasure. She tugged up her bottoms as they watched her. Jack’s entire body quivered with lust. His cock pressed painfully against the netting in his swim trunks. He knew Grant wanted her, too.

Jack wanted to worship Roxie like the goddess she was. He wanted to kiss every inch of flesh, memorize every curve, and if she granted him the right, plunge his aching cock inside her. If she agreed to mate with him and Grant, they would take her fully, both at the same time, so that the triad would be complete.

He wanted to draw her into his embrace, but she looked skittish. He opted for smoothing a loose curl away from her cheek.

Grant, who was as subtle as brick smashing into your face, said, “Let’s fuck.”

“Aw. Such a romantic.” Roxie offered shaky laugh. She turned, obviously unsettled, and walked to the nearby couch. She flopped onto it and sighed. “I have no idea if this is the right thing to do, or not. I mean, if Mom’s feeling bitchy enough, she’ll send brawlers to mess up those pretty faces. She might even send brawlers to the Earth Pack just to fuck with you.”

“So, you’d rather run away?” asked Jack.

“No, not really. I want to settle down. Use my degree somehow. Be part of something.”

“Be part of the Earth Pack.” Grant sat next to her. “You can’t get more settled down than an Oregon farming community.”

“Sure, it would be great for me. But, hel-lo, have you met the Bloods? They’re assholes. I think the Earths deserve better than what I can offer you.” She twisted her hands and chewed her bottom lip.

Jack thought she looked adorable. He sat on the other side of her, and there she was, between him and Grant, the bridge between the alphas, the completion of their sacred triad. “We can handle the Bloods. The only real question is this: Do you want to be our mate?”

“Jeez! Maybe we should date first,” said Roxie. She looked down at her hands, obviously discombobulated.

Over Roxie’s bowed head, Jack looked at Grant. They’d gotten pretty good at knowing each other’s thoughts. Grant gave him a slight nod, which Jack knew meant the ball was in his court.

“It’ll be okay,” said Grant as he stood up. “No matter what you decide, we’ll help you. One way or another, Roxie, I promise that you’ll be free of the Bloods.” He reached down and patted Roxie’s leg like she was a sad poodle. Jack rolled his eyes. His best friend had never been very good at comforting people. He was better at pummeling them.

“Thanks,” said Roxie. “You can stop patting me now.”

Grant acquiesced and stepped back. “I’m starving. I’m going to get something to eat and figure out where the Bloods are right now. We’re on the VIP floor, so they can’t get direct access to us. Still, I don’t like them sniffing around. Why don’t you stay here until we figure out the next move?”

“I really appreciate your help. I do. I’ve been staying at the hotel in a discounted room—I didn’t want to get a place yet. I was just trying to figure out what to do. I need my clothes, my purse—”

“No problem,” said Grant. “I’ll make sure all your things are transferred here.” With that promise, he loped off to his bedroom, located on the left side of the suite.

Jack’s bedroom was on the right. And he really wanted to take Roxie into it, peel off her swimming suit, and take her.

Oh, hell yeah.

“Okay if I shower?” she asked.

“Sure. Use Grant’s bathroom. I have one in my bedroom, too. We can both get showered up. I’ll order room service. You know what? Take a bath,” he suggested. “Pamper yourself. Relax as much as you can.”

Roxie smiled. “I could get used to two gorgeous men taking care of me all the time.”

“The benefits of the alpha triad are many,” he said. “And believe me, Grant and I would love to take care of you—in every way possible.”

“Hmm.” She leaned over and kissed him. “Thank you, Jack.”

He watched her leave the living area and head toward Grant’s bedroom. He walked out fully dressed as she walked in, pausing to give him a kiss, too. He thought about joining her, offering to rub—well, everything—and giving in to his baser urges.

Given the look on Grant’s face as he watched their mate saunter into his bedroom, his best friend had the same thoughts.

“Whew,” said Grant. “I want her.”

“I want her, too.”

“Well, work on sealing the deal, would you?” Grant headed toward the door. “I’ll get her stuff sent up, and then I’ll track down the Bloods.”

“Recon only,” said Jack. “Get us information. No fists of werewolf fury, all right?”

Grant shrugged. “Sure. Whatever.”

Grant left, and Jack knew there was a 50-50 chance Grant would not punch a Blood in his gonads. But Grant could handle himself.

It was Jack who drifted in uncharted waters.

Hmm. What did an alpha have to do to convince a girl to mate with him and his best friend?

3

JACK TOWELED OFF his hair, the last thing he needed to dry before getting dressed. Roxie’s things had arrived while she was still in the bath, so he’d put the tidily packed suitcases and boxes in Grant’s room where she’d see them when she finished. He tossed the damp towel under the sink and grabbed the terry cloth robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door. He put it on, cinching the belt tight, and began to consider what to order from room service.

He was starving—and they’d moved past breakfast and right into lunch.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

He strode across the room and flung open the door.

Roxie. Beautiful, curvaceous, luscious Roxie. She wore a pair of tight jeans and a glitzy halter top. Her feet were clasped in zebra-print high heels. Big gold hoops dangled from her lobes.

“Hi. I thought you’d like to see what I looked like dressed.”

“You look amazing,” he said. “But nothing beats naked. I like naked a lot.”

“Yeah? Me, too. Can I come in?”

He moved out of the way, and she sashayed inside.

He watched Roxie wander around the room.

Decorated in dark blue and silver, from the navy carpet to the striped couch, the room, like the entire suite, was both luxurious and comfortable. Cherry wood end tables, each with a thin silver lamp, graced both sides of the huge, circular bed.

She walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows and pushed aside the black-out curtains. Jack joined her, and they stood side-by-side and stared at the Las Vegas Strip. It looked less glitzy during the day when the desert sun beat down on the buildings and the people like a Mafia enforcer. In daylight, you could see the grit, the dirt, the underbelly. It was hot and ugly out there without the cover of night and bright, shiny lights to hide the truth of the inhospitable land.

Jack felt Roxie’s gaze on him, so he turned to face her.

Her eyes flared with desire and his blood stirred. Jack grasped her arms and pulled her into his embrace. She looked at him, wide-eyed, anticipation and lust colliding in the depths of her gaze. He wanted her. She wanted him. It could be just that simple, if they let it.

He kissed her.

She responded passionately, her lips melting against his as her tongue dipped into his mouth.

He quivered. God, she made him hot, she made him want. One taste of Roxie would never be enough.

Her hands dove into his robe. Her palms coasted down his stomach, seeking the evidence of his desire. She gripped his cock and stroked.

“I want you,” she said in a husky voice. “Desperately.”

“Then you better get out of those clothes.”

She smiled, her eyes glittering with excitement. “That’s exactly what I plan to do.”

* * *

ROXIE’S HEART THUDDED from both exertion and sexual need. Ever since she met Jack, and then Grant, she couldn’t stop thinking about them naked. With her. She knew there was a whole big thing involved with being the mate of two alphas—and the responsibilities involved with running an Earth Pack. She loved the idea of joining a community that focused on contributing to society meaningfully. Being a member of the Blood Pack had made her wary of trusting anyone, even her own family. You either survived or you didn’t. If she and Derek hadn’t had each other growing up—well, they might not have made it past puberty.

Jack took her hand and pulled her onto the bed. His lips captured hers, his tongue slipping inside to ratchet up the heat. She melted into his arms and deepened their contact. He tasted like peppermint. She could smell the light scent of soap and the musky scent of sex.

Desire and need streaked through her, pooling wet and hot between her thighs. Reaching between them, she stroked his cock through the robe.

Roxie kissed his jaw, dragging her lips down his neck then back up again. Her fingers curled under the edges of the robe, which she opened to revealed his delicious body.

He sure was built. The man had nice abs. Brown hair lightly furred his pectorals and stomach. With lips and tongue, Roxie worked her way to his chest, taking a detour to one coin-sized areola and its tiny, hard peak. She tugged it between her teeth, flicking the tip rapidly. He groaned, his hands wrapping in her hair as she attacked his other nipple and gave it the same treatment.

“Roxie,” he murmured. “You feel so good.”

She moved further down his chest, exploring the muscled ridges of his stomach with hands and mouth.

Slipping to the floor, she knelt between his legs. She grasped his thick, hard shaft, loving the feel of it against her palm.

Cupping his balls, she squeezed lightly as she licked his mushroomed head, sucking it into her mouth. She swirled her tongue around the rim, flicking the tiny bumps on the underside. Her wolf growled in approval. What would it be like to run with him and Grant? To take their true forms and actually frolic in nature without worrying about being attacked by other pack members?

She couldn’t be that lucky, could she?

Jack’s breathing went ragged and his thighs tensed.

Roxie’s heart pounded frantically as lust thickened in her belly. She wanted Jack desperately. Her body hummed with need, with heat. The musky scent of his sex excited her. She went down on him all the way, sucking his manhood to the base as she fondled his sac.

Roxie was too impatient to mess around with pretty seduction. She was a born and bred werewolf—and she wasn’t shy, damn it. She gave her gorgeous alpha a down and dirty blow job, lubing his cock with her tongue as she went down on him again and again. He pumped into her mouth, his cock banging against the back of her throat, but she took him, took him all.

When he grabbed her hair, and growled … she let go and stood up.

He moaned in protest. His chest heaving, his cock thick and hard and glistening from her saliva. She could smell how much he wanted her, nearly taste it if she lapped at the air.

She’d rather lap at him.

Roxie got out of her clothes as fast as she could. He watched her with half-lidded eyes, his hand rubbing his shaft as she removed shoes, pants, shirt, and underwear.

Then she crawled onto his lap, and he helped guide his swollen member into her pussy. For a moment, she simply sat there and enjoyed the feel of his penetration as he stretched her, as he filled her.

Jack cupped her breasts, brushing the hard peaks with his thumbs. He sucked one into his mouth, licking it rapidly with his tongue.

Pleasure sparked through her.

“Oh, yeah,” she moaned. “I like that. Mmm.”

He switched nipples, sucking one and twisting the other. Fire raced from her breasts to her very core. Awash in sensations, she seemed to lose the ability to breathe, to think.

“Take me,” she whispered.

Jack didn’t need a second invitation. He cupped her buttocks, his gaze on hers as he thrust upward. Her knees dug into the mattress as she rode him.

He fell backwards onto the bed and she adjusted her position. He held onto her hips, thrusting, and she moved, too, taking him deep, hard, fast.

Oh, God! Her bliss erupted and shot her into the stars. Vaguely, she felt Jack’s deep thrust, his groan intertwining with her low cries, and then he came, too.

She floated back to earth and found herself in the embrace of an alpha. Whoa.

“You’re amazing,” murmured Jack.

“Yeah, and you’re crazy.” She snuggled against him. “Will Grant mind?”

“Mind what?”

“That we had sex without him.”

Jack laughed. “Not as long as he gets a turn with you.” He kissed her forehead. “When we mate, we’ll both take you. You’ll be our wife then, body, soul, mind.”

“I can’t believe I’m even considering this.” She sighed. “I mean, how do you guys share a mate? I think I’m getting the better end of the deal.”

Jack smoothed her hair. “Three is a very powerful number in the Earth Pack. It’s sacred. It goes way back to when the various packs broke away from the main tribe. We’ve had a triad leading our pack since … well, forever. It’s the natural order. I promise, Roxie, Grant and I won’t fight over you. We’re already a team. We’ve been co-alphas of the Earth Pack for a couple of years—and we were raised together.”

“Brothers?” She turned onto her side and looked at him, her eyes wide.

“Yes … and no. My fathers and my mother were the triad alphas. Grant was a foundling. He was four, I think, when someone dropped him off at the gates of the pack’s farm. We don’t know anything about his past—who abandoned him or why. I had just turned six years old when my parents adopted him. So, we were raised as brothers, and we were raised to be the alphas.”

“What happened to your parents—to the three of them?”

“Oh. They retired. They bought a private island in the Caribbean and live happily together. Mom says they spend most of their days naked on the beach.” He shuddered. “She loves telling me and Grant about things we don’t want to know about our parents.”

Roxie laughed. “She sounds awesome.”

“She’ll like you,” said Jack.

“Maybe.” Roxie still wasn’t convinced mating the Earth Pack alphas was the right thing to do—for any of them. She liked Jack. They had serious sparks together. She wasn’t sure how she felt about Grant, but she suspected bedding him would be spectacular. And having the two of them together? God, a werewolf could melt from that kind of ecstasy.

Whew.

Bing. Bing. Bing.

“What’s that?” asked Roxie.

“Phone,” said Jack. He rolled into a sitting position, got up, and went to the bathroom. He returned with his cell. “It’s Grant,” he said, placing the device to his ear. “Hey, dude.”

Roxie watched Jack’s face go from relaxed to furious. “Where is he?” He listened for a few seconds. “Fine. We’ll see you in ten minutes.”

Her heart started to pound. She sat up; her worried gaze snagged Jack’s. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“That was Sara from the Blood Pack. They’ve got Grant.” Jack tossed the phone onto the night stand and stomped to the closet. “I told him to gather information, not to engage with them. He’s so goddamned stubborn.”

Roxie got dressed, matching Jack’s speed. Oh, crap. Crap! She knew something like this was going to happen. Nothing she touched—no one she cared about—could escape the taint of her Blood Pack heritage.

“We need to go.” Jack grabbed her hand, and they hurried to the suite’s door. She tugged on him, and he paused. The muscle in his jaw ticked as he stared at her.

She swallowed the sudden knot in her throat. “What are we doing?” she asked. “What’s the plan?”

“Oh, it’s pretty fucking simple.” He pulled her close, keeping her wrist snared in his hand. “The only way to make sure Grant stays alive is to give them … you.”

4

“I SHOULD’VE NEVER gotten you and Grant involved,” said Roxie. “This sucks.”

“Don’t worry,” reassured Jack as they hurried down the hotel hallway. “We’ll figure out a way to get Grant back.”

“We already have a way,” said Roxie. Luckily, they didn’t have to wait for an elevator. The sleek metal doors slid open immediately. They hustled inside and Jack punched the Lobby button. The elevator began to descend.

“I’m not handing over you,” said Jack. “You’re our mate.”

“Not yet,” said Roxie. “Look, the Blood Pack doesn’t mess around. My mom’s a little nutballs, especially after Cody bailed. The only way to make sure Grant stays safe is if I go home and take my medicine.”

“No.”

The doors opened and they strode into the lobby. Like most Las Vegas resorts, the lobby was pure luxury, from the marble floors, to the skyscraper ceilings to the over-the-top décor. The only difference between the Drift Resort and other hotel-casinos was that most of the staff and the guests were shifters.

“Where do we meet them?” asked Roxie.

“The parking lot.” The lot was attached to the hotel on the side, and like most Vegas parking lots, it was a huge tower of concrete and blacktop.

Her stomach felt like she’d swallowed stones. Dread clutched at her. She would never forgive herself if Grant got hurt because of her. She knew better than to bring in outsiders, even if they were wolf shifters, to Blood Pack business.

“Grant!” Jack’s surprised voice jolted Roxie out of her thoughts. She looked around the crowded lobby and within seconds saw Grant striding toward them—without Sara or any Blood Pack members in tow. He had cuts and bruises on his face, but they were fading fast, thanks to the healing prowess of shifters. Still, it looked like he’d taken quite the beating.

He joined them, his expression pure pissed-off.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Fuckers caught me, that’s what.”

“I told you not to engage with them,” said Jack. The relief in his voice belied the censure of his words.

“They cornered me.”

“Wait a minute. How did they know you were with me?” asked Roxie.

“They saw Jack with you. Made inquiries. Figured out he was Earth Pack co-alpha, and then it was just a matter of tracking one of us down.” He clenched his jaw. “They held me hostage in some piece of shit car.”

She reached out and grabbed his arm. “I’m glad you got away. How many of them did you kill?”

He snorted. “I didn’t. They let me go. That Sara bitch got a call from someone named Rick. The next thing I know, I’m being tossed on my ass, and they take off. Not even a kiss good-bye.”

“Rick is Sara’s brother,” said Roxie. She frowned. “He’s my mother’s beta—a lawyer here in Las Vegas. He’s a bigger asshole than Sara, trust me.” Something big was happening if Rick was involved. He didn’t like getting his hands dirty—that was Sara’s job. Dragging the alpha’s daughter back for the Suitor’s Brawl had taken a backseat to a bigger priority. Roxie had no clue what that could be—and frankly, she couldn’t care less.

“They’ll be back for me,” said Roxie. “So, look. Thanks for your help. I appreciate the offer to mate with me, but obviously that’s more trouble than you want.”

“Don’t tell us what we want,” said Grant. He leaned forward and sniffed. His eyes widened. “You two had sex. Without me.”

Roxie blushed to the roots of her hair. Oh, hell.

“We can’t all three have sex unless she mates with us,” said Jack. “You know how the triad works.”

Grant lifted an eyebrow. “Well, I’d like to test my own compatibility with Roxie.”

“Did you two miss the part where I’m trying to gracefully exit this situation? My mom isn’t going to let this go, no matter what’s gotten her attention now. Believe me. My best bet is to leave Vegas and stay off the radar.”

“Until when?” demanded Jack.

“Until it’s safe,” said Roxie, which, of course, would be never. Mom was stubborn and she no doubt viewed Roxie’s running away as a personal insult. She didn’t like anything, or anyone, who made her look weak, and her own daughter ditching the Suitor’s Brawl was a punch in the face.

She really should’ve gotten further away than Las Vegas. But she didn’t have friends, and she hadn’t traveled much—only going to California with her brother Derek a handful of times. They had fun going to the beach, but honestly, she would never be a surfer girl. She liked the land far more than she did the ocean. Damn. She wished Derek were here. He always knew what to say, how to make her feel better. She missed him so much.

“Roxie.” Jack took her hand. “If you don’t want to mate with us, then okay. But don’t think that you going off on your own will somehow protect us. We want you. We’ll be your safety. Your shelter. The Earth Pack chooses peaceful measures whenever possible, but we’re not weak. We can hold our own—even with the Blood Pack.”

Grant took her other hand. “You’re gorgeous. Smart. Strong. We know you’re not some delicate flower who can’t take care of herself. Jack’s right. We want you.”

“Because the very dead Matilda the Matchmaker says so?” she asked.

“Because our hearts tell us so,” said Jack.

“And other important body parts,” added Grant. He offered her a wolfish grin.

Roxie couldn’t help but laugh. How could she not consider the possibility of marrying these two men? She’d gone to college because she loved learning and wanted to make a difference in her pack. But she couldn’t help anyone who didn’t want it. And Mom and the Blood Pack were fine with violent chaos. Right now, Roxie only knew what she didn’t want: life in the Blood Pack. She would be able to contribute something of value to the Earth Pack. With Jack and Grant, she would create connections in a true community and actually experience soul-deep peace. And Roxie wanted that.

She wanted them.

Were Jack and Grant truly the solution to her problem? It wasn’t like she could change her mind later. What little she knew about the Earth Pack included that the alphas mated for life, and the triad could only be broken by death.

“Roxie?” Jack’s gentle tone drew her away from her jumbled thoughts and swirling doubts. She looked at him then at Grant.

They both squeezed her hands, their expressions mirroring the same hope.

She nodded. “I’ll be your mate.” She blew out a breath. “What we do now?”

Grant smiled. “We go on a date.”

* * *

“YOU’RE SAFE,” SAID Lara. “The brawl’s been called off.”

Roxie clutched at the cell phone and paced Jack’s room. She glanced at the closed doors. She’d asked for privacy to make this call. Lara was the only friend she had left in the Blood Pack. At sixteen, Lara survived the fire that killed her parents and younger sister. Even with the superior genetics of shifters, Lara was unable to completely heal. Her scarred flesh made her undesirable as a mate, but she had other gifts that made her valuable to Pack leadership. She was probably the only female werewolf in Blood Pack history immune from its barbarism.

“Do you know why?” asked Roxie.

“No,” said Lara. “I don’t think your mom’s been sober since Cody disappeared.” She inhaled a deep breath. “He’s dead.”

“What?” Roxie had no love for her stepfather, but his death still came as a shock. She pressed a trembling hand against her belly. “How did he die?”

“I don’t know. My guess is badly.”

“How’s Mom?” Roxie asked the question out of rote. She knew well the folly of trying to care about her mother. Karen exploited all weaknesses, including emotional ones, to get what she wanted. She was the most ruthless person Roxie had ever known—second only to Crawl, who learned too well the brutish tactics honed by Mom.

“Your mother is a complete mess, so Rick is dealing with the situation. Crawl is either drinking or fighting. There will be a change in leadership soon. I don’t know who—that part’s fuzzy.”

Roxie went cold. Lara’s psychic powers were unparalleled. After the fire, she displayed the first vestiges of what became her major strength. It was as if her brain had increased her mental capacity to make up for her injured body. Lara was never wrong. The only frustrating part for her was that she couldn’t use her gift to find her family’s killer. When it came to Lara—her past, her present, and her future—she could discern nothing.

Mom probably wasn’t in any state to fight off a takeover. Shit. If Roxie’s brother became the new leader, the Blood Pack would be worse off than it was now. If the beta Rick tried to take the reigns, there would be a blood bath. He was an ambitious asshole, and he’d been eyeing the alpha position for a while. Her Mom knew that, of course, because Karen assumed everyone wanted to be alpha. She’d kept Rick on a leash, mainly because as a lawyer, he could protect pack members in the human court system.

Roxie was glad she’d left home. And Derek was out of there, too, although not necessarily safer. That left the last Blood Pack member she cared about—Lara.

“You should take a vacation,” said Roxie.

“I’m okay,” said Lara. “I’ll be protected because I’m valuable. Even Crawl won’t hurt me.”

Lara scared Crawl, but only Lara knew why and she wouldn’t say. Crawl wasn’t so thickheaded that he didn’t understand Lara’s usefulness. All the same, he always gave her wide berth. Lara refused to leave the Blood Pack for a number of reasons. The foremost one was that she’d spent the last six years trying to find out who set the fire that killed her family. But though she didn’t exactly have acceptance in the Blood Pack, it was more than she felt she’d get in other Packs or in the human world. Lara’s outside scars were nowhere near as bad as those on her insides.

“No one will look for you,” said Lara. “They’re too busy. You know how it is around here during a regime change.”

“What if you could go somewhere safe?” asked Roxie. She was sure Jack and Grant would give Lara protection. “I have connections with the Earth Pack now. You could live on their farm in Oregon.”

“I can’t leave,” her friend said. “I’m getting closer to answers, Roxie. When I have them, I’ll take you up on that offer.”

Roxie blew out a breath. She knew how stubborn her friend could be. Lara was smart, and despite her reputation as physically inferior, she was one of the strongest people Roxie knew. No, Lara wasn’t weak, but she let the Blood Pack think so. Werewolves didn’t mess with her so long as she didn’t pose a threat to their own position in the pack.

“Stay safe,” said Roxie.

“You, too,” said Lara. “Congratulations, by the way.”

“For what?”

Lara laughed. “Hel-lo. Remember me, the psychic? You’re getting married.”

“Don’t tell anyone!”

“Cross my heart. But you better tell Derek, or he’ll come back from Afghanistan just to kick your ass.”

“I’ll tell him, but it’s not easy to get in touch with him.”

“He’ll resurface soon,” said Lara. “Take care, Roxie. We’ll see each other again.”

Roxie said good-bye and ended the call.

She sat on the bed, and tried to gather her thoughts. The brawl was off. Technically, she no longer needed the protection of the Earth Pack alphas. She still wanted them, though. She still wanted a place to belong and people to love.

Without the possibility of her mother’s wrath and the potential of the goon squad returning, she was left with a question: Did she want to mate with Jack and Grant?

Yes.

Yes, she did.

5

WHEN HE AND ROXIE arrived at the supper club called Gaze, Grant studied the nondescript building. It was square, white, and windowless. The only indication that they were at the right place was the blue-neon sign above the double doors. He hoped he’d made a decent first date choice, although calling this a first date bordered on ridiculous. Roxie belong to him and Jack. He knew it the same way Jack knew it.

Grant realized that Roxie probably thought of the triad as a strange relationship. Most people and shifters outside of the Earth Pack didn’t have a true understanding of the spiritual, mental, and physical strength imbued by the power of three. He’d seen the triad in action many times growing up and he had faith in the sacred power that came with its leadership and unconditional love.

Roxie offered him a smile, and he felt heat burst low in his belly. She was curvy. Lush. Gorgeous. He wanted her naked and sweaty and growling. Hopefully, tonight. If she kept looking at him like that, it might be now. On the floor. With human witnesses.

Whoa. He needed to take it down a notch.

A blonde hostess led them into a foyer with teak walls, marble floor, and low lighting. Several other couples waited there as well. After a few more people arrived, the hostess opened another set of double doors and they all filed inside.

The room was square and plain. Its only decoration was the soft glow of blue lighting. Long, cushioned benches lined the left and right walls. Every five feet was a large, square table.

They were escorted to their designated table and sat hip-to-hip on the bench. Inset in the middle of the table was a bucket filled with ice and a bottle of champagne. There were fluted glasses and two folded cloth napkins, but no silverware or plates.

“No menus?” asked Roxie.

“According to the website, the chef chooses everything—from the appetizer to the dessert. It’s always different.”

“Well, this should be an adventure. I hope there’s meat. I’m starving.”

“Me, too.” Grant let his expression tell her that he was hungry all right. For her.

She grinned.

At least forty-feet yawned between them and the other side of the room. In the center of the bare floor was a long, low stage, where he assumed the show would be performed. Gaze offered a sexy dinner show that was renowned in Las Vegas and it was difficult as fuck to get a reservation. Luckily, he knew people who knew people. It helped, too, that he had deep pockets.

Grant tugged the champagne out of its bucket, noting that its cork was already gone. The staff probably opened all the champagne bottles right before seating everyone.

He poured the golden liquid into the glasses. Then he returned the bottle and picked up his glass. “To beauty and the beasts.”

“Which of us are the beasts?”

“You and I,” Grant said. “Jack’s definitely the beauty.”

Roxie laughed. “I’ll drink to that.”

Grant tapped his glass with hers. They both sipped. Huh. Not bad for something that wasn’t beer. The dry taste had a hint of sweet and the bubbles tickled his tongue.

Doors opened on the far right side of the room. Women scantily clad in what could only be classified as lingerie entered. They carried plates.

One of the beautiful women leaned over their table. “My name is Monique,” she said in a low voice dripping with a French accent. Between them, she deposited a small bowl of creamy dip was surrounded by baby carrots, slivers of zucchini, grape tomatoes, and crackers.

“For your pleasure, we have a creamy artichoke dip with organic vegetables and wheat crackers. Enjoy your appetizer, mes amis.”

“Thank you,” said Roxie. She eyed the vegetables the same way any carnivore would: with suspicion.

Monique smiled, and Granted couldn’t help compare her to Roxie. The waitress’s beauty was facilitated by good bone structure and clever make-up. She appeared untouchable—the way a supermodel looked as she strutted on the catwalk. Dressed in a pink corset that was attached to black silk stockings; she wore a matching set of pink panties. Her stilettos were black and shiny. She smelled like jasmine and her smile appeared genuine, if a shade too perfect.

Roxie was so much more beautiful in comparison. She was real. Raw. Fierce. She wouldn’t break. She could take it all—and give it right back.

His dick hardened at the very thought of getting the werewolf into bed.

“I want a steak the size of Rhode Island,” said Roxie. She pushed a carrot into the dip. “This is rabbit food.” She popped the carrot into her mouth. “Dip’s pretty good, though.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re the perfect girl for me,” said Grant as he put enough dip on a celery stick to hide its vegetable-ness. “And Jack. You fit him well, too. We’re a great match.”

“Mmm. I should probably say that I’m weirded out by the idea of having two husbands.”

“But?”

Roxie shrugged. “But I’m not.”

Monique returned to clear their plates and deliver their salads. She stacked their appetizer dishes and pushed them to the side. Then she placed two silver forks and chilled bowls filled with crisp Romaine lettuce.

“Tonight, we serve you Caesar salad with shaved parmesan-reggiano cheese, black olives, red onion slices, and quartered Romano tomatoes.” Her baby blues gazed at him. “Do you find it to your liking, monsieur?”

“Uh, yeah. Thanks.”

“And you, mademoiselle?”

“The salads look gorgeous,” said Roxie. “And so do you.”

The blonde’s smile widened. “You are most kind.” Then she whisked away the dishes.

“You really think she was pretty?” he asked. He let his gaze follow the blonde’s twitching buttocks. She had a nice ass. Then he looked at his salad because he felt like an idiot for checking out another woman while sitting next to his mate.

“You may find this strange, Jack, but women do look at other women. Usually, we do it to figure out how we look in comparison. Is my ass smaller than hers? Do I have bigger boobs?” She pierced the salad with her fork and took a bite.

He glanced at her. “Is that why you looked at her?”

“I found her very attractive. She likes to be looked at—and so do I.”

Grant grinned. “Good. Because I plan to look at you a whole lot.”

After they finished off their salads, he poured more champagne.

“Are you a voyeur?” she asked.

“Everyone’s a voyeur to some extent.”

She considered his words. “But not everyone is an exhibitionist.”

“No. But you are.”

“Yeah.” Roxie nodded. “That’s true.”

Monique returned to clear off their salad bowls and silverware. Behind her, a tuxedoed waiter placed two steaming dishes of food before them along with steak knives and forks. “Tonight’s feast is filet mignon and lobster tail served with steamed asparagus.”

They dug into the meal, and Grant had to admit he’d never seen a sexy sight than Roxie enjoying her steak. The way the woman’s lips moved over her fork, the ecstasy revealed as she chewed the meat … damn. She was hot. He wanted to bend her over the table and take her. Hard. Fast. Until they were both sweating and screaming.

Down, boy.

Minutes after they finished their meal, Monique reappeared. She once again removed their dishes then set a plate between them filled with three types of cheese.

“We have Halloumi—which is folded cheese with mint; Stilton, which is handmade in Britain; and Tavor, an Israeli cheese that’s a blend of sheep and goat’s milk.”

“Looks wonderful,” murmured Jack.

“How was your dinner?” she asked. Her gaze ping-ponged between him and Roxie.

“Fabulous,” he said.

“Definitely,” Roxie agreed.

The slow beat of drums filtered into the restaurant.

“Ah,” said the waitress with a coy smile. “The show ... it begins.”

* * *

THE BLUE LIGHTS went out, casting the entire place into darkness. The drumbeats increased as three people—painted in neon purple, pink, and green—emerged from the floor. Black lights shone down on the dancers, highlighting the splashes of color on their bodies.

The two men spied the lone female and crept forward, as if intending to pounce on her. She twirled away. Every lithe movement and graceful leap was accentuated by the music.

Roxie watched, riveted by the graceful moves of the lissome dancers.

Grant’s hand crept into hers and held it tightly.

They watched the men chase the woman. They would almost catch her, but she would flit away, as illusive and beautiful as a butterfly. The music was frenetic and intense as the dancers ran and jumped, arms reaching, yet never quite touching.

Grant released her hand and trailed his fingers up her side. Her breath hitched as he dared to cup her breast. Her nipple hardened instantly. His hand dropped away, fingers stroking her ribcage to rest lightly on her hip.

The light touch of his fingers against her thigh was filled with erotic promise. Her heart skipped a beat and she waited, nearly breathless, to see where else he would touch her.

She watched the dancers, which increased her excitement. The woman had been caught. One man stood in front of her and the other behind her. Hands stroked neon-speckled flesh.

Grant ventured under her dress. One finger dipped into her panties, stroking her clit. He leaned close and whispered, “Play with your breasts.”

Was he seriously going to give her an orgasm in a restaurant full of people?

With it so dark, no one would be looking. In fact, given the rise of pheromones and the scent of arousal so easily detected by her werewolf senses, others were busy playing their own table games. She cupped her breasts, rubbing her thumbs over her distended nipples. Desire skittered through her—an arrow of urgent heat straight into her woman’s core.

The drumbeat went crazy and the trio of dancers moved in a crazed rhythm. Back and forth, bodies surging and colliding as the music rose higher and higher.

Grant’s whisper tickled her ear. “I love stroking your clit. I want to make you come.”

Roxie lungs nearly collapsed. She twisted her nipples as his finger stroked her clit faster and faster.

The music hit a crescendo…

…and so did she. The orgasm burst, as sweet and hot as ripe berries picked on a summer day. She was panting heavily, unable to steady her own breathing. Grant removed his hand and her hands drifted away from her breasts.

The drumbeats faded away. The three people wrapped arms around each other then sank slowly into the floor. The blue lights turned on, chasing away the darkness.

Grant looked at her, smiling wickedly as he licked her essence off his finger. “You taste better than anything I’ve eaten tonight.”

Roxie bared her teeth. “Just wait until I’ve had a taste of you.”

Grant’s cock jumped at the promise in her words. He couldn’t wait to have her.

Monique arrived with the same tuxedoed waiter who cleared away the cheese plate. From a tray balanced on her hip, Monique placed plates of tiramisu before them. Then she set out two tiny cups of espresso. “Did you enjoy the show?”

“Oh, yes,” said Roxie.

“And you, monsieur?”

“The best show ever.”

6

ROXIE FOLLOWED GRANT into his bedroom in the hotel suite. Jack had made himself scarce so that Roxie and Grant could bond.

Soon. Very soon. Roxie would be their mate—and they would be connected in heart, mind, soul, and body. Roxie couldn’t believe how fortunate she was to be the recipient of all that affection and adoration. It was as though life, after screwing her by putting her into the most barbaric shifter community, was trying to make up for all the physical and psychological loss she’d suffered. Here, life seemed to say, mate with two gorgeous men who will protect and adore you for the rest of your days. Sorry about the whole Blood Pack thing.

She wasn’t going to reject that gift. She was going to take it and hold on it and cherish it. Forever.

But now, she had a werewolf to seduce.

Roxie settled Grant onto the bed. He sat like an obedient puppy, which was cute—as well as deceptive. She had no doubt Grant would leap at the chance to master her. To take her. Tame her. And she wanted him to try.

Roxie toed off her shoes then wiggled out of her dress. She heard his sharp intake of breath when he caught a glimpse of her red lace thong and its matching lace bra. She stuck her feet back into the heels, offered him a you’re-in-so-much-trouble smile, and then dug into her purse and pulled out her iPod. She scrolled through her music until she found the song she wanted.

As the opening to Imagine Dragon’s “Radioactive” rumbled through the room, Rhiannon took her position, arms up and gaze on Grant. She spun around, sliding her hands down her sides then over her ass.

She bent over.

“Sweet Wolf Gods on Mercury.”

Grant’s strained voice filtered through the hard beat of the music. She grinned. She loved to dance. To show off. She did Yoga every day and had even taken a few “stripper aerobics” classes. Of course, being a healthy “big” girl didn’t mean much in a world filled with skinny humans. Luckily, she was a werewolf, and werewolves didn’t give a damn about human ideas of beauty and sexiness.

Grant now had a prime view of her buttocks. The thong denied him a complete view of her femininity, but the temptation was there, covered by thin red lace.

Rolling back up, she wiggled around in a tight circle once, twice, and then stopped, giving him a side view. She drew her hands slowly up her stomach, across her breasts, and then down again to her hips. She turned her ass toward him.

Once again, she bent over.

Placing her palms flat on the floor, she braced her arms then brought up her legs. She drifted into a backbend then collapsed to the floor and rolled to her side.

Now on her stomach, she brought her head and feet up until they nearly met. Then she pressed down again, and pushed up so that her body formed a triangle.

She popped up to her feet and undulated toward him. She was holding his attention, making him look, but not touch. Yeah, she was making him want her badly while keeping herself just out of reach.

The song was nearing its end, so she let her fingers drift down between her breasts. She unsnapped the bra’s front clip and cupped her breasts, denying him the pleasure of seeing the material fall away.

She turned her back to him, dancing, and took off the bra, slinging it to the floor. As the song’s last notes rang out, Roxie faced Grant. Her hands glided from her breasts, down her stomach, and over her hips. She hooked her thumbs in the red panties, drew them down her legs, and then kicked them off.

For a long moment, Grant just stared at her. She loved how he looked at her, as if she were the last chocolate bar in the candy store. Her heart pounded frenetically.

“Well,” she prompted.

Grant answered her question by taking her hand and pulled her onto the bed. His lips captured hers, his tongue slipping inside her mouth, ratcheting up to the heat. She melted into his arms and deepened their contact. He tasted sweet, faintly like the tiramisu they ate after dinner. On his skin, she could smell the light scent of soap and the musky scent of sex.

Desire and need streaked through her, pooling wet and hot between her thighs. Reaching between them, she stroked his cock through his pants.

He groaned.

Rhiannon kissed his jaw, dragging her lips down his neck then back up again. “Clothes,” she managed, though her tongue felt thick, “off.”

Grant rolled off the bed and discarded his clothes. Before she could blink he was next to her once more, stroking her flesh as he nuzzled at her neck.

His delicious body called to her. He was broader, taller, more thickly muscled than Jack. Not that Jack was any slouch in the bod department. He was lean, like a runner, and Grant was square, brutish—like a boxer.

A shiver ran right through her.

She rolled on top of him, which produced a growl from her alpha.

But he remained pinned beneath her, allowing her to take what she wanted.

Oh, yes. He was built. Hard muscle. Soft skin. Look at those abs! Hair lightly furred his pectorals and stomach. With lips and tongue, Roxie worked her way to his pectorals, taking a detour to one coin-sized areola and its tiny, hard peak. She tugged it between her teeth, flicking the tip rapidly. Grant wrapped his hands into her hair as she attacked his other nipple and gave it the same torturous treatment.

“Oh, babe,” he murmured. “You feel so good.”

She moved further down his chest, exploring the muscled ridges of his stomach.

Slipping down further, she knelt between his legs. She grasped his thick, hard shaft, loving the feel of it against her palm. She done the same wonderful things with Jack, and now she got the same with Grant. Soon, she would have them together.

She was a lucky, lucky girl.

Cupping his balls, she squeezed lightly as she licked his mushroomed head, sucking it into her mouth. She swirled her tongue around the rim, flicking the tiny bumps on the underside.

His breathing went ragged and his thighs tensed.

Roxie’s heart pounded frantically as lust thickened in her belly. She wanted Grant desperately. Her body hummed with need, with heat.

The musky scent of his sex excited her. She went down on him all the way, sucking his manhood to the base as she fondled his sac.

The hands once tangled in her hair slipped away. One clutched at the bunched covers—the other retraced the path to her hair, tangled in the long locks. She didn’t mind as he pressed down. The gesture was both plea and command.

She took him all the way, just like she’d taken Jack. Just like she would take them both. Her lovers. Her mates.

The next thing she knew Grant had lifted her away from her ardent pleasuring of his cock. She growled, and he growled back. She could see the animal in his face. His eyes had morphed into wolf and his face wavered.

“On your knees.”

For a moment, she stared at him, her own wolf scrabbling to get out, to bite and claw, and make him work for it. Make him take her.

But her human side won that battle.

She wanted him inside her. So, she chose subservience.

She got on her hands and knees, parting her legs and lifting her ass in complete compliance to the alpha.

“Oh, so good,” he said. “So beautiful.”

His harsh breathing echoed hers as Grant took position behind her.

His hands coasted up her thighs and over her buttocks. Excitement raced up her spine.

The ridge of his hard cock pressed against her ass. She bit her lower lip as he gripped her hips and slid his shaft between her thighs. Slowly, too damned slowly, he pierced her slick folds, nudging her entrance.

She moaned as he fitted the head of his cock inside her. But he didn’t move. She wiggled back, but he kept her that teasing position, which offered both erotic anticipation and aching frustration.

“What do you want, Roxie?”

“You.”

She quivered. Her fingernails curled into covers. Bastard. Sweat beaded between her breasts, and her entire being ached to feel him take her.

Grant pushed a little further inside her and she whimpered. Her heart pounded and her body writhed in fervid heat. She moaned again, trying to work his cock further inside her.

He smacked her ass.

Yes. “Do it again,” she begged.

He spanked her again, harder, and then he took her fully—a swiftly fervent penetration that sucked all the breath out of her lungs.

Frantically, she moved her hips to meet Grant’s every rough plunge.

He clutched her, fingers digging as he pound into her, and she took it, feeling the sweet rhythm stretch toward ultimate pleasure.

He gave her another open palm smack.

“Oh!” The stinging pain reverberated straight toward those tightening strings of orgasm. So close. “Do it again!” she demanded.

Grant obliged.

The rough slap sent her straight over the edge. She screamed as pleasure cascaded through her, and those sounds of her ecstasy were met with the fierce growls of her werewolf lover.

He embedded himself, a guttural roar accompanying the jettison of his seed deep within her.

Roxie sank into the covers, gulping in air. Her ass throbbed, but she felt really, really good.

Grant fell beside her, his expression pure satisfaction. He traced her spine with one fingertip. “I can’t wait to do that with you again.”

“You and Jack,” said Roxie.

“Yeah.”

“Have you two shared a woman before?”

Grant nodded. “Sure. It’s not like we didn’t try dating or finding our mate before now. But there’s no one who fit with us. Not like you. You’re our fiery-hearted woman.”

She curled onto her side and cupped his face. “This is crazy.”

“So what?” He kissed the palm of her hand and then grasped her fingers. “How about a shower?”

“Is that offer open to anyone?” The question came from the door. Jack stood there, grinning like the wolf he was. “Looks like things went well.”

“Definitely,” said Grant.

“Good.” Jack’s gaze traced Roxie’s naked body. “Who’s up for getting wet?”

* * *

JACK JOINED GRANT and Roxie under the hot spray of jetted water. Roxie took two small soaps and rubbed them together under the water. As soon as suds appeared, she began soaping Jack and Grant’s chests.

Jack had missed Roxie, and he’d hoped things had gone well between her Grant. Not that he’d been worried. After all, Matilda had nailed again—even beyond the grave. Given his and Grant’s twin attraction to Roxie, and her acceptance of them and their co-alpha rule of the Earth Pack, everything was falling into place.

Roxie’s hands slipped down, down, down, until the little soaps were rubbing each man’s engorged cock. While she continued stroking Grant, she cupped Jack’s balls and squeezed lightly.

His cock was already hard under her cleansing technique.

“Time to rinse.” He turned toward the pulsating water and scrubbed off the soap. While he backed her against the wall and pushed his cock into the wet vee of her thighs, Grant washed the soap of his body. Then he cupped Roxie from behind, pressing against the wet slope of generous buttocks.

She cupped Jack’s face in her palms and kissed him. He accepted the tenderness of her gesture.

Then he released her mouth to trail kissed down her neck. He saw that Grant’s fingers were busy at the juncture of her thighs, so he leaned down and suckled Roxie’s deliciously big nipples. The water beat down on them and wet bodies slipped against each other, wet skin creating the best kind of friction.

“What the hell is that?” asked Grant.

Roxie protested as the alpha stopped stroking her, and cocked an ear toward the open bathroom door.

Shit. Now, Jack heard it, too.

Someone was pounding on the hotel suite door. Between the rush of water and their mutual moans of pleasure, it should’ve been difficult to hear anything else.

“Damn werewolf super hearing,” groused Roxie. “It would be too much to believe that was room service.”

“Roxanna Royce Calabrese! You open this door!”

Jack and Grant both looked at Roxie. Her face had gone white. “Shit. It’s my mother.”

“Your middle name is Royce?” asked Grant.

“After my grandfather. Which is so fucking important right now.” Roxie exited the shower and grabbed one of the fluffy hotel robes.

Jack and Grant followed. Jack grabbed a robe and put it on. Grant strode right into the living room, barely catching Roxie before she opened the door.

“Hang on there, babe. We don’t know the situation yet.” He pulled Roxie to the side of the door, and then nodded at Jack. Jack rounded the bar and grabbed the .9mm loaded with silver bullets they kept right next to the Laphroaig.

The Earth Pack didn’t advocate violence. But they weren’t pussies, either. Jack couldn’t help but wonder how the hell the woman had gotten onto the floor. Being an alpha gave her privileges, of course. But still…

“What do you want?” yelled Grant. “We’re a little busy.”

“Me, too, assholes. Let me in.”

“Who’s with you?”

“No one,” Karen shouted. “I’m fucking alone, okay? Roxie!”

Grant looked out the peephole. He glanced over his shoulder at Jack, who nodded, clicked off the safety, and aimed the gun at the door.

“Your call, Roxie,” said Grant.

“Let her in.” Her voice shook.

Grant opened the door. He wasn’t expecting the Blood Pack alpha to stumble in and fall on her face.

Roxie and Grant crouched next to the woman, rolling her over. The black leather jacket, a stupid piece of clothing to wear in Vegas heat, fell open revealing a T-shirt as shredded as the skin beneath it. The wounds were massive, bloody, and not healing. It was a testament to the werewolf’s strength that she’d made it here still breathing.

“Mom.”

Karen’s eyes fluttered open. Hers was a face that roadmapped abuse, even now sporting a broken nose and two black eyes. She struggled to inhale, but Karen’s expression held nothing but vengeance and loathing. “Rick’s dead. Your fucking brother and his whore decided to take me out.”

“Crawl did this?” asked Roxie.

“Him, and Sara. Never liked her.” Karen coughed and blood leaked from her mouth.

“We’ll get you help,” said Grant.

“I’ve already called the healer,” called Jack. His cell phone was open on the bar, but he still aimed the gun at the dying alpha.

“Silver’s in my blood,” said Karen. “Too much of it. There’s no saving me. Don’t care. My Cody’s gone. I’m going, too.” She grabbed her daughter’s robe and yanked the girl forward. Her gaze zeroed in on Roxie. “You better fucking kill your brother, Roxie. If you don’t, he sure as shit is gonna kill you.”

7

KAREN COUGHED AGAIN. Blood dribbled down her chin. She gripped Roxie’s robe tighter. “Promise me you’ll take Crawl out.”

“Mom—”

“Christ, Roxie. You’re such a goddamned disappointment.” Those were the last words the Blood Pack alpha spoke to her daughter. Her fingers slid off the terrycloth. She exhaled one last breath, and her eyes went wide and sightless.

Roxie stood, fists clenched. She eyed her mother’s corpse and started to sway. Grant shot to his feet and grabbed her.

“I’m all right,” she said, her voice shaky.

“Bullshit.”

Jack put down the gun and joined Grant as he led Roxie to the sofa. For a moment, they sat there, both men sharing worried looks while Roxie tried to deal with the fact that her mother had died right in front of her.

She felt numb. She thought she’d cut the emotional attachments to her mother. Years ago, she’d let go of any feelings born of childish wishes to be loved by the sociopathic woman. There was, however, a hollow feeling in her chest, shadowed by relief. Karen was gone, and no one would miss her.

“She and Cody had a crypt. I’ll have to make arrangements.”

“There’s no way in hell you’re going to the Blood Pack compound,” said Grant.

Jack rubbed her back. “How sure are you that Crawl will come after you?”

“A hundred percent. Mom wouldn’t have tried to get to me if he wasn’t going to go balls out. If she found me, he will, too.” Roxie sighed. “She didn’t want to save me, not really. She just wanted to make sure that Crawl and Sara would get theirs.”

She punched the couch. “He’s so stupid. I don’t want to be the alpha! What am I going to do?” She was scared. Really scared. Roxie knew how to hold her own in most circumstances. Surviving in the Blood Pack meant learning how, when, and where to kick ass. But Crawl … Crawl was a psychopath. He would kill her and not feel an ounce of remorse.

“We’ll get your mother’s body taken care of,” soothed Grant. “I’m sure we can find somewhere to keep her until she can be properly interred.”

“I’ll call Delta. She has contacts everywhere, even the morgue.” Jack stroked Roxie’s silky red hair. “It’s going to be okay.”

“No offense, but you’ve never met Crawl.” Roxie shuddered.

Grant put his hand on Roxie’s knee. “There’s only one way to protect you.”

Roxie shook her head. “If you take me to Oregon, you’re risking pack war. Crawl doesn’t have to worry about Derek, but me—I have a direct lineage. I’m the oldest. I can claim the alpha position on those merits alone.”

“He won’t need to go after you if you’re the alpha of another pack,” said Grant. “If you’re our wife, then we’ll rule the Earth Pack as the sacred triad.”

Roxie blinked up at him. “You still want me? After all of this crap?”

“You’re the fiery-hearted woman,” said Jack.

“Oh, c’mon. You believe in destiny?” she asked.

“You belong with us, Roxie,” added Grant. “And we belong to you.”

Envisioning a life with the two alphas on a quiet, peaceful farm seemed like freaking nirvana. She wanted them. Hell, if she didn’t have to worry about her asshole brother wreaking havoc then she’d become Jack and Grant’s bride in a heartbeat. Should she become their wife and embroil them in her family drama? It was a risky move. Grant and Jack could hold their own—but Crawl was a whole different animal. He fought dirty. And he had no conscience.

Jack kissed her effectively putting an end to Roxie’s riotous thoughts, and then Grant brushed his lips over hers. Her heart twisted. These men. These beautiful, kind, strong men. Her men.

“Roxie?” Jack’s gaze was on her. She turned and saw Grant’s eyes. They had same question.

“Yes,” she said. She swallowed the knot in her throat and pressed a hand against the nervous fluttered in her stomach. “I’m yours.”

This declaration earned more kisses from both men. Their easy affection steadied her, made her feel as though she could handle anything. Survive anything.

They rose from the couch. Jack called whoever this Delta person was, and Grant grabbed the sheets from his bed. When he returned, she helped him. She couldn’t bring herself to touch her mother’s corpse. Instead, with utmost respect, Jack lifted Karen into his arms and gently laid the bloodied woman onto her makeshift shroud. Together, they wrapped her mom up tight and, as she tucked the final corner underneath her mother’s body, Roxie felt tears well.

“She killed that part of me—the part that could love her, forgive her.” Roxie wiped away the evidence of her grief. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”

“She was your mother,” offered Grant tenderly. “You’re entitled.”

“Delta’s on the way,” said Jack.

Roxie looked around. Blood soaked the carpet and her robe. “C’mon, sweetheart,” said Jack. “Let’s get you into the bath.”

Jack ushered her into his bathroom and ran her a hot bath. Silently, Roxie handed him her bloodstained robe, and then stepped into the jet tub, sinking into the steaming, burbling water.

“You’ll be all right, sweetheart,” reassured Jack.

Roxie offered him a tired smile and closed her eyes.

* * *

“WHO’S DEAD?” ASKED Delta as she sailed into the room followed by several people holding various bags, implements, and electronics.

“The Blood Pack alpha,” said Jack.

“Shit. Did you kill her?”

“Her son did. Crawl.”

Delta’s dark eyebrow winged upward. “Did he kill her in this room?”

“No. She came here and died.”

Delta assessed the body wrapped in hotel room sheets. “That makes things slightly easier. My people will keep the body on ice until you’re ready to retrieve it. We’ll need to clean the room. Who else knows about this?”

“Just her daughter, Roxie.”

“And where’s Roxie?”

“Taking a bath.”

“Ah.” Delta canvased the room. “Any bloody clothing?”

“Only what Karen was wearing,” said Grant.

“And this,” added Jack, holding up the bloodied terrycloth robe.

“Tobias,” called Delta.

A young man strode toward them, snapped open a plastic bag, and held it under the robe. Jack dropped it inside. Tobias sealed the bag and took it out into the hallway.

“We’ll need the room for the next couple of hours. We’ll go over everything with a fine-toothed comb. No one will know what happened here.” Delta’s painted red lips curved into feral smile. “Silence is not cheap, my dears.”

“Whatever it takes,” said Grant. “You know we’re good for it.”

“Of course, I do. Otherwise, I would not be standing here.” Delta whirled and clapped her hands. “I expect perfection in ninety minutes, people. Let’s go!”

* * *

THE GREAT THING about Las Vegas was the availability of everything twenty-four hours a day. Wedding chapels. Hotels. Grocery stores.

After Delta had finished her cleanup and whisked away the body of the Blood Pack alpha, Jack, Grant, and Roxie vacated the room.

Actually, they vacated the Drift Resort and the Las Vegas Strip.

Delta recommended a boutique hotel less than a mile from Fremont Street, which she stated had “security tighter than a nun’s vagina.” The tiny hotel belonged to Virginia Pearson, whose grown sons owned and operated Pearson Security. The well-respected agency run by the three brothers had a stellar reputation for protection services. The Pearsons were also bear shifters, which made them ideal bodyguards.

The downtown area of Las Vegas was like the Strip’s aging sister—cheap pearls, stale candies, and toothless smiles. Desperation clung to the older hotels especially those framed by the Fremont Street Experience, a canopy of sound and noise that gurgled like a group of college cheerleaders on acid.

Virginia made arrangements for a local shifter shaman to meet Jack, Grant, and Roxie in their room.

* * *

“WE’LL DO A PROPER wedding celebration when we get home,” promised Jack. He’d dressed first—a blue striped suit with a silver tie and Italian leather shoes. Handsome didn’t begin to cover it—he had an angular face, full lips, hazel eyes, and rocking body. Jack’s blonde hair brushed his broad shoulders, shining like spun gold.

Then there was Grant with his short, dark hair, GQ looks, and the tight, square body of a boxer. He wore black, eschewing a tie for a white shirt with an unbuttoned collar, and he wore black loafers. Roxie had Delta to thank for the ivory knee-length dress and nude kitten heels. In fact, Delta had provided all the wedding clothing with the same scary efficiency she’d sterilized their hotel room and whisked away a dead werewolf.

Jack, Roxie, and Grant stood in the living room of the luxury suite, all three of them feeling uncomfortable. The ties between Roxie and the alphas, however tenuous, seemed stretched as taunt as wires about to snap.

“What constitutes a proper Earth Pack wedding celebration?” asked Roxie. Her voice shook, and she cleared her throat.

“Three-day party,” said Grant. “The whole community gets together. Food. Singing. Dancing. It’s amazing.”

Roxie offered a slight smile. “I can’t wait.”

“We know you’re worried,” said Jack. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

“I know you both are doing your best for me—and I appreciate it.” Roxie was wound up tight, and she knew it. It wasn’t that she regretted her decision to marry Jack and Grant. That was right, and good, and perfect. All the same, she felt foreboding in the pit of her belly, a weight so heavy her knees nearly buckled under its strain.

She wanted to believe everything would be okay.

Jack and Grant converged on her, and she held onto the men tightly. By marrying the Earth Pack alphas, she was officially dragging them into Blood Pack business. Crawl was unpredictable. He could let her walk away, or he could come after her—them—and start a pack war just because it was Tuesday.

“Hey.” Grant tipped her chin up. “We’ll get through this. Once we’re mated, your brother will back off. You won’t be a threat to his status.”

“The Blood Pack isn’t going to be better off with him as alpha. Not everyone in the pack likes the way things are. Some members actually try to live real lives—do things that matter, have families. But my mother made it clear that Blood Pack was forever. If she thought any member was disrespecting her or making the Blood Pack look bad, she would have them beaten—sometimes outright killed. And her definition of disrespect varied by the hour.” Roxie dropped her head. “I was born with the DNA of two sociopathic assholes.”

“Genetics isn’t everything.” Jack smoothed her hair. “You have a good heart.”

“A fiery heart,” added Grant. He stroked the part of the dress that hid the tattoo—the fiery heart that had drawn them into her life, into a dead matchmaker’s prophecy. “Is there a story for this?”

“Only tattoo I have.” She shook her head. “My brother Derek got one, too. Except his heart is icy. Fire and ice. We were teenagers, and Mom insisted we start getting tattoos. We decided to each get one—just keep her off our backs for a while. Anyway. I’m fire. I’m the one who charges in. Derek’s the one who thinks ahead. He keeps calm. He’s ice. It’s why he makes such a good soldier.” She sighed. “I miss him.”

“He’s welcome in our pack,” said Jack. “There’s no reason he’ll ever have to return to Blood Pack. He has a place with us always.”

“Thank you,” said Roxie. “Maybe he’ll come home instead of signing up for another tour.” Restless, she drew away from them. She walked to a window and moved the curtain to look down at the street below. The constantly flashing lights on the hotels couldn’t compete with the brightness of the desert sun. Daylight hours were not kind to Las Vegas, revealing the grime so easily hidden by the night. The dirty streets, worn sidewalks, and brash hawkers of all things tawdry reminded her of the Blood Pack compound. Some brave souls had tried planting flowers and cleaning graffiti off the walls, but it was wasted effort. Chaos reigned. Her mother expected her pack to be tough. Destruction of things and people was part and parcel of being a bad ass.

Roxie was so tired of that attitude. And Crawl was a hundred times worse than their mother. Karen was apathetic to anyone who didn’t factor into keeping the pack running with scams and brutality with the exception of her husband Cody. Crawl had no empathy at all. He wanted the world to burn. Hell, he’d pour the gasoline and light the match.

Would marrying Earth Pack alphas provide the protection she needed? Or was she fooling herself—and putting the two men she cared about in terrible danger?

She moved away from the window, sinking onto the couch, while her stomach clutched with nerves.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Grant looked through the peephole, and then opened the door. A gray-haired man dressed in a white suit and a bolo tie stepped inside. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail. He had an open, friendly face with kind blue eyes. He smiled. “I’m Hank. I’m here to perform your wedding.”

Grant shut the door behind older man. “I’m Grant. That’s Jack. And our bride is Roxie.”

“You know about Earth Pack rites?” asked Jack, as he crossed the room to shake Hank’s hand.

“I know every pack’s rites,” said Hank. He shook Grant’s hand next. “It’s part and parcel of being a shifter shaman in Las Vegas. We get our fair share of werewolf weddings.”

Roxie stood up and took Hank’s hand, pressing it between both of hers. “We’re so glad you’re here.”

“Mrs. Pearson filled me in. I understand you want the short version?”

All three nodded. His smiled widened. “I can do that. Come. Let’s find a comfortable spot and we’ll begin.”

They moved the coffee table to the side of the couch, and then the four of them took their places. Hank faced the werewolves. Roxie stood between Jack and Grant and they all held hands. Roxie’s nerves got the better of her, and she found her hands going cold and clammy. Grant and Jack’s grips tightened in comfort and empathy.

“Earth mother, moon father, sun father, we honor you this day with the mating of this triad, the leaders of your people.” Hank’s voice was confident and soothing. He looked at them, and his obvious joy filtered into Roxie, calming her nerves. “These three are connected heart and soul, and have committed to love and honor each other and their pack until the end of their days.” Hank nodded toward them. “Do you have the rings?”

The gold, silver, and copper rings signified the Earth Pack triad. Grant and Jack had brought the simple wedding bands with them from Oregon, just in case they found their mate. Las Vegas was the land of nuptials, after all.

Roxie presented her left hand. Jack’s tender gaze held hers as he placed a gold band onto the fingers of Roxie and Grant. Then it was Grant’s turn. He slid silver rings on Roxie and Jack’s fingers.

Inhaling a steady breath, Roxie took the copper bands and did the same.

“These rings show your bond to each other and to the pack you lead. They signify the joy of your connections and remind you all that your lives will be interwoven until death do you three part. With the love and blessings of earth mother, moon father, and sun father bestowed upon this triad, I pronounce you married. You may kiss the bride.”

Jack went first—a soft, light kiss. And then Grant took Roxie’s lips, offering swift pressure, sweet promise.

Jack walked Hank to the door and paid him in cash. Then he returned to his companions.

Roxie blew out a nervous breath. “Okay, then. Should we make this official-official or what?”

Grant grinned. “Let’s get naked.”

8

GETTING NAKED was the least complicated task when it came to the Earth Pack mating ritual. It would go something like this: One alpha, one alpha, and then two alphas. In other words, Roxie was in for a sexually decadent evening.

She should’ve requested some power bars.

And a Thigh Master.

Roxie went into the bathroom and got undressed. She wore a barely-there pink bra that matched her skimpy lace panties. She observed herself in the mirror. She wasn’t some skinny human girl. She had curves werewolf style. Most shifters preferred mates with meat on their bones. She examined her body, smoothing her palms down the soft flesh of her stomach. She smiled. Her curvy self was about to get some serious loving.

She’d never had a threesome.

Now, here she was fulfilling the mating rituals of the Earth Pack alphas. When she’d run away from the Blood Pack, from the idiocy of the Suitor’s Brawl, she’d couldn’t never imagined her life would take this kind of turn.

She looked down at her hand, at the two bands shining against her finger.

Her heart skipped a beat.

I’m married, she thought, feeling suddenly giddy. She mussed her red hair a little, checked her make-up for any flaws, and then inhaled a deep breath.

Despite growing up in the Blood Pack, where beliefs about sex were the same as violence—the more, the better, Roxie had very few boyfriends, and her limited sexual experiences hadn’t prepared her for the way she burned so hot for Jack and Grant. The idea of doing every wicked thing possible with her men, her mates, excited Roxie.

You can do this, girl.

When Roxie reentered the bedroom, she found Grant sprawled on the bed.

He was deliciously naked.

She let her gaze rove his muscled body. He had his arms behind his head, and she couldn’t help but notice the sexy, hard curves of his biceps. She studied his drool-worthy wide chest with its curls of dark hair. His six-pack abs and thick thighs were mesmerizing. Then there was the ultimate prize: His already hardening cock.

Just looking at that man had erotic heat pulsing through her.

She crawled onto the bed and he moved to take her into his arms. For a long moment, he only embraced her and stared into her eyes. She returned his gaze frankly and matched his wicked grin with one of her own.

“You’re gorgeous.” His lips captured hers. She melted into him, into his warmth, his strength, and gave him everything.

Her body.

Her heart.

Desire and need streaked through her, pooling wet and hot between her thighs. Reaching between their heated bodies, she stroked his thick length.

Grant moaned, and then he tangled his fingers in her hair as he deepened their kiss, thrusting his tongue inside to duel with hers.

His lips moved down her throat, his tongue flicking the dimple at its base. Roxie moaned as he nuzzled the skin between her breasts, raining kisses over her quivering flesh.

He reached around and unhooked the bra. After tossing the flimsy lingerie to the floor, he cupped her breasts in his hands and squeezed. His warm hands on her sensitive skin made her shiver.

His mouth closed over one turgid nipple. Desire rippled through her and sent wave after wave of lust straight to her core. She couldn’t help but moan as ecstasy shuddered through her. He suckled her other nipple, giving it the same torturous attention.

“Grant,” she sighed, her hands threading through his silky dark brown hair. “You feel so good.”

“You are beautiful,” he murmured. “I could devour you, babe.” His hand coasted down her stomach and slid into her panties.

“So wet.” His desire-glazed eyes found hers. She smiled as his fingers stroked her. “Mmm. I want to see you.”

He crawled between her legs and dragged off the pink lace panties. He stared at her moist sex. “Yummy.”

“You like?”

“I love.” He settled down and pressed his mouth against her. His tongue wiggled down into her moist heat.

Grant licked the evidence of her desire off her inner thighs then dove inside her entrance. Roxie gasped as pleasure ricocheted through her. Grant’s tongue darted in and out of her, the strokes rough and fast.

Her hips pumped to match his rhythm. She grabbed the bedspread as she felt bliss coil tight and hot. His mouth moved to her clit and closed over it, sucking hard. Just as an orgasm threatened to overwhelm her, he let go.

“Grant!”

He chuckled.

An ache settled between her thighs. Her pussy pulsed in need, in want.

Grant, that tormenting bastard, once again suckled her tight, juicy pearl. He inserted two fingers inside her entrance. The rough plunge of his fingers matched the sweet thrusts of his tongue.

Her orgasm built, higher and higher. But just as she would’ve tipped over the edge, Grant stopped.

“I swear to God I’m going to kill you,” she muttered.

He laughed. Then Grant kissed each of her hips and licked her belly. His lips found every inch of skin between her groin and her breasts. How wonderful to feel him touch her, kiss her.

Her passion turned white-hot.

He moved on top of her, parted her thighs, and with his heated gaze on hers, entered her in one swift stroke. Roxie gasped. With one hand, he captured her wrists and raised her arms above her head. His cock filled her, his motions slow, steady, and tender. She wrapped her legs around his waist and surged forward, meeting his every thrust.

Waves of pleasure crested through her. Oh, yes!

Grant released her wrists, looped his arms under her shoulders, and pounded into her. He groaned—the sound caught against her flesh. He was as lost as she in this moment. She bucked against him, her clit throbbing as she sought release.

“Roxie,” he panted. “Oh, babe, you feel so good.”

The denied orgasm quivered for an endless moment… then burst like sunshine—heat, light, joy. She was carried away by the sheer intensity. She clutched Grant as she rode the decadent swells of absolute pleasure.

It took her a little while to realize that Grant had stopped moving. She blinked up at him. “You didn’t come.”

He offered her a slow smile. “I will.”

“Damn right, you will.” She flipped him onto his back. He landed on the mattress with a startled groan. She immediately got on top of him. She kissed Grant’s jaw, dragging her lips down his neck then back up again. Her fingers reached down and curled around his cock and stroked.

Grant’s eyes fluttered close and he offered a groan of pure desire.

She let go, and his eyes flew open, his expression filled with disappointment. She couldn’t help but chuckle. “Don’t worry,” she said, “you’re getting ready to be a very happy man.”

He grinned.

With lips and tongue, Roxie worked her way to his pectorals, detouring to one coin-sized areola and its tiny, hard peak. She tugged it between her teeth, flicking the tip.

His hands dove into her hair, animal growls vibrating in his chest. It seemed his werewolf liked the attention, too.

So did hers.

Roxie moved further down his chest, exploring the muscled ridges of his stomach with sweeping fingers and eager tongue.

Slipping between his legs, she grasped his shaft and caressed the hard length. Cupping his balls, she licked the velvety flesh of his manhood. Then she took his shaft into her mouth and sucked on the delectable thickness.

“Roxie!” His thighs tensed.

Her heart revved into overdrive. The musky scent of his sex excited her. She went down on him all the way, taking him all in—over and over, until her name was a prayer on his lips.

She released his cock and sat up.

He looked at her, his eyes wild, his expression pained.

“Really?” he asked hoarsely.

“Just a little revenge,” she said sweetly.

Grant rolled her onto her back. “No more games, babe.”

Roxie leaned up and nipped his bottom lip. “Take me.”

He slid his arms under her shoulders, and she helped guide his swollen member once again between her thighs, nestling his cock at her entrance.

Grant did exactly as she asked: He took her.

His eyes were dark, gleaming. There was Grant’s wolf, just beneath the surface of his passion.

Her husband, her lover, her protector.

Grant buried his head against her neck, his movements quickening, his pants harsh, his thighs quivering. “Roxie. Babe. I’m coming!”

As his cock jerked with his release, Roxie clutched him, her legs tight against his waist, and she followed him over the edge into endless bliss.

After, they showered together then Grant got dressed, kissed her, and left the room.

Roxie settled against the pillows, naked as she waited for Jack. She closed her eyes and stretched out on the bed—utterly relaxed and simply luxuriated in the soft sheets.

* * *

WHEN SHE AWOKE from her unintended nap, she saw Jack stretched out next to her wearing nothing but black silk boxers. He lay against the fluffy pillow, obviously asleep, and snoring lightly. Roxie bit back a laugh. She trailed her fingers across his muscled pectorals.

He woke up easily, his sleepy eyes taking her in. He reached up and pressed her hand against his chest.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi.”

Roxie’s heart pounded erratically. Like Grant, Jack was Adonis personified—muscled, tanned, gorgeous. His blond hair shone in the dim light of the single bedside lamp and, to her wandering hands, those strands felt as soft and fine as corn silk.

Jack cupped her face, offering a gentle kiss. She enjoyed his slow approach, his tenderness. He broke from the kiss. She noted his blue gaze was already dark with desire. He circled one of her areolas with a single fingertip, teasing her nipple with sweetly erotic touches.

He cupped her breasts, his fingers sweeping across her sensitive skin until her nipples were hard aching points. His lips fastened onto one stiffened peak. He suckled, his tongue swirling in a languid motion designed for ultimate pleasurable torment.

A low moan rose from her throat as desperate longing speared her.

“Jack,” she whispered. “Jack.”

He placed a kiss between her breasts. Then he looked at her, his hands trailing down her ribcage to stroke the round flesh of her stomach. He fanned out his fingers as he wandered over her hips, her thighs.

He was slow, methodical, and tender.

As Jack continued his unhurried seduction, Roxie returned the favor. She touched him, too, delighting in his firm arms, muscled chest, and taut abs.

“Roxie,” he breathed. “So lovely. So intoxicating.”

As her fingers clasped his hard cock, he rewarded her with a low moan.

Her heart pounded. Her skin tingled. Her thighs trembled.

Jack adjusted his position, and Roxie was forced to give up her hold. He nimbly rolled on top of her and scooted between her legs.

He kissed her quivering stomach muscles and traced an invisible line to her navel.

Roxie felt submerged in desire. Her wet heat convulsed. She wanted him so much. She moaned, shifting to give him better access.

Jack’s hands coasted to her hips, his mouth nibbling to the edge of her feminine core.

His tongue wiggled down her slit, and his soft lips dragged sensually across her swelling flesh. He encircled her entrance, teasing her ruthlessly.

She panted, desire curling through her like flames. She felt as though she was burning, burning for Jack.

He grabbed her buttocks and pushed her legs up. His hot breath ghosted over her swollen flesh. Then he pressed his mouth against the sensitive knot hidden like a pearl in velvet.

Roxie shuddered.

His tongue began stroking her clit in a rhythm that drove her insane. Just as she felt the rise of an orgasm, Jack stopped.

Argh! What the hell was it with these men and their torturous techniques? Did they have meetings? Exchange notes? Hey, yeah, let’s drive our new bride crazy!

“Jack,” she said through gritted teeth.

He chuckled. “I’m all about your pleasure, Roxie. I promise.”

Jack rose to his knees. He slid one finger over her clit, and she growled. Her wolf was getting anxious—and needy.

“Hold on to your ankles,” said Jack, pushing her legs up further.

Hands shaking, body on fire, Roxie wrapped her hands around her ankles.

As his finger slowly stroked her clitoris, he inserted two fingers inside her, and curled them upward.

She sucked in deep breaths. The feeling was … intense. She couldn’t even think of a word to describe how it felt for him to touch such a sensitive area.

Houston, we have the G-spot.

Roxie moaned as he rhythmically stroked the underside of her entrance. The fondling of her clit and the manipulation of her most erotic spot rocketed her into blind need.

His patience seemed to vanish as he put his cock where his fingers had worked such magic. He took hold of the underside of her thighs and began taking her with long, hard strokes.

Sweat cleaved to her skin. Her nails bit into her ankles as she submitted wholly, fully, gratefully to her lover.

The powerful force of the orgasm tore a scream from her.

She was awash in the light and heat of absolute bliss. As the last waves of her orgasm rippled through her, Jack cried out, his hands clenching against her thighs as his release shuddered through him.

For the longest moment, neither one of them moved, trying to gain back their breath, their movements.

“God.” Roxie inhaled noisily. “That was … unbelievable.”

Jack moved to her side and brushed her hair away from her face. “You’re a beautiful, strong, fantastic woman. Grant and I are very lucky.”

“I’m the lucky one,” she said.

Jack smiled. “It’s time for us to mate as the triad. Once we take you together, Roxie, you’re ours forever.”

9

WHEN GRANT ENTERED the room, Jack pulled Roxie onto his lap and held her by the waist.

As Grant got undressed, Jack cupped her breasts and played with her nipples. She sat across his thighs, his stiff cock nestled against her crotch. His member twitched against her sex, causing shocked trembles of need.

Oh, babe!

Grant stood on the side of the bed, looking at them.

“C’mon, Grant,” said Jack. “Let’s make love to our wife.”

Jack leaned forward, cupped her neck, brought his lips to her ear, and traced the shell with the tip of his tongue.

Grant climbed onto the bed, taking a spot next to Roxie. She slid off Jack’s lap and sat between them.

Roxie caressed the cocks of her husbands. Jack and Grant pleasured her breasts, their hot mouths and slick tongues tormenting her nipples. The heat of desire engulfed her. Grant tugged her nipple between his teeth, and she gasped at the sharp pleasure.

They lifted their heads and looked at her, both of their gazes dark with need. Her pulse jumped, and she licked her lips. They were both so damned gorgeous.

Jack’s hand coasted across her stomach, leaving streaks of tingly heat in his path. Grant kissed her, a slow meeting of the lips that made Roxie’s heart pound. She sighed into his mouth, suckling his bottom lip, tracing the upper one before spearing the seam. He groaned, and she swallowed the sound, angling her head to taste more of him. His tongue danced with hers.

As Grant released her mouth and kissed her jaw, Jack’s hand glided down her back. Desire speared her. Making love to her husbands was a hotter-than-hell experience.

“Lay down between us,” said Jack.

Roxie lay back with Jack on her left and Grant on her right. Jack seemed content to watch as Grant’s mouth traveled along her collarbone and down the valley between her breasts. Grant traced her areola with his tongue before tasting her nipple. Jack’s expression heated as he watched his co-alpha lick and lave. Roxie pressed Grant’s head against her chest and moaned. Jack leaned down, swallowing her noise of pleasure with a bruising kiss.

Roxie felt an electric jolt of pure need.

Grant’s groan shuddered across her flesh as his lips clamped the right nipple and suckled it into a taut, aching peak. His other hand cupped her left breast, kneading it, two fingers pinching its hardening point.

Jack’s kiss deepened. Roxie didn’t know what to do with herself. Her body hummed in anticipation.

“I want to taste you both,” she said.

Both men rolled onto their backsides. She scooted between them and looked at the male buffet before her. Grant’s eyes were glazed, his body trembling, and his cock hard. Jack’s cock was stiff as a rod, too. She grasped both shafts in her hands and stroked.

The men moaned in unison.

She leaned forward and kissed the tip of Grant’s cock. She sucked him into her mouth, tickling the sensitive underside of his ridge.

After teasing him, she bent and received Jack’s large, thick cock into her mouth. He tasted different from Grant, more musky, but just as good. She took him to the base of his impressive length, relaxing her throat to take him.

Quivering with heart-pounding, sweat-inducing lust, she released Jack and returned to Grant.

She slid her tongue down his shaft, peppering it with tiny kisses and quick licks. She cupped his balls, playing with them before lowering her mouth to each one, suckling and laving.

Then she returned to Jack’s cock. She sucked it into her mouth, slowly, inch by inch, until she’d swallowed him again to the base.

“Roxie,” Jack said in a breathless voice. “Feels so good.”

Desire pounded through her. She could barely catch her breath as she released Jack and took Grant’s cock into her mouth again taking him deep into her throat. Her tongue ravaged the hard length, licking and stroking as she took all of him again and again.

God, she was turned on. She was wet and tight with absolute quivering need.

“Honey,” warned Grant. “That feels too good.”

Roxie rose to her knees and looked at the men. Her heart pounded unevenly. She wanted them both to take her.

Now.

* * *

JACK PATTED THE space between him and Grant. “It’s your turn, Roxie.”

She lay between the two men, trembling in delicious anticipation.

They stretched out on either side of her.

Jack leaned forward and cupped her breast, suckling the soft peak. Then Grant cupped her other breast, kneading it gently. Then his mouth encircled her nipple.

Heat flooded her as Jack and Grant played with her breasts, their hands drifting down her rib cage, over her hip, down the inside of her thigh, then up again.

She squirmed and moaned, loving the feel of their lips, their hands and soon … their cocks.

Roxie’s eyes drifted closed, and she enjoyed all the sensations. Two hands were good, but hellfire, four were better. One of her husbands’ fingers stroked her most intimate place, then parted the folds of her pussy and dipped inside.

Both men enclosed against her, and she felt their thick lengths press into her thighs.

Now, two fingers teased her wet heat as both lovers suckled her nipples. The embers of her lust burst into ravaging flames that burned through her, heating to combustible levels.

“Take me,” she whispered. “Both of you.”

She was completely turned on at the very idea of two lovers penetrating her. A true triad.

“Get on top of Grant and lift your beautiful ass up for me,” said Jack.

She did as he directed. Her nipples scraped Grant’s chest as her rear end hovered in the air, waiting for Jack’s preparation.

From the corner of her eye, she saw him leave the bed and open the nightstand drawer. He removed a colorful tube that she recognized as brand of sex lube.

She looked at Grant. Fear and excitement wound through her as she leaned down and kissed him. His tongue played with hers, and she let herself be immersed in everything she felt, everything she wanted.

Jack’s hand cupped her ass to let her know he was there. She felt the plastic tip of lubricant enter her. She tensed as she felt the cold gel fill her, and the reality of her sexual adventure walloped her.

Two men at once.

She broke off from Grant’s kissing, and looked at Jack over her shoulder. He smiled, his eyes dark with desire. That look zapped her right to the core. Her human side might feel strange about this encounter, but her wolf howled for it. She could feel the shifting of her animal, its wild urging to mate with these men who’d claimed her.

Jack tossed the tube onto the nightstand.

As Grant touched her with fingertips and lips, Jack rubbed her anus before slowly sticking his finger into her ass.

“This is for you, Roxie,” whispered Jack in a hoarse voice. “For all of us.”

She knew Grant was ready for her by the way his hard cock pressed against her stomach. His eyes were glazed with passion. His hands stroked her breasts.

As Jack stretched her open, Grant rolled her nipples between his fingers. Pleasure sparked through her.

“Take me, babe,” begged Grant. “Take us both.”

She was ready to obey. She lowered herself onto Grant’s cock and used her inner muscles to stroke him.

He groaned.

Grant held onto her hips and executed smooth, long strokes while Jack continued playing with her ass. She gave herself over to the sensations, gave herself over to everything.

Mind. Soul. Heart.

For Jack. For Grant. For the triad.

She sucked in a breath, her gaze pinned to Grant’s. He was in full-blown lust. He kept pounding into her and every time he bumped her clit, she felt her bliss peak higher and higher.

“It’s time,” said Jack in a hoarse voice. Jack fit the head of his cock against her ass.

Jack leaned forward, and began slowly working his cock inside her. “Push back as I push in.”

Grant stopped moving, and Roxie wiggled back as much as she could. Jack slowly, tenderly seated himself inside her tight canal. Her ass quivered and burned with the intense pressure. Two cocks filled her, and she wondered if the two men could feel each other inside her.

She sucked in a few deep breaths, adjusting to the intense pressure of Jack filling her channel.

Her body trembled. Lust rioted through her.

Grant began thrusting again. He grabbed her shoulders as Jack clamped onto her hips. She kissed Grant, her tongue matching the slow rhythm of his cock.

Jack caught their rhythm and soon, his cock was working in and out of her ass with same urgent cadence.

Grant bucked under her, pumping faster. He panted, his face tight as he hurtled toward release.

They moved with each other, for each other. Sweating. Moaning. Enjoying. Her breasts scraped Grant’s chest and her buttocks slapped against Jack’s hips.

Their movements were frantic now, igniting a burst of pleasure that took her straight to the stars. Her back bowed into Jack, her hips jerking, her sex clenching as she experienced pure nirvana. She floated in the waves of heat and pleasure, trying to catch her breath after the mind-blowing orgasm.

She had barely recovered when she felt Grant tense. He thrust deeply inside her, groaning loudly as he came. His cock pulsed inside her.

Grant’s cock slipped out of her as Jack’s movements forced her clit to slide along the ridge of Grant’s half-hard penis.

Roxie captured Grant’s lips, warring with his tongue, feeling the rise of another orgasm.

Her clit throbbed—her second orgasm only a few strokes away.

“Roxie!” cried Jack.

His cock pulsated inside her sensitive ass, and she flew over the edge again. Shuddering and breathless, she collapsed onto Grant’s chest.

Grant, Jack, and Roxie were officially mated as the Earth Pack triad.

* * *

ROXIE WOKE IN the middle night with her heart pounding erratically and sweat coating her brow.

The nightmare that had wrenched her out of sleep pulsed at the back of her mind. Dark. Lost. Running. Screaming.

The images faded, but the feeling of being chased, being trapped did not. She couldn’t help but think of Crawl—and whether or not he planned to come after her.

She was lodged between two big, muscled men, each with an arm slung over her, but she managed to wiggle her way out of her husbands’ embraces. She shut the bedroom door behind her as she walked into the suite’s small kitchen area, poured herself a glass of wine, and sat at the table. Her cell phone was there, too, along with her purse where she’d left them earlier. Idly, she scrolled through messages and saw that she’d missed three calls from Lara.

Concern had her dialing her friend despite the late hour.

Lara’s phone rang twice.

“Hello, sister.”

Roxie’s heart jumped into her throat. “Crawl.”

“Been looking for you. Seen Mom?”

“She’s dead,” said Roxie. “But you knew that, seeing as how you killed her.”

His laughter sent chills down Roxie’s spine. “Mom was weak. Pathetic. I just put her out of her misery.”

“How kind of you,” she managed flippantly.

“You always were a hoity-toity bitch. Where are you?”

“Where’s Lara?”

“Right here.”

“I want to talk to her.”

“You can. In person.”

Roxie swallowed the lump in her throat. “I’m not a threat to you, Crawl. I’m married to the Earth Pack alphas. I’m Earth Pack now.”

“You can’t join another pack,” he sneered. “Not without my permission.”

“I don’t need your permission.”

“See? This is why you’re trouble. You don’t like following the Blood Pack rules.”

Roxie knew there was no reasoning with a psychopath. But the hell if she was going to show any more fear, that was like giving meth to a drug addict.

“You killed the alpha, Crawl. You’re the head of the pack now. Congrats.”

“All I need is your tribute. How about those nancy-boys of yours?”

Roxie’s heart turned over in her chest. She wouldn’t let Crawl get near her husbands. “Let me speak to Lara.”

“No.” He paused. “There’s a little dispute in the pack right now. Some people aren’t sure I’m due my inheritance. In fact, got a few too many people interested in you taking over.”

“I don’t want to be alpha.”

“Prove it. Do a little brawl with me in front of the pack. Let me win. Show everyone that I’m the right guy, then I’ll let you and Lara go.”

“That’s not gonna happen.”

“You wanna talk to Lara? Fine. Tell her you don’t care enough about her to save her.” A woman screamed in the background. Then she heard a weeping voice say, “Roxie?”

“Lara? What is he doing to you?”

“Doesn’t matter. Don’t come back.”

There was a thud, an angry voice, and then Crawl was back on the line. “Lara’s unconscious. If you don’t want her dead, do exactly as I say.”

“Okay,” said Roxie. “Just don’t hurt her anymore.”

“Give me your location, and I’ll send someone to pick you up. Don’t say a word to those pussies you’re with, either. I’d hate to end the ol’ honeymoon by having your husbands killed.”

Crawl didn’t make idle threats, but he wasn’t exactly true to his word. Either way, Roxie didn’t have a choice.

10

“YOU CAN’T MEET your psycho brother,” said Grant.

After her disturbing call with Crawl, Roxie had woken up her husbands and told them everything. She didn’t even consider the possibility of confronting her brother without their help. Together, they stood a much better chance at rescuing Lara and defeating Crawl.

Jack had put on a shirt and sweats while Grant had slipped on a pair of silk boxer shorts. They sat in the living area of the cozy suite discussing their options. They had less than an hour to come up with a plan. In fifty-two minutes, she was supposed to meet Crawl’s lackeys outside the hotel.

“He’ll kill Lara,” said Roxie.

“Not unless he believes you won’t come,” said Jack. “Your friend is his leverage.”

Roxie didn’t believe for a second Crawl had any intention of letting her live, much less Lara. He was out for blood, and now, Roxie and her mates were the only ones who could stop him.

“We need help,” she said. “What about that woman … Delta?”

Grant shook his head. His blond hair stuck straight up, probably because he kept running his fingers through the strands. “This isn’t her area of expertise. Besides, she won’t get directly involved in pack politics.”

“Could we ask the Shadow Pack for assistance?” asked Roxie. She tried not to let her desperation show.

“They’re in the middle of their Choosing ceremonies.” Jack put his hand on her leg and squeezed. “We’re not looking to start a territory war. If the Shadows were to help us and we failed, we’ll have a lot bigger problem on our hands.”

“True. If wolves can’t help us, maybe we should consider the bears.” Grant looked at them. “The Pearsons. They’ve got an excellent rep among the shifter community—at least according to Delta. It’s one of the reasons she put us in their mom’s hotel. Extra protection.”

“Why would they get involved?” Roxie felt so helpless, even in the company of her brawny, brave men. If it was just a matter of overpowering Crawl with physical strength, they could take him down. But her brother was the kind of crazy that was unpredictable, and most definitely homicidal. He’d kill hundred innocent people if it meant taking out his target. There was no line Crawl wouldn’t cross. He wouldn’t think twice about eliminating the Earth Pack alphas—and would welcome a pack war. He loved chaos.

“The bears aren’t set up in allegiances like the packs. Bear clans are small, usually consisting of two or three families.”

Roxie glanced at her phone and noted the time on its screen. “We have forty-nine minutes to figure out what we’re going to do.”

“I’ll call in the Pearsons,” said Grant.

* * *

GABE AND MIKE Pearson were big, imposing men—the size of NFL linebackers. Roxie had come across plenty of shifters, but she’d never met any bears before.

They listened patiently to Roxie, Grant, and Jack’s story. With only twenty minutes to go before she was supposed to meet her brother’s minions, time was running out.

“Do you want to take out Crawl?” asked Gabe. He wore his dark blond hair in a military-style haircut. He had a boxer’s face, square and solid. His full lips softened his fierce visage, but with the scar above his right eyebrow and a nose that had no doubt been broken more than once, he was—overall—scary-looking.

His brother, Mike, was just as huge, but wore his long, brownish-red hair pulled back into a ponytail. He had sharper features than his brother, and his smile seemed to come a lot easier.

“I don’t want to kill him,” said Roxie, finally answering Gabe’s question.

Gabe lifted a single brow. “But…”

“But I have to.” Roxie swallowed. Hard. “He won’t give up being alpha. And he will never leave me alone.”

“You want to be the alpha?’ asked Mike.

“Hell, no,” said Roxie. She couldn’t stop herself from trembling. Grant and Jack each put an arm around her shoulders. Their strength transmitted to her, and she felt less shaky. Determination filled her. She wasn’t alone anymore. And she trusted her mates.

“She’s already an alpha of the Earth Pack,” said Grant. “I don’t care what it takes to protect our mate, even if it means eliminating Crawl once and for all.”

“We’ll get you close enough to take care of business,” said Gabe. “You meet with the goons, Roxie. We’ll follow you to the location and rescue your friend. Your mates will be there to help you deal with your brother.”

“Okay.” Roxie inhaled a deep breath. Fear fluttered in her belly with wings of ice—sending chills straight through her. She had to do this—Crawl was forcing her hand. He was a relentless psychopath. She didn’t want to be responsible for his death, but the truth was, she’d save a lot of lives when she took him out.

Foreboding lodged in her lungs, stalling her breath. The next few hours wouldn’t be easy, but she’d get through them.

And then she’d finally, finally be free.

* * *

ROXIE WAITED FOR her brother’s minions on the street corner, less than a block away from the boutique hotel. Her husbands and the bear shifters were in a running vehicle waiting in the alley to her right, ready to follow. She didn’t think Crawl was stupid enough to take her to the Blood Pack compound, but she didn’t have a clue where he might hole up—thus the need for covert actions. One of those actions was embedding a tracking device into the base of her neck. That extra step guaranteed that no matter where Crawl took her—her mates wouldn’t be far behind.

A black SUV smoothly stopped at the curb in front of her. The back passenger door opened. Roxie took a deep breath and slipped inside the dark confines.

Two men she didn’t know occupied the front seats. Unfortunately, she knew all too well the female sitting next to her. Her brother’s crazy lover.

“Hello, Sara.”

“Hi, you treacherous bitch.” The woman looked like a refuge from an apocalyptic movie—torn clothing, pierced face, stupid haircut. A smirk creased her ugly expression as she jabbed something hard against Roxie’s side. Heat exploded in her rib cage, and then it felt like she was being burned from the inside out. Her entire body seized—and then the world went dark.

* * *

“ROXIE? ROX! HONEY, wake up.”

Roxie’s eyes fluttered open. Pain pulsed in her ribs. “Ouch,” she said. She shifted, and the slight movement sent spiky waves of agony rolling through her. That’s when she noticed her wrists and ankles were tightly bound with ropes. She grimaced. “God, even my teeth hurt.”

“Sara loves her toys.”

Roxie followed the voice to the battered face of her friend, Lara. She sat on the opposite of the small room, her hands and feet bound, too. Fresh bruises bloomed around her cheeks and mouth, and her neck was red and raw. The room smelled musty, disused. The only scent Roxie caught was the metallic scent of the blood seeping from her friend’s wounds. She’d been through the ringer.

Anger surged. “Did Crawl do that to you?”

“Believe it or not, I still freak him out. This is the work of his Number One Crazy.”

“Sara.”

“Like I said, Rox. She loves her toys.”

“I’m going to kill her.”

“Get in line,” said Lara. She offered a smile, which wasn’t so much reassuring as grim. “How the hell did they get you? I thought you’d be in Oregon by now with the hot husbands.”

“I couldn’t leave you.”

Lara’s blue eyes widened. “Oh, Rox. Please tell me you didn’t give up your freedom for me.”

“Not just you,” said Roxie. “Crawl is unstable. The Blood Pack has never been awesome, but with him in charge, it’ll be a disaster.”

“I know,” said Lara. “Psychic, remember?” She laughed, but it was a hollow sound. “Some psychic I am—I sure as hell didn’t see this coming.”

“Crawl is an unpredictable bastard.” Roxie examined the small room. Four smooth walls, one large, metal door. Shit. “Where are we?”

“Apparently Crawl had a bunker built somewhere in the desert.”

“We’re underground?”

“Yeah. Us and about a hundred Blood Pack members.”

“That’s more than half the pack—all his supporters, right?”

“Afraid so. I’m the only pro-Roxie werewolf here,” said Lara. “Crawl wants to make sure there are enough Bloods to witness his victory.”

Even though she felt sick to the pit of her stomach, Roxie felt some relief in knowing that Grant, Jack, and the Pearsons would find them soon. She hoped. If the microchip in her neck even worked underground and led her mates and the bears to her, how would four big men with weapons sneak inside Crawl’s hideaway?

“We gotta hang tight, Lara. Help is on the way.”

Her friend blanched.

“What?” asked Roxie. Foreboding sliced through her. “What?”

“There’s not going to be a rescue.” Lara shook her head, her eyes sad.

“You’ve had a vision?”

Lara nodded, misery etched on her face. “You and Crawl fight. There’s a lot of blood. A lot of … pain. And … and there’s an explosion. I think this place is gonna be destroyed by fire.”

Roxie couldn’t bear her friend’s look of devastation. Had Lara seen their deaths at the hands of Crawl? “Screw that. The future’s not written—you told me that.” She blew out a breath. “I’m not dying today. You’re not dying, either. I don’t care what your fucking vision shows you—my mates will come for us.”

Lara nodded, but looked unconvinced. Roxie had to believe that Grant and Jack would find her. But what if the tracking device didn’t work? What if they didn’t find her and Lara in time?

The metal door rattled then swung open. Sara stood in the doorway, looking like a punk rock reject in her torn jeans, leather jacket, and pierced face. “Who’s ready to get fucked-up?”

11

CRAWL’S SECRET BUNKER had all the amenities that Blood Pack members adored: unlimited beer, loud metal music, and primo brawling space. The large cage a la Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome was large enough to accommodate a whole pack of fighters. Truth be told, more fights would probably happen outside the cage than inside.

Sara shoved her in and then slammed the gate shut. “Have fun.”

Roxie flipped her off, which made Sara laugh before she sauntered away. Roxie didn’t have to look hard to see the faces of Bloods who thought maiming was a great hobby. Crawl had invited the worst members of the Pack to this place. The assholes surrounded the cage, shouting at her and trying to douse her with their beers. She went to the middle of the concrete floor to stay out of reach of the hands and liquid, but she couldn’t deflect the jeers and insults.

A roar went up, and the crowd shook the cage, whooping and whistling as Crawl entered the battle zone. He didn’t wear a shirt. Typical. Like most Blood males, he wanted to show off his scars, tattoos, and muscles—a tactic designed to scare opponents.

And it was working. Roxie was terrified, but she’d grown up in the Blood Pack and had learned at early age to hide her fear.

Crawl spent precious seconds mugging to the crowd. After he’d whipped his confederates into a lather of hate-filled bloodlust, he joined her in the center of the ring.

“Ready, sis?”

“I can forfeit, right now.” She had a slim hope she could talk Crawl into a less violent solution. “You have a quorum. You win. No one gets hurt.”

Crawl grinned. “Aw. Now what fun would that be?”

He lunged at her. Roxie avoided the first punch, but the next one landed solidly on her chest. She was forced back, sucking in a breath from her protesting lungs. Crawl rushed toward her, grinning like the maniac he was, murder in his gaze.

Adrenaline surged. She wasn't going to die here, damn it. Roxie dropped down. Crawl couldn't stop his momentum nor could avoid Roxie's leg side-swiping him at the knee. He cried out, stumbling, trying to use his arms to break his fall.

He crashed to the ground.

Roxie popped up and ran to her downed brother. He curled into a ball to protect his head, but fuck that, she kicked him hard in the ribcage. He rolled to his knees and reached for her, but she danced away from his flailing hands.

"Bitch!" he screamed. "I'll kill you!"

She knew he would try. Before he could get up, she darted in and kicked him in the stomach. He took the hit, groaning, but in mere seconds, he was back on his feet.

Roxie's fear knotted her throat. She kept her gaze pinned to Crawl, trying to assess his next move. He was bigger, stronger, and more pissed off. How could she hope to defeat him—and save herself? And what about Jack and Grant? What would they do if she died at the hands of Crawl?

Well, Rox, don’t die.

They stared at each other, circling, waiting.

Crawl uttered a guttural cry that sent shivers right down Roxie's spine.

Then he began to shift.

Roxie had no choice. She started shifting, too.

It looked like the brawl would end with claws and fangs.

* * *

THE PEARSONS TOOK out two Blood Pack guards at the entrance to the bunker. Jack and Grant followed the bear shifters down the shaft. When Gabe had suggested embedding a tracking device into the base of Roxie’s neck, Grant was the only one to express reservations. But brighter minds prevailed, and thank God, because the SUV carrying their mate had disappeared into the vast canyons of Red Rock.

Whatever tech the bodyguards used apparently worked underground. No one was more surprised than Grant to find out Roxie had been scurried away five hundred feet under the desert soil. Worry threatened to destroy his self-control. Before mating with Roxie, he could’ve handled a situation like this without any problems. Now, however, adrenaline surged, making him feel anxious, shaky.

They crept along the corridor, which was dimly lit by red lamps. At the end, they could go right or left.

“We’ll take the left,” said Gabe. He and Mike took off.

Grant took the lead on the right, and Jack followed. Grant knew Jack well enough to realize that he felt the same urgency to find their mate. He couldn’t think about what life would be like without Roxie—she completed their triad. She was their heart now. And how could he and Jack live without their heart?

Within minutes, Grant caught the scent of Roxie. “She’s been here,” he said.

Then they heard the music. The shouts. The growls.

They followed the hallway as it curved to the left. At the end of the corridor, double doors were opened—and it seemed chaos itself spilled from the darkened area beyond. When Grant and Jack entered, the crushing mash of bodies, the scents of sweat and blood, and the horrible screeching music overwhelmed their senses.

It didn’t take long to figure out where everyone’s attention was located. A huge caged ring was the centerpiece of the space. Grant knew immediately where Roxie was—and terror sent jagged cold straight into his heart.

He and Jack didn’t even have to talk. They pushed and punched their way through the crowd until they got to the cage. Grant’s fingers curled around the wire as he watched a big, blonde wolf close in on a smaller, red wolf.

Roxie.

Their mate’s burnished coat was stained with blood. It looked like Roxie’s opponent had gotten in more the one vicious swipe. The bigger wolf, however, had sustained a facial injury and the beast was limping, which meant Roxie wasn’t making it easy for her psycho brother.

The entrance gate was five feet to the right. All Grant could think of was getting to Roxie before Crawl killed her.

Jack was right behind him.

The gate was locked from the outside. Grant and Jack gripped the chain-link gate and pulled. Grant watched Roxie dodge her brother’s snapping fangs, but he could see she was hurt bad. If they didn’t get to her soon, Crawl might finish her.

Jack and Grant pulled harder on the gate. With their combined efforts, they ripped the doors off its hinges.

The crowd seemed to like the addition of two new fighters, and they screamed wildly as Earth alphas approached the large, blond wolf.

The wolf swung around, snarling and growling. He stayed between them and Roxie. Roxie was swaying, badly wounded and blood leaking from her side.

Fury welled up in Grant. “Jack, get our girl.”

He punched Crawl in the head and heard a satisfying crunch of bone. The wolf was slammed sideways and Grant stalked toward the beast with every intention of killing it.

A voice crackled in his ear. Shit. He’d forgotten about the earpieces the Pearsons had given them. “Grant. Jack. We have Lara. Out in five unless you want a front row seat for the fireworks.”

Grant settled for a swift, hard kick into Crawl’s thick, stupid head. The wolf yelped and lay still. Unconscious, but still breathing. But not for long.

Grant took the lead once again. Jack had their mate, still in wolf form, clutched in his arms. Grant cleared a path easily; rage making his punches extremely effective. Without the direction of their alpha, the drunken mob had no idea what to do. They scattered, and the Earth Pack alphas hurried out of the bunker.

Gabe and Mike tossed the still unconscious guards into the bunker and slammed the metal door shut. Then they wired the door.

“You’re going to blow it up?” asked the tiny blonde girl—Lara, no doubt.

“It’ll give the Blood Pack a fighting chance,” said Grant. “Without Crawl and his cronies, the Bloods might be able to rebuild a pack worth saving.”

“We’re gonna bury them, sweetheart,” said Mike. “You got a problem with that?”

Lara shook her head. “Every one of those bastards can burn.”

Grant escorted Lara to the SUV and helped her inside. He slipped into the back seat and took the weakened wolf. Jack joined him, and Roxie lay across their laps, panting shallowly and whining.

“It’s okay, babe,” soothed Grant. “You’re safe. Crawl’s gone. He’ll never hurt you again.”

* * *

WHEN THE SOUL once known as Crawl left his mortal form, his rage tethered him to the earthly plane. He wanted to kill Roxie, to hear her scream and beg for her life, to cause her exquisite, endless pain.

He found her easily enough.

She’d gone to Oregon. To the Earth Pack. Her happiness infuriated him. In no time at all, he became a shadow in her mind, stalking her in dreams. His torment spread into her reality, sucking away her energy. He stole her solace, weakened her heart, and shattered her will.

And there was nothing she could do about it.

12

“NO!” ROXIE STRUGGLED out of the covers and landed feet first on the floor, her heart pounding erratically. Sweat dripped down her neck and her body felt cold and clammy. She shoved herself into the robe at the end of the bed.

The shadow in her terror-filled dream seemed to bleed into her waking world, too. There were days she didn’t know if she was awake or asleep.

She shivered. She’d mistakenly thought she could conquer the brutal nightmares. Tears fell, but she was tired of crying. Roxie scrubbed the wetness off her face. Why? Why did she feel this way?

It had been three months since Jack and Grant had brought her to Earth Pack farm. The pack members accepted her instantly. She’d been welcomed with open arms, kindness, and affection. After she’d healed from the injuries sustained by Crawl, she’d embraced her role within the pack. Yet, as days passed, the contentment she’d owned since coming to the farm slipped away like sand clutched too tightly in a fist. The creeping depression suffocated her—a dark poison piercing her happiness like a scorpion sting.

Feeling tired and weepy, she took a long, hot shower. She decided against make-up, pulled her hair into a ponytail, and dressed in knee-length dress the color of tangerines. She wandered aimlessly around the room, debating the merit of taking a walk. She didn’t want to stay in the room, but she didn’t want to leave it, either. Her husbands had gone out to visit Elsa. She knew they were worried about her. Doctors and herbalists had been unable to help, so now they were seeking advice from the pack psychic.

Exhaustion claimed her. She dragged her sorry self to the bed, snuggled under the top comforter. She missed her mates, but the bed smelled like them, and so she felt safe and warm in the cocoon of covers.

* * *

JACK AND GRANT sat at Elsa’s kitchen table. The older woman, who’d been the pack psychic for as long as they could remember, poured them herbal tea then joined them.

“How’s Lara?” asked Jack.

“She’s good. Very good. I’m glad you brought her to me. She’ll be an excellent replacement when I retire from my duties.” She sipped her tea. “You’re worried about Roxie.”

“Did you consult your otherworldly friends?” asked Grant. Not being able to help his mate had driven him to utter frustration. His worry came out as impatience and anger—neither emotion was helpful.

“Matilda told me that Roxie is pregnant,” said Elsa.

Jack and Grant shared a shocked look. Grant couldn’t believe their mate was pregnant! Joy infiltrated his angst. Maybe this explained why Roxie was so listless, so depressed.

“Is that why she’s so tired?” asked Jack.

“Partly.” Elsa folded her hands. “Lara and I have worked together in the psychic realm to pinpoint Roxie’s illness. We’ve both come to the conclusion that she’s been attacked by a darker.”

“What the hell is a darker?” asked Grant.

“A spirit driven by rage and vengeance. It’s a shadow being that can affect her dreams and her reality. We must do everything we can to rid Roxie of this toxic and dangerous spirit.”

* * *

ROXIE’S EYES DRIFTED open. The afternoon had given way to deep evening. She sat up, and the bedspread slid off her shoulders, falling into her lap. Cool wind fluttered the curtains as it breezed inside, and it seemed to swirl around her.

She stretched her arms over her head, feeling a little better. She glanced around. “Oh!”

Candles had been distributed throughout the room. They were all lit and cast a lovely, romantic glow. She slid out of bed walked to a table that had been set-up for her. Her husbands. Both men took incredibly good care of her.

A round loaf of bread sat on an oversized white ceramic plate, and next to it, on a yellow napkin, was a spoon. She lifted off the top piece of sourdough and grinned. A thick, hearty beef stew waited inside. Its fragrant smell promised beef, carrots, onions, potatoes, and spices. For dessert, she’d been given strawberries and cream. As she gazed at the simple feast, her stomach rumbled, and she realized she hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

“This is heaven,” she murmured, sitting down. She savored the flavorful stew and nibbled around the edges of the “bowl.”

After she finished the delicious meal, she felt much better. She thought of her husbands, of their inexplicable love for her. They’d been her rock. Her anchor. Her one true thing.

The door to the master suite opened, and Jack and Grant entered the room.

“How are you feeling?” asked Jack.

“Do you need anything else?” Grant looked even more worried than usual. “Maybe you should sit down.”

Roxie’s lifted an eyebrow. “I’ve slept the day away. Again.” She sighed. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Sit down,” said Jack gently. They led her to the bed and sat with her.

“You’re pregnant,” blurted Grant.

“What?” Shocked, she stared at him, open-mouthed.

Her big, strong husband blushed to the roots of his blond hair. “Sorry. There was probably a better way to tell you.”

“You think?” asked Jack. He took Roxie’s hands. “Lara and Elsa received the messages from the otherworld. You’re with child.”

“Wouldn’t I know?” she asked. “I mean, I’m a werewolf. We know these things, right?”

“You’re probably not too far along. Weeks at most. We’ll confirm through the doctor,” said Grant.

As the idea of impending motherhood filtered through her shock, relief soon followed. “That’s it, isn’t it? I’m preggers. That’s why I’m tired. Why I’m sick.”

She saw the concerned look her husbands shared. “There’s something else,” she guessed.

“Elsa and Lara think you’re being stalked by something called a darker.” Grant squeezed her shoulder.

“What the fuck is that?”

“A vengeful spirit,” said Jack.

Roxie sucked in a breath. “Crawl.” She shook her head. “That bastard is still after me?”

“That was our guess, too,” said Jack. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“The baby … how do I protect how child from a-a spirit?” Fear covered her like a cold rain. “What do we do?”

“Sshh, sweetheart.”

“Elsa and Lara are working on a way to get rid of him once and for all.” Grant kissed her cheek. “In the mean time, let us help you relax.”

Jack rubbed her thigh. “Please, Roxie. Let us love you.”

* * *

JACK HELPED ROXIE take off her dress and panties. She scooted onto the bed, in the middle, and watched her husbands undress. Both her mates were broad-shouldered with muscular arms and legs, and washboard stomachs.

Jack joined her first, cupping her neck. The tip of Jack’s tongue traced the shell of her ear. “What do you want to do?”

She wanted to show these gorgeous men how much she loved them. How much she needed them. How grateful she was for their support and devotion.

“Grant.” She heard the longing in her own voice. His name on her lips was laden with desire, and she knew he recognized the sounds of her need. His head snapped up, his gaze wide.

“Roxie?” He climbed on the bed. With Jack on her left and Grant on her right, Roxie felt utterly replete.

She belonged here. With them.

“I want you.”

Jack kissed her gently. “You are all that matters to us.”

“We’ll do whatever it takes to protect you, Roxie,” Grant said. He kissed her, a slow meeting of the lips that made Roxie’s heart pound. Desire curled through her.

She sighed into his mouth, suckling his bottom lip, tracing the upper one before spearing the seam. He tasted like mints. He groaned, and she swallowed the sound, angling her head to taste more of him. His tongue danced with hers.

Grant released her mouth and slid his lips along her jaw. Hot lust speared her, prickles of awareness driving a spike of heat into her groin. Her breath shallowed as his mouth traveled along her collarbone, down the valley between her breasts, and slowly, too slowly, along the line of her right breast.

“Roxie,” he murmured. His tongue traced the areola before he tasted her nipple. He licked and laved, and she knew he wanted to give her pleasure. She arched her back and pressed his head against her chest.

His groan shuddered across her flesh as his lips clamped the nipple and suckled it into a taut, aching peak. His other hand cupped her left breast, kneading it, two fingers pinching it’s hardening point.

Roxie pushed on his shoulders.

As he lowered to the bed, she tossed off the robe. She looked at Grant. His eyes were glazed, his body trembling, and his cock hard. God, he was beautiful.

“I know what you need.” She leaned forward and rubbed her nipples down his smooth chest, thrilling at his groans, his shudders. Her tongue lapped his flat, brown nipples. She kissed the ridges of his stomach, swiped each hip with a wet kiss then…whoa. She kissed the tip of his cock.

Her tongue swirled the ridge of his head again and again until his hands fisted the sheets, and his thighs trembled. She slid her tongue down his shaft, peppering it with tiny kisses and quick licks. She cupped his balls, playing with them before lowering her mouth to each one, suckling and laving. Then she returned to his shaft, to the tip, and she put it into her mouth, slowly, inch by inch, until she’d taken it all.

“Roxie. Oh God.”

Desire pounded an ancient rhythm that heated her blood, made her need grow and pulse inside—a living thing, consuming her.

Her mouth quivered with the familiarity of his cock sliding between her lips. Her tongue ravaged the hard length, licking and stroking. She took all of him as she went down again and again.

God, she was turned on. Her pussy was tight with an ache she needed her men to assuage. Grant’s buttocks tensed, and his hips lifted slightly as he groaned in ecstasy. He came hard, and she drank from his thrusting cock, swallowing his seed with feminine satisfaction.

When his cock stopped its orgasmic quiver, she lifted her head and smiled at him. He rose onto his elbows, grinning.

He sat up, leaned forward, and cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking her jawline. “Sweet Roxie,” he brushed her lips with his.

Roxie laid between the two men, trembling in anticipation. Jack and Grant stretched out on either side of her. Jack looked ready to devour her, and Grant, already hard again, looked just as hungry,

“What do you want, Roxie?” asked Jack.

She licked her lips. “I want you to play with my breasts.”

“Which one of us?” asked Grant.

Roxie laughed. “Honey, I have two boobs, and two men, each with a mouth. How about you both take one?”

Grant leaned forward and cupped her breast, suckling the soft peak and laving it to hardness with his tongue. Roxie’s eyes drifted closed, and she sighed against the lovely assault. Then she felt Jack’s hand on her other breast, cupping and kneading, then…oh yes, then his mouth encircled her nipple.

Heat flooded her as Jack and Grant played with her breasts, their mouths warm and wet and hungry, their hands drifting down her rib cage, over her hip, down the inside of her thigh, then up again. She squirmed and moaned, arching up, offering her breasts as sacrifice, as penance.

Lust made her wet, made her slick and needy. She lifted her hips, a silent begging, then felt a hand slid into her curls. A finger stroked her clit, then parted the folds and dipped inside.

She pumped against the teasing fingers, pressed against the palm cupping her sex, and all the while Jack and Grant loved on her breasts, their hands stroking, touching, burning. Both men pressed against her, and she felt the thick lengths of their penises against her thighs.

“Roxie,” Grant breathed in ear, his lips against her temple, his thumb and finger squeezed her hard nipple. “Baby, I want you.”

“Take me,” she whispered.

Grant stretched out, and she crawled onto her husband. Jack grabbed something from the nightstand table, then kneeled at her and Grant’s feet. She looked at him over her shoulder.

Grant’s cock was hard and thick, his eyes glazed with passion. She lowered herself onto his length and let her inner muscles stroke him.

His smooth, long strokes filled her. Her clit trembled, her over-sensitized body already seeking release.

Then she felt the plastic tip of lubricant inserted into her anus. She tensed as she felt the cold gel fill her. She relaxed, welcoming Jack as he grasped her hips and worked his penis into her.

“Are you okay?” Grant kissed her. His movements gentled, and he kissed her again, his tongue matching the slow rhythm of his cock.

Her body tingled, rivulets of fire and need prickling through her. Jack filled her ass, and she was always amazed at how wonderful it felt to be penetrated by two dicks. Jack’s slow rhythm matched Grant’s, and soon, the lazy fucking wasn’t enough. She wanted more…much more.

“Harder,” she said.

Grant bucked under her, his cock pumping now, and Jack’s grip tightened as he worked his shaft in and out of her ass. She moved with them, no longer passive in her desire. Her breasts scraped Grant’s chest, and her buttocks slapped against Jack’s hips.

Heat coiled low in her belly, arrowing to her core, blooming like a fire flower. Their movements were frantic now, and the feel of Jack plowing her ass and Grant fucking her pussy put her into orgasm overload. The pleasure rippled through her, a wave of blinding bliss that made her scream.

She had barely caught her breath when she felt Grant tense. He pushed deeply inside her, groaning his release as his seed spilled. She kissed him, still turned on, still enjoying Jack’s ass fucking. Grant slipped out of her and rubbed his softening cock along her clit.

Roxie captured Grant’s lips again, warring with his tongue, feeling the aching creep of another orgasm as Grant rubbed her clit, and Jack smacked against her ass with his hips.

“Oh Grant, Jack,” she whispered, as she moved between them, her clit throbbing, her second orgasm a few strokes away.

“Your ass is so tight, so sweet,” Jack moaned right before he came, his cock throbbing against her sensitive ass tissues. She came with him, shuddering and joyful. She collapsed onto the bed, sandwiched between her two men, feeling replete—and once again whole.

13

ROXIE AWOKE IN the big bed with Jack’s arm draping her waist, his soft snore tickling her ear. They had all drifted into a long afternoon nap while holding each other. She’d finally managed a peaceful, dreamless sleep. For the first time in three months, she hadn’t woken up with a pounding heart or sweaty fists clenching the sheets.

Grant wasn’t in bed. Her gaze traveled around the room until it reached the open balcony doors. She glimpsed him at the railing, staring at the forest that ringed the farmlands. The air blew through the curtains of the open windows, and she inhaled it. She wiggled out of Jack’s arms, smiling when he resisted. She laughed when he flopped over like a schoolboy who’d been told to get out of bed and pulled a pillow over his head.

She slipped on the robe that had been tossed to the floor and padded outside. She leaned on the rail next to Grant, her gaze tracing the thick, dark clouds as they rolled over the night sky. Roxie grasped his hand. They said nothing, watching the gathering storm.

Then the drops began to fall.

Thunder cracked and lightning jabbed the night sky.

“Let’s get inside,” said Grant, pulling her back to the bed.

The lights sputtered and died. She crawled inside the warm covers, watching Grant light candles. She drowsed against the thick comforter. The storm didn’t bother her. In fact, the sounds of the tempest created a strange lullaby.

“The main power source has been knocked out,” said Grant, “but the house has a back-up generator. I need to go outside and start it.”

“By yourself?” asked Roxie, concern whipping through her. “Where is it?”

“About ten feet from the main house—in a well-protected shed. I have flashlights downstairs, and I could walk around this place blind-folded and not get lost.” Grant’s smile glinted in the flickering candlelight. “You don’t have to worry about me. Get tucked in.”

“Okay.” Roxie’s thoughts turned to the child growing inside her womb. How could she have not noticed? Well, she noticed now—the exhaustion, the breast tenderness, the nausea. It all made sense. Beautiful, perfect sense.

Her happiness was chilled only by the idea of Crawl’s spirit endangering her, her mates, and their baby. How was it possible for the asshole to torment him after his own death?

“Babe, I’ll get the electricity working and bring up a batch of hot chocolate.”
Roxie looked up at her husband. The idea of sipping hot chocolate while snuggled in this huge bed tempted her beyond reason. She grinned. “I think the baby wants marshmallows.”

“Then he—or she—shall have them.”

* * *

CRAWL THE DARKER followed Grant through the hall, down the stairs, and outside into the full fury of the storm. When the man reached the shed, the angry spirit entered with him. As the fool bumbled and cursed, the flashlight’s beam bouncing across the interior of the shed, Crawl searched for a way to stop him from returning to the house.

The big metal wrench gleamed like the Holy Grail.

I want it. I want it. I want it!

The wrench flew into the air.

Yes! Hit him! Hit him! Now!

If the darker had a mouth, it would’ve grinned with malice as the heavy tool slammed onto the alpha’s head. If it had a voice, it would’ve have laughed as the man slumped to the cold concrete floor. If it had legs, it would’ve danced on the still form, kicking and smashing and crushing.

Now, only one obstacle stood between him and Roxie. The darker turned to the house and swept toward it.

The darker floated in the third-floor hallway. It felt stronger, more in control, alive. Hurting Grant somehow helped make it that way. In the long mirror that hung in the hallway, it saw how it now formed a shadowy figure. Hands. It needed hands. Legs. Torso. Mouth. It felt lips and tongue and teeth. Every time it thought about what it wanted, what it needed, it got those things.

At the sound of the bedroom door creaking open, the darker ceased its attempts to create a solid shape and hid in the shadows.

It watched as Jack slowly shut the door behind him and walked toward the staircase.

Hovering above, it followed Jack’s progress. At the top of the second-floor, it watched the man take a step down on the top stair. It focused on his big bare feet.

Trip! Fall! Die!

Another step. And another.

Frustration welled in the darker. It focused on the feet again.

Trip! Fall! Die!

This time, it heard the crack of an ankle turned wrong, the surprised yelp of pain, and watched, gleeful, as Jack rolled down the rest of the stairs and thumped to a stop at the bottom, lying pale and still.

Trip. Fall. Die.

* * *

ROXIE FELT CHILLED. Candles had burned low. The storm still raged. Grant had not returned. Jack’s quick trip to the kitchen to get more candles had stretched into a half an hour. As a werewolf, he shouldn’t have any trouble maneuvering in the dark.

What was taking her men so long?

The candles blew out.

She knew, suddenly, that something malicious and evil was in the room with her.

She felt its gaze. She licked her dry lips and tried to calm her erratic heartbeat. Her first impulse was to run and hide, but she knew it was futile. What hunted her from the shadows would find her, no matter how fast she ran or how well she hid. She stared at the darkness, waiting.

It slithered into the rim of light provided by the dying candles. Human-like, but fuzzy, like a smeared pencil sketch, the only discernable feature was the red glow of its eyes.

“Roxie,” it lisped.

“Crawl, leave me alone!” She scooted backward until her back smacked against the huge wood headboard. Her heart pounded fiercely and she felt chilled to the bones. Her hands clenched the comforter and for a moment, she wished she could toss it over her head and make the Boogey Man disappear. Where were her mates?

Oh, my God. Had Crawl done something to the men she loved?

She shivered against the cold, against the nausea threatening. Her stomach churned, her mind wild with fright.

The thing that had once been Crawl swept toward her, a wave of black, a thick blanket of evil that brought with it the smell of sulfur, and the promise of retribution. Throwing the comforter at it, she was surprised to find it tangled in the coverlet.

Roxie wasted no time scrambling out of bed. “Jack! Grant!” She ran to the door and wrenched it open, but before she could step out into the hallway, the knob flew out of her hand, and the door banged shut.

She grabbed the handle and pulled, her palms aching from the effort. With the door shut and her husbands MIA, she had to get away. She had to defeat Crawl. She had a child to protect now.

Then she felt its hands on her, wrenching her away, spiraling her toward the French doors, pushing her onto the balcony, into the cold, slashing rain. She felt her backside hit the railing, and then Crawl’s inhuman fingers closed over her shoulders—and shoved.

* * *

WHEN JACK AWOKE, he found Grant and Lara leaning over him.

“You okay, man?”

“Fucking awesome.” He rolled to his feet and almost vomited. His head throbbed to the beats of a thousand tiny drums. He put his hands on his knees and breathed slowly. Then he got to his feet. “I was going to get more candles. You didn’t get the electricity on?”

“I got knocked out in the shed. The generator’s busted.”

“Where’s Roxie?” asked Lara. Her insistent tone pricked the hairs on his nape.

The men looked at each other.

“Goddamn it. We left her!”

The front doors burst open. A drenched Elsa carried a big satchel into the house and hurried toward the stairs.

“Jack! Grant!” she said. “You’re okay. How’s Roxie?”

Jack’s heart tha-thumped and sweat pearled his brow. Without another word, he hauled ass up the stairs and grabbed at the door handle. It wouldn’t budge.

“Roxie!”

Grant pushed him aside and kicked at the locked door. It flew open, splintering, no match for the werewolf’s strength.

They rushed inside.

The shadowy creature that smelled like sewage hovered near the French doors. It turned as they burst inside, hissing and rushing toward them. The thing that had once been Crawl easily batted them aside.

The werewolves climbed to their feet, both growling as their inner beasts took over.

“Where’s Roxie?” demanded Jack. He snapped at the darker.

“Dead,” it cried gleefully.

Elsa pinned the thing to the floor. It screamed, trying to escape, but Elsa wasn’t about to let the darker go. Lara pulled items out of the bags.

“Grant,” puffed Elsa. “I need your help. Jack, go to the balcony. That’s the only place she could’ve gone.”

Grant joined Elsa’s efforts to hold onto the creature.

“Roxie!” Jack ran to the open French doors. What had that monster tried to do to their wife? Had she escaped? Or was she … oh, no. Now! He leaned over the balcony. “Roxie!”

The storm’s frenzy had dissipated. The rain fell softly now, and the velvet black of the sky peeked through the gray clouds. He looked everywhere, around the balcony, above him, at all angles of the roof, and finally, at the sandy ground three stories below. Tears pricked his eyes. “Roxie!”

“Jack?”

Her voice came from the right. He leaned as far as he could over the railing, and saw her hands grasping the rain gutter that ran under the balcony and along this section of roof. “Hang on, baby! Just hang on!”

“I’m already doing that. Any other swell advice?”

He choked on the laughter. She sounded scared, but strong. Yes, she was strong, his Roxie. He clambered over the railing, his feet sliding on the tiles. “Shit!”

“Be careful!”

“Yes, dear.” He crouched low, slowly stretching onto his belly. He inched toward the gutter, sweating and cursing, until his hands grabbed hers. “Thank God. Are you okay?”

“Almost.”

He slid his arms down on hers, offering his strength, until he reached her armpits and pulled her up. She grabbed onto his arms and struggled upward, grateful when her knees hit the roof. She slowly turned and sat, watching as Jack rolled over and did the same.

“Did it hurt you?”

She cuddled into his side. “It pushed me over the railing, but I grabbed the rain gutter.”

His heart nearly beat out of his chest. He’d almost lost her. Relief made him giddy.

“Where’s Grant?”

“He’s helping Elsa oust that bastard.” They crawled to the balcony and climbed over, reaching the French doors. Grant met them there, hugging them both.

The creature screeched. The Earth Pack triad turned and watched Elsa and Lara blow blue smoke at Crawl and chant in an ancient language. The darker writhed and shrieked…then it burst into a shower of red and black sparks, and disappeared.

“It’s over now,” said Grant.

“You’re safe,” added Jack.

Roxie held onto her mates, soaking in their warmth, their love.

“Well,” said Elsa, “I expect one of those little girls to be named after me.”

“And me, too,” said Lara.

Roxie let go of Jack and Grant, and turned to stare at Elsa. “One of my little girls?” She flattened her hand against her stomach. “Twins?”

Elsa chuckled. “No, honey.” She grinned widely. “Triplets.”

* * *

Wait! You don’t have to leave The Pack Rules world. Get The Bear Rules Boxed Set with Books 4 - 6 by CLICKING HERE. Your gorgeous bear shifter bodyguard brothers await…

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Michele Bardsley is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of paranormal romance. When she’s not writing sexy tales of otherworldly love, she watches “Supernatural,” consumes chocolate, crochets hats, reads on her Kindle, and spends time with her husband and their fur babies.

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Bear Witness

1

RAFE PEARSON LEANED against the doorjamb and stared at the falling snow. Ominous clouds roiled in the night sky, stealing light from the moon and stars. The December weather ventured into the cabin only to be repelled by the crackling fire in the hearth and the soft comfort of candlelight. He felt the winter chill through his thick, long sleeved shirt, but he couldn’t blame his shivers on mere cold.

He was afraid.

Where was she?

The wind answered his silent question with swirling dead leaves and rattling naked tree limbs. Usually, he was very satisfied with this view—the forest all around his home, pure nature just steps away. It soothed his human need for solace and his animal need for primal connection. These ten acres were his small part of Mt. Charleston. His house was the only one around for miles, and he liked it that way. The highway that led to the nearby ski resort was a good thirty-minute walk—if he were only using two legs.

Rafe cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Wolf!”

The old girl meant the world to him, his only company in these lonely days—days that had somehow turned into years. Nearly three years, if anyone kept count. He tried not to, but his brothers and sisters certainly had. The family consensus seemed to be it was time for him to move on.

Yeah? How the fuck was he supposed to do that?

Unfortunately, the Pearson clan was all stubborn resolve wrapped in fierce love. He had to admit that his siblings’ visits and his mother’s casseroles were beginning to have the intended effect. But he wasn’t ready. His wife Samantha and his unborn child had died—and with them, a part of his own soul. He would decide when to stop grieving, not them.

The log cabin protested the incoming snowstorm—its creaks and groans as familiar as a favorite song. Rafe crossed the porch, leaning out over the railing to study the tree line. He understood the irony of a bear shifter befriending a forest animal. An irony that increased a hundredfold when one counted all the wolf shifters who lived in the surrounding areas. Hell, the Shadow Pack headquarters was three hours northeast of Las Vegas. And the Blood Pack was closer than that. Blood Pack. He scowled. Now there was a bunch of mangy assholes.

The one o’clock hour chimed from the Grandfather clock in his front room. One a.m. and she’s still not home. Rafe had no chance in hell of finding Wolf in the dark, much less in the storm, but the bad odds didn’t stop him from putting on his coat and snow boots. She had never given up on him, and he owed her. He stomped out to the porch and shut the door behind him.

Her howl stopped him from taking another step. Relief rushed through him and dissipated the tension bunching his shoulders. He waited, watching the edge of the woods. Since he was a bear shifter, his other senses were better than a human’s, including his vision. He saw the trees sway, their scraggly branches reaching up as if to touch the thickening gray clouds. There. Her gray fur was nearly invisible against the snow, but the big purple bag clenched in her teeth stood out like a beacon.

What had she found?

Wolf ambled to the porch and lowered the bag at his feet. He knelt and hugged her, running his hands along her thick fur. She allowed his affection for a moment, then slipped out of his embrace and nosed the bag, looking at him expectantly.

“Okay, girl. What did you bring me?”

Rafe noticed the holes cut in the top. What was in here that had gotten Wolf’s attention? Foreboding clenched his stomach as he unzipped the bag.

Shock electrified him.

An infant. He studied the frilly blankets and pink crocheted hat. A girl, he thought, probably three or four months old.

“Holy shit.”

Startled by his fervent exclamation, the baby curled her rosebud lips and wailed, shaking her tiny mitten-covered fists at him.

Rafe looked at Wolf. She offered him a solemn, unblinking gaze. “Where the hell did you find a baby?”

2

GRETCHEN MYERS WOKE to an endless and rhythmic beeping. She was strapped to a bed—the only thing she recognized in the cloying darkness. Her head throbbed and her chest hurt. He’d found her. Her stepsister’s demented husband had found Gretchen and imprisoned her. He would kill her.

Just like he’d killed Vivian.

Gretchen bit back an anguished wail.

A swath of white cut through the room’s utter blackness. Fear awakened inside her, but it was dull and thick, like chilled honey. Through heavy-lidded eyes, Gretchen watched a stocky female figure walk briskly to the bed and reach above her head. A light flickered on. She blinked into the harsh brightness, attempting to focus on the woman hovering above her.

Gretchen noted the kind face, the short silvery gray hair, and the blue scrubs. She squinted at the plastic rectangle pinned on the woman’s top. Sally Shake, R.N. She moved her arms and realized her what she believed to be a strap was actually an IV line inserted into her right wrist.

“Where am I?” Her voice sounded like the metallic squeal of a rusted hinge. She tried to wet her mouth, but it was like swallowing cotton. She coughed, and pain pulsed in her ribs. Ouch.

“Hello there! I’m Sally. You’re at Summerlin Hospital. They brought you in last night.” Sally seemed to intuit Gretchen’s dire thirst. She poured water from a pink plastic jug into a cup. “Here you go, sweetie. Just a little bit. Enough to get your mouth wet.”

Gretchen lifted her head and took small sips, resisting the urge to gulp. The cold water was pure nirvana, and in the moment, better than any liquid she’d ever tasted. After a few moments, she sank back onto the pillow. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I feel so tired.”

“It’s the meds.” The grandmotherly woman patted Gretchen’s arm. “You’re banged up, but you’ll be okay. Do you remember anything about the car accident?”

Memory flickered. The dark winding road. Twin dots of light appearing in the rearview mirror. Fear knotting her throat. Her hands shaking. Metal crunching. Tires screeching. Terrified screams. Hers. Kaylie’s.

Oh, my God. “Is the baby all right?”

Sally turned from checking the monitors. “Baby?”

“Yes. My … uh, daughter. Kaylie. She’s almost four months old.” Gretchen’s heart thudded. Had Kaylie been hurt when the sedan crashed into the trees? No. She had to believe the baby was all right. Gretchen couldn’t let Vivian down, not when her stepsister’s final act on this earth had been to protect that sweet baby girl.

“I’ll go check on your daughter. The doctor will be here any minute.” Sally’s smile offered reassurance, but Gretchen knew better than to trust anyone. Especially people hiding behind masks of being friendly professionals. Her hazy memory seemed to go in and out of focus—sharp one second, blurred the next. She couldn’t think straight. Please, please, please let Kaylie be okay.

In last twenty-four hours, Gretchen’s entire world had been turned upside-down with one run-in from a woman she hadn’t seen or heard from since they were teens. It was only by chance that they had re-connected. Or so Gretchen had thought. She realized now that running into Vivian at Caesar’s hadn’t been coincidence.

Vivian’s father and Gretchen’s mother had been blackjack dealers at the Drift Resort. It was a whirlwind courtship and an impulsive marriage. The relationship lasted less than five years. When Gretchen was fifteen and Vivian was seventeen, their respective parents divorced. Mom took her to Michigan so they could live closer to her grandparents, and Vivian and her father stayed in Vegas. Gretchen hadn’t been back to Nevada since … until yesterday.

How had her stepsister known that she was in Las Vegas? She’d unexpectedly won a vacation getaway a month ago, one that was only good for the first weekend in December. Gretchen was headed to a spa appointment when she spotted Vivian striding down the hallway. Their brief interaction consisted of a hug and a “How have you been?” conversation that lasted maybe two minutes. Vivian left with a smile and a wave. Later, after Gretchen went to her hotel room, she discovered a note in her jacket pocket.

Meet me at the address below at midnight. Park at the end of the driveway and go to the side door. Be as quiet as possible. I’ll explain everything when you arrive. I’m sorry to burden you, Gretchen, but you’re the only one I can trust. Please help me save my daughter.

A normal person would’ve called the police and handed the matter over to them. But Gretchen knew Vivian wasn’t a normal person—she knew her stepsister’s secret. Vivian was a werewolf. She had revealed her other self to save Gretchen. So, if Vivian was in trouble, Gretchen was more than glad to re-pay the debt.

At her stepsister’s instructions, Gretchen followed her rental car’s GPS directions to the address, which turned out to be an unbelievably luxurious mansion tucked onto the side of Mt. Charleston. The moment Gretchen arrived at the side door, Vivian opened it and handed her the purple bag that contained her most precious treasure.

Kaylie.

I don’t care about me, but my daughter deserves better. You have to take her. Please.

We’ll all leave together, Vivian.

There’s no escape for me.

Don’t say that. Come on. Let’s just go.

You don’t understand. My husband is Rand Blackthorne.

Blackthorne! Is he related to—

It’s complicated, Gretch. I don’t want her last name to be his. I don’t want his legacy to belong to her. When he’s … he’s distracted, you hold onto my baby and run.

Distracted? What’s going on?

Take Kaylie to Bleed City, Nevada. Ask for Aunt Lila. She’ll know what to do.

Gretchen had protested, but Vivian paled and whispered, “Rand’s coming.” She pushed the door closed between them, and Gretchen heard the lock click. The pretty square window sparkled in the moonlight. Its charming lace curtain gaped in the middle, offering a slivered view into the mudroom.

She stood frozen on the tiny concrete porch, hand raised to knock, desperate for Vivian to change her mind. Then a large man, who had to be Rand Blackthorne, stormed inside yelling and pointing a gun, so enraged he didn’t notice a witness. Gretchen would never forget his face. She would never forget the savage monster that appeared so quickly as he raised the gun and shot his wife point-blank in the head.

Gretchen swallowed a jagged, hollow scream.

Tears streaming down her face, she clutched the baby to her constricted chest … and ran.

“Miss?”

Startled, Gretchen blinked away the memories and looked at the man who stood in the doorway, a chart in his hand. He was tall, lean, and wore a white lab coat. He had short brown hair and a nondescript face. “Who are you?”

“I’m Dr. McClure.” He crossed to the room, his expression polite and professional. However, his brown eyes were confident and kind. Gretchen relaxed. “You’re Ms. Myers?”

“How did you know that?”

“From your driver’s license. Your purse was among the items EMS collected when they took you from the accident scene.”

“Oh. Of course.”

“Do you remember anything?”

“Bits and pieces. How did I get here?”

“Frat boys on their way to the ski resort found you right after the accident. You managed to leave the car, but then you passed out. You’re very lucky. You didn’t suffer any negative effects from lying in the snow—no hypothermia or frostbite.”

“What about the baby? Is she okay?”

The doctor frowned. “I’ll check with pediatrics after we’re done, okay? Now, let’s see how you’re doing.”

He’d barely started his examination when Sally returned, anxiety and concern apparent in her expression. “Sweetie, I checked with the nurse who was on shift when you came in. You were alone. They didn’t find a baby.”

“Call the police,” said Dr. McClure. “We’ll need search and rescue out there immediately.”

Sally bustled away to do as the doctor directed. Dr. McClure patted her hand. “Don’t worry, Ms. Myers. We’ll do everything we can to find your child.”

Gretchen felt the blood drain from her face. Images and sounds filled her mind. She’d put Kaylie in the built-in pull-down child seat and harness in the back of her sedan. At the time she’d rented the car, the agent had mentioned the feature among many others when selling her the upgrade. She was glad she’d gone for luxury instead of practicality.

The next thing Gretchen remembered was a large, ugly truck roaring up behind her car and smacking into the bumper.

Spinning.

Sliding.

Slamming.

Dazed, she’d pushed down the air bag and unbuckled the seat belt. The door opened and she fell out. Bitterly cold snow seeped into her clothes as she struggled to stand. From the back seat, Kaylie started to cry. The baby had survived the crash.

Gretchen’s relief was short lived. The truck that had caused her to drive off the road pulled up behind her vehicle.

Kaylie’s cries turned into tiny, angry howls.

Then she’d heard another howl, this one deeper, longer—an answer to the baby’s distress.

She fell forward, the earth spinning beneath her. That must’ve been the moment she went unconscious. Hearing that eerie howl was the last thing she remembered—everything afterward was a blank.

Snapping back to the present, Gretchen looked at Dr. McClure as panic clawed through her. Surely, the EMTs wouldn’t have missed Kaylie if they’d thought to get her purse out of the car. Had Rand gotten to the baby? If her rescuers had found her right after the crash, maybe Rand didn’t have time to kidnap his daughter. Gretchen didn’t know what was worse: Vivian’s child falling into the hands of her murderer, or Kaylie lying somewhere in the woods, buried in snow.

Breathe, Gretchen. Think. Kaylie had a better chance because she wasn’t human. Wolf shifters were stronger in mind and in body. But she was still so young. How long could she survive?

“You have to find Kaylie.” Gretchen clutched at the doctor. “Please,” she cried. “Please! You have to find her!”

“Calm down. I don’t want you to bust open your stitches or aggravate your concussion.”

“You have to find that child. I promised. I promised.”

“Sshh.” Dr. McClure reached over and pushed a button on Gretchen’s IV line. “Everything will be all right, Ms. Myers.”

Gretchen felt suddenly lethargic. Her eyelids drooped. “What…did…”

“It’s okay,” soothed the doctor. “You need the rest.”

Gretchen sank, unwilling, into oblivion.

3

4

Ten Years Ago…

THE LAUGHTER WAS the worst part. The boys enjoyed Gretchen’s torment. They knew the desert better than she did, so they followed her at a pace set to terrorize. Far enough away to make her think she might escape—close enough that a quick sprint would allow them to catch her.

They’re going to hurt me.

Sneaking out and going to the senior party in Red Rock Canyon had been a big mistake. Now, Gretchen was running amid the clusters of rocks and scrub brush, sand filling her shoes, breath stalling in her lungs, and fear clouding her thoughts.

“What’s wrong, baby?” yelled Trent. “I thought you liked us!”

“That’s right! You know you want some of this,” added Jacob.

They whooped with more laughter.

Tears scalded Gretchen’s cheeks. Trent and Jacob had been so nice to her at school. They were popular and cute, the football jocks that most girls crushed on. She’d let them talk her into attending the annual bonfire—an unofficial tradition honored by graduating classes. Lower classmen rarely got invited. So when Trent and Jacob had approached her, not only asking her to go, but also offering a ride in Trent’s new Mustang, she’d been flattered. Vivian had tried to warn her, but Gretchen wouldn’t listen. You’re just jealous that they like me and not you.

But her stepsister had been right. Trent and Jacob hid ugly natures made uglier still by their sense of entitlement. As they drank beer after beer, flirting turned into aggression. She had accepted a can because everyone else was drinking, and she didn’t want to stick out as the goody two shoes. She tried a sip, but instantly disliked the foamy wheat taste. It didn’t take long for Trent and Jacob to separate her from the others. They closed in around her, trying to touch and kiss her. Don’t be a bitch. You should be happy we picked you, Gretchen. You’re lucky.

“Don’t be a baby. We’re just messing with you,” taunted Jacob.

“C’mon, Gretchen. Stop running,” yelled Trent. “We’ll take you back to the party.”

They weren’t even trying to convince her of their lies. They didn’t care that she was terrified. In fact, they were treating her like prey. Jacob and Trent were two unrepentant predators on the hunt. Deep down to her soul, Gretchen knew she couldn’t escape them.

Gretchen’s sides ached, and her calves burned. It was dark, but she was using the mini-light on her keychain to avoid ankle-busting holes and trip-inducing plants. Desperation surged. Her gaze skittered across two boulders leaning against each other. She was small enough to fit in the space between them. If she stayed there, quiet, maybe Trent and Jacob wouldn’t see or hear her. Eventually, they would give up … wouldn’t they?

Gretchen didn’t have a choice. She couldn’t outrun them. Her only chance was to hide. And she’d rather be stuck alone in the desert than at the mercy of the two drunken teenage boys.

She ran to the boulders, her heart pounding so hard she could feel its frantic beat in her ears and in her throat. She skidded to a stop and sank to her knees, crawling forward. Safety waited just inches away. Relief slid through her as she sought to wedge herself into the tight space.

Her relief turned acidic when hands clamped onto her ankles, and she was dragged backwards.

Gretchen screamed.

She dropped her keys and clawed at the sand, trying to find purchase. One of the boys grabbed her hips. He flipped her over. She scraped at the stone, her fingernails breaking as she tried to hold on.

She kicked and punched, but Trent and Jacob were stronger. Jacob grasped her flailing legs as Trent pushed her shirt up and grabbed her breasts.

“No!” she cried. “Stop!”

“Leave her alone.”

The sound of Vivian’s voice silenced the boys’ mean-spirited laughter. Gretchen went still, but couldn’t stop sobbing. Fear poisoned her blood, withered her muscles, and scratched at her bones.

“Well, well. You gonna join the fun, Viv?” asked Jacob. He wasn’t completely able to contain his surprise at her stepsister’s sudden appearance. But his arrogance was too great to be put off stride for too long.

“Get your hands off her before I break all your fingers.”

Gretchen looked at her stepsister, amazed at her calm demeanor as she stared down the attackers. Vivian glanced at her, and Gretchen saw the animalistic tint of Vivian eyes. It was the same kind of iridescence she sometimes saw in her cat Mellow’s eyes.

Jacob and Trent shared a look. It was as if they communicated psychically. Jacob stood as Trent grabbed Gretchen and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pinning her against his solid frame.

“Tell you what,” Jacob smirked. “You shut up and do what we say, and maybe we don’t leave you alone to bleed in the desert.”

Vivian smiled. “I’ll make you the same offer. How about that, Jacob?”

Jacob didn’t like being challenged. He moved swiftly, trying to backhand Vivian, but she dodged. Then she punched him in the solar plexus. He staggered, breathless, and Vivian kicked him in the crotch. Hard.

He fell onto his side, curling into a fetal position as he moaned in pain.

Vivian turned. “Let her go, Trent.”

“Sure, baby.” Trent released Gretchen.

She scrambled away, getting to her feet and nearly falling into Vivian’s arms.

Trent slowly stood and took particular care to dust the sand off his jeans. He didn’t look all that alarmed about his friend’s injuries, and he sure as hell wasn’t afraid of Vivian.

“Dude. I’m outta here. You gonna stay with these freaky bitches?” Jacob had managed to stand, but his expression was still pained.

“Go on. I’ll catch up.”

“Whatever, man.” Jacob turned and walked off.

As soon as his friend went out of sight, Trent shook his head and sighed. “Humans are so fragile.” His gaze zeroed in on Gretchen. “Weak. Stupid. Ignorant.”

“You still spouting that racist crap your dad taught you?”

Trent snarled. “You’re a mongrel. Your human mother was too weak to even finish bearing a werewolf baby. You don’t even have a pack.”

“We don’t want one,” said Vivian. “Stay away from Gretchen.”

“Gretchen likes me. Don’t you?” His smile was pure evil.

“The Shadows won’t tolerate your treatment of humans. It’s against pack law to harm them. Back off, or I’ll report you to the alpha.”

Gretchen didn’t understand what they were talking about. Alpha? Packs? Werewolves?

“Vivian,” she whispered, “what’s going on?”

“Nothing. C’mon.” Vivian put Gretchen behind her. “We’re walking out of here. Keep your distance, Trent.”

“Or what?” Trent’s face began to change. His brow broadened, his nose and cheeks pushed out, and his jaw widened. He dropped to all fours as his back bowed and his clothes began to swell as his musculature changed.

Fur sprouted, and a full, thick coat was revealed as the beast that used to be Trent shook off the shredded clothing. He lifted his snout to the sky and howled.

“Run,” said Vivian. “Don’t stop. Don’t look back.”

Gretchen didn’t have to be told twice. Trent had just turned into a wolf before her very eyes, and she was so stunned, she couldn’t put a coherent thought together. But as she moved away from her stepsister, the wolf crouched and growled.

Vivian yelled, “No!”

But it was too late.

The wolf leapt.

5

GRETCHEN REARED BACK as the werewolf lunged at her. Vivian pushed her aside, and she flew backwards, landing hard on her back. Huffing and puffing, she rolled to all fours and pushed to her feet.

When she turned around, a second werewolf had appeared. Beautiful white fur shone in the moonlight. This wolf was smaller, more graceful. Vivian. It had to be her. Holy crap. Her stepsister was a werewolf, too.

The white wolf easily dodged Trent’s clumsy attacks. He let his anger dictate his action. He relied on rage instead of strategy to win the fight, and it blinded him to anything but violence. He didn’t realize that Vivian was leading him away from Gretchen. When she jumped up onto the boulders that Gretchen had tried to hide between, Trent followed. He was unprepared for Vivian’s snap at his throat. He yelped and fell to the ground, an ominous crack silencing him forever.

Vivian leapt off the stones, and Gretchen watched in horrified amazement as her stepsister transmogrified into a naked human female. Vivian leaned down and felt the neck of the wolf and grimaced. “Shit.”

“Is he … dead?”

“Yes. We have to go,” said Vivian. She seemed utterly unconcerned about her nudity. Gretchen followed her in a daze, body aching and mind reeling. They soon arrived at Vivian’s little Mazda Miata. “Get in, Gretch.”

Vivian popped open the Miata’s trunk and slipped on a T-shirt dress. Gretchen wanted to ask questions, but the adrenaline that had kept her upright and fighting suddenly dissipated. Before she could utter a word, the exhaustion overtook her and she passed out.

“TRENT BLACKTHORNE?” HARRY asked. “Are you sure?”

Vivian had called her father on the drive home and told him everything. He’d met them in the driveway and carried a weary Gretchen to her bedroom. She slipped beneath the covers, but now that she was safe at home, she couldn’t sleep.

Vivian was a werewolf.

And her stepfather Harry knew.

No, it was more than that. He was one, too.

She left the bedroom and walked down the darkened hallway to Viv’s room. The door was cracked, and she heard voices. She paused, cocking her head, and listened.

“I had to, Dad. They were going to hurt Gretchen.”

“You did the right thing.”

“They’ll ask for a blood debt,” Vivian said. “I killed their son.”

“We’ll deal with that. I’ll talk to the alpha of the Shadows. We’ll pledge to them and seek sanctuary at their compound.”

“What about Gretchen? And Ellen?”

“The only way to protect them is to send them away. They’re better off in the human world without us.”

“I’m sorry, Dad.”

“Don’t be, Vivian. I’m proud of you. Blackthorne is a rogue, and he raised his sons to be vicious. You protected our family.” Harry kissed his daughter’s head. “Get some rest. Everything’s going to be okay.”

Gretchen snuck back into her room and quietly shut her door. She leaned against it, her heart squeezing. She’d ruined everything by going to that stupid party. Now, her whole family would pay the price for that one horrible mistake.

She slid down to the floor, pressed her head to her knees, and sobbed.

6

“FORMULA, RAFE?”

“Wolf likes it.”

The shopkeeper laughed. “You really indulge that old coyote.”

“She’d be offended, Tom. I wouldn’t call her a coyote to her face.”

“Believe me, I won’t.” He shook his head. “You’re the only fella I know who’d befriend a full-grown wolf. She ain’t exactly a puppy. She might hide a mean streak.”

“Some would say the same about me.” Rafe put the rest of the groceries on the counter, along with the diapers.

Tom’s eyebrows rose. “Wolf suffering from incontinence?”

“They’re good for cleaning windows.”

“You never bought ’em before.”

“I read about it in some magazine.”

“Like Parents?”

“Pretty sure it was Guns and Ammo.”

Rafe avoided Tom’s skeptical gaze. For the zillionth time he’d wished he’d been able to go to Vegas where anonymity was guaranteed. The storm had left him little choice; the main road off the mountain was closed and would be until the plows cleared it. He wanted to hurry, but he couldn’t draw any more of Tom’s attention. His cop’s instincts warned him to tread carefully. He’d avoid questions until he gathered more information about the situation with the kid. He figured she was safe in Wolf’s care for twenty minutes—especially when he’d discovered the little girl was a shifter. Getting hungry had made her cranky enough to sprout ears and a snout. It was no wonder Wolf was so attracted to the babe. Her mothering impulse was strong.

Since last night, he’d been asking himself a troubling question: Why was the daughter of werewolves abandoned in a tote?

He didn’t have a cell phone or a landline. On purpose. That way people wouldn’t call him and say things like, “Don’t you think it’s time to move on?” or “Why don’t you come out with us? ” Then there was Mom’s favorite: “You have to let go of the past, so you can have a future.”

As soon as the road was opened, he would drive into town and go to his sister’s vet clinic. At the very least, his youngest sibling Lisa would know some contacts in the local packs. She’d treated the Shadow Pack’s beta not too long ago—maybe the Shadows were looking for the baby. He didn’t want to think about the infant belonging to the Blood Pack. He couldn’t, in good conscience, hand over an innocent to those brawling, murdering bastards. Damn it all to hell. He had his reasons for moving into the cabin and staying away from everyone. Now, he had some little bundle of fluff re-opening old wounds and forcing him into the world he’d wanted to leave behind.

“That’ll be twenty-seven dollars and four cents.”

Rafe shook off his thoughts and opened his wallet. He paid with his debit card, said good-bye to Tom, and hurried to his Ford Bronco. He made it home in record time. Despite the snow, he shaved two minutes off the usual ten-minute drive. Wolf greeted him at the door then she returned to her protective spot, curling around the makeshift drawer crib. The baby still slept, but her blonde hair was wet and stuck straight up.

He chuckled. “Wolf, you don’t have to clean her.”

Wolf looked at him as if to say: What do you know? She stretched out her front paws, lay down, and closed her eyes.

Rafe put away the groceries before he picked up the purple bag and examined it for the hundredth time looking for clues. Most of the baby’s clothes were hand-made; the name Kaylie was embroidered on the two sleepers. Stuffed into the tote were a bottle, a package of wipes, a pink pacifier, and diapers. Whoever put the kid inside had done so with care. The quantity of items suggested the trip was supposed to be a short one. The holes in the top ... to ensure Kaylie could breathe. Obviously, the baby had been hidden.

Why?

Rafe believed that the mother had packed the tote and placed Kaylie inside it. The whole thing had a woman’s touch. He wondered if the parents were in the woods. Hurt? Dead? Werewolves could’ve easily tracked their child’s scent—at least before the storm had hit. It had put another foot of snow on the ground, and all traces of Wolf’s paw prints were gone. Any shifter trying to search by scent or tracks now would be shit out of luck.

Rafe had been listening to the radio, but a missing baby hadn’t been reported. Either the parents didn’t want to rely on the human justice system, or they were dead. He didn’t own a television—didn’t own too many amenities, preferring not to know what was going on outside his own four walls. But his rusty protective instincts had kicked into gear, thrumming with an intensity that set him on edge.

“Damnation.” Rafe went to cabin’s lone closet and dragged the trunk out of it. He smiled as he unlocked the buckles. His wife’s garage-sale find—the ugliest piece of luggage he’d ever seen. Samantha had wanted to paint it and put it in the nursery. The trunk was the only reminder of his other life that he kept nearby. Everything else gathered dust in the detached garage fifty feet behind the cabin.

He needed to find his police scanner. He removed the half-finished knitted blanket and hesitated. Pressing the soft scrap against his cheek, he closed his eyes. For the first time in a very long while, he let himself remember.

“Look, honey!” Sam waved the blanket at him.

He examined the crooked edges and smiled. “I think that color might blind our son.”

“Daughter, smarty-pants.” She frowned, and, as always, he was drawn to the full curve of her lush mouth. “Is it too ugly, Rafe?”

“Yes,” he answered. He leaned down and kissed her, loving the feel of her soft lips against his. “But it’s perfect. Just perfect.”

Gripping the edge of the trunk, he stared down. His badge gleamed next to Sam’s picture. He tucked the badge under another box and picked up the framed photo. The glass had cracked; he traced the jagged line that crossed his wife’s face. With a sigh of regret, he tucked the photo under the scrap of baby blanket. Another minute of searching yielded his scanner, and he shut the lid. He wish could shut the lid on his memories as easily.

Rafe put down the scanner and knelt beside Kaylie. Blonde lashes rested against peach cheeks. Her small chest rose and fell in relaxed sleep, chubby fists tucked under her chin. He resisted the urge to touch her, and instead, folded the blanket around her. Wolf must have found her right when she’d been abandoned. She hadn’t suffered from the cold.

He stood and stretched, contemplating the possibility of a nap, but then Kaylie stirred. Her eyes fluttered open, and she stuffed her fist into her mouth. Her grunts and suckling noises made him smile ... until her lips puckered and she let out one helluva wail. Already Kaylie had taught Rafe this particular tune. He knew to check the diaper and warm a bottle.

And he knew, much to his embarrassed delight, how to cuddle her while she ate.

7

WOLF STOPPED, EARS pricked forward. A warning growl rumbled from her, and Rafe stroked her head. “Easy, girl. Let’s check it out.”

Kaylie, bundled in her pink hat, mittens, and frilly coat, rested inside Rafe’s zipped parka. Her head barely peeked out from the top. Rafe adjusted his arm, fitting it more securely under her bottom. She wiggled a little before settling against him, and her soft baby’s breath tickled his neck as she slept.

A bottle and a pacifier were tucked in his pocket, ready to go if Kaylie woke. She’d spent the last two hours exhausting him, so he hoped her nap would be a long one.

Rafe followed Wolf deeper into the woods. He knew they were heading toward a bend in the highway. About half a mile from the road, Wolf stopped and cocked her head. She went still, suddenly alert and watchful.

Distant voices broke the silence.

Rafe and Wolf crept closer until Rafe could clearly hear the conversation.

“It’s been two days, Walt. That kid doesn’t have a chance.”

“Gretchen Myers got her brains scrambled in the accident. She probably doesn’t even have a kid.”

“Yeah? The child harness in the back seat has been chewed through.”

“Jesus Christ and all the saints. Please tell me an animal didn’t drag a baby out of the car.”

Rafe peeked through the brush. Uniformed cops combed the area. His gaze traveled to the crashed gray sedan. It bore immense damage. The foot of new snow deposited by the storm obscured any skid marks, blood, and footprints that might have been left behind. Even with the road opened now, a tow truck wouldn’t risk the slick roads and deep embankment. No, the sedan would stay put for a while yet.

The police were looking for Kaylie. All he had to do was step out, offer up the infant, and go on his way. Would they think he’d kidnapped her? He rolled his eyes. He knew too many people at Metro who’d laugh at the idea of him committing a crime. Something about this whole situation set his teeth on edge. He definitely wasn’t sold on the idea of giving a shifter baby to humans.

The cop named Walt spoke. “We need to widen the search—get the dogs out here.”

“Yeah,” said the other cop. “You know, maybe someone found her.”

“If they did, they’ve kept her. Child services hasn’t logged any calls or had any drop-offs in last forty-eight hours.”

Rafe frowned. Kaylie’s mom must be worried sick. Why else would a werewolf mother send the human police to look for Kaylie? Maybe he should just hand her over. Fighting his uncertainty, Rafe took a step forward, reaching out to part the bushes so he could walk into the clearing.

Wolf snagged his coat sleeve with her mouth and tugged him backwards. He hesitated, looking down at his furry companion. She seemed to understand his reluctance, even if he didn’t. Her big brown eyes seemed to say, “Wait.”

Wolf’s instincts were in sync with his, and that made the decision easier. He would find momma wolf and take the baby to her. He’d find out more about the situation before he gave up the little girl resting so sweetly against him, and return to his lonely, pathetic existence.

AFTER THEY RETURNED to the cabin, Rafe put Kaylie into her temporary crib. Wolf curled around the drawer again, resuming her duties as primary protector. He didn’t want to think too long about what he had to do next. He hadn’t opened the garage since his family had filled it up with boxes and furniture from the Las Vegas home he’d once shared with his wife.

He hurried out the back door and headed toward the garage. His boots crunched in the snow, and his breath clouded the air. His hands shook as he put the key into the padlock and removed it. The door squealed as it rolled up and revealed the well-preserved life of a widower.

He found the car seat quickly. His mother and siblings had packed the garage for him, and his mother’s organizational skills had not gone to waste. All the nursery items had been put together. The car seat remained unboxed. He and Sam had taken it out in anticipation of bringing their child home in it.

But Sam, and the baby she tried so hard to bring into the world, never came home.

He shut the garage door and re-locked it. Then he hurried to the cabin. He had to admit that his grief no longer felt like the sharp blade of a new knife. When had the sting of memory become bearable? When had he allowed the gilded edge of his sorrow to dull to an occasional throb?

Rafe gathered Kaylie’s things and stuffed them into the purple bag. He put the car seat in the Bronco and buckled Kaylie into the contraption with an ease that reminded him of his rusty longing to be a daddy. Wolf climbed in and sat next to the baby, licking the girl’s blonde curls. Kaylie cooed, her lips curling into tiny baby smiles as she delighted in Wolf’s attention.

“C’mon, girl. You gotta stay here.” Wolf licked Kaylie’s face one last time, and with a whimper, she hopped out of the Bronco. He let her into the cabin and she curled around the drawer.

“She’s not ours, Wolf.”

Wolf gave a half-hearted bark and looked at him with a sad gaze. He took that to mean: I found her. She’s mine.

Turning Kaylie over to her mother was breaking Wolf’s heart. And if Rafe was honest … it was breaking his, too.

8

RAFE DROVE CAREFULLY on the two-lane mountain road cursing all the impatient idiots who passed him or honked their horns. It took him more than an hour to get off the mountain, and he breathed a sigh of relief when they hit the open highway. Now it was a straight shot to Vegas. After they got to the outskirts of the city, he stopped at a roadside diner and used the pay phone to call Summerlin Hospital, the nearest medical center to Mt. Charleston.

“Gretchen Myers’ room, please.”

“Just a moment, I’ll connect you.”

Rafe hung up. He didn’t want to explain anything over the phone. It would be better to show up with Kaylie and answer Mrs. Myers’ questions face-to-face. She probably thought her baby was dead. The thought of Kaylie coming to harm squeezed his insides so tight he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t imagine the kind of agony her mother suffered as she wondered about the fate of her child.

They arrived at the hospital.

Rafe tried to smooth down Kaylie’s blonde hair, but several stubborn strands poked up. At least he wouldn’t have to explain wolf drool to a werewolf mother. With a sigh, he unhooked Kaylie and gathered her into his arms. He grabbed the purple bag and, battling the sense of dread settling into his gut, he walked into the lobby and asked for directions to Mrs. Myers’ room.

He removed her mittens and tucked them into the tote. As they got into the elevator, he shifted Kaylie higher, and he felt her tiny hands press against his neck. They felt soft and sweet. Like butterfly kisses. He caught the smiles of an elderly couple sharing the elevator.

The woman stared at the baby, her expression full of tenderness. She was human. A grandmother, if the scents of White Diamonds perfume and fresh baked cookies were any indication.

“She’s your first baby, isn’t she, dear?”

Rafe nodded as heat crept up into his face. Kaylie chose that moment to coo, her eyes open as she rested against the crook of Rafe’s neck.

The couple chuckled. “Looks like she’s daddy’s girl,” said the man.

The elevator stopped with a loud ding, and the doors opened. The couple exited with Rafe. He quickly said good-bye and hurried down the corridor to Mrs. Myers’ room.

As he approached, he saw a man in a lab coat, a doctor perhaps, pause at the door. The dark-haired man covertly surveyed the hallway before entering. Rafe drew in the scent on the air. Werewolf. Instincts sharpened by both human and bear experiences alerted Rafe. Something didn’t feel right. He never ignored his gut feelings. He looked over his shoulder and spotted the elderly couple still shuffling down the hallway. In less than a second, he made the decision.

“Excuse me,” he said as they drew near. “I’m visiting my wife and last time Kaylie, our baby, got scared by the machines. Would you mind watching her for just a few minutes?”

The woman’s features lit up with delight. “We’d love to! We’ll go to the family area at the end of the hall and wait for you.”

She took Roxie and the purple bag. Rafe felt suddenly bereft, and an odd panic pierced him. The woman patted his arm. “I’m Velma, and this is Henry. We have four children and nine grandchildren. Your little one will be just fine with us.”

“Thank you. I won’t be long.”

“Don’t worry, daddy.” The woman made a shooing motion with her free hand. “Go see your wife.”

Rafe waited for the couple to move down the hall before he quietly opened the door. The room was dark. Silent. Too silent. No monitors beeped. No lights blinked from the machines. The shades were drawn tightly against the afternoon sunlight. The hair rose on the back of his neck.

He smelled the werewolf at the same time he sensed movement on his left. He punched high, making contact with a throat, while simultaneously landing a straight kick to the shifter’s stomach. A muffled groan accompanied the thud to the floor.

“I hope you’re not really a doctor,” he muttered. He felt the wall for the light switch and flipped it on. The man was curled on the floor. His face was red and sweaty, and his eyes were squeezed shut. The blow to the man’s gut prevented any noise except pitiful wheezing.

He didn’t know whether to help the guy or to kick him again. His gaze swung to the bed in the middle of the room. A woman occupied it. He noticed that her arm hung off the side, limp and unmoving. The sheets were twisted around her torso, and a pillow covered her head.

Rafe’s heart skipped a beat.

The bastard had suffocated Kaylie’s mother.

9

RAFE PUNCHED THE fake doctor in the jaw when he tried to stand up. Werewolves were strong, but they didn’t have the strength of a fucking bear. The guy went lights out.

He strode to the bed and tossed the pillow off Gretchen Myers’ face.

She was breathing.

The moment he saw her he felt sucker-punched. She had long hair, the color of wheat, and her pale face was heart-shaped. Beautiful.

And she was human.

That didn’t mean anything. If she was married to a werewolf, she could’ve birthed a shifter baby. The idea that she may already be mated gut-punched him. The unexpected reaction had him reeling even more than his complete and utter attraction to the woman.

After he reassured himself the woman was okay, Rafe dragged her attacker into the tiny bathroom. He grabbed a hand towel resting on the sink, stuffed the middle portion in the guy’s mouth, and tied it tightly behind his head. He stripped his belt off and used it to bind the werewolf’s hands behind his back. After this moron woke up, it would take him a while to get free. Rafe planned to be far away before that happened.

Rafe went back to Gretchen’s bedside and touched her face. Her cheek was soft and warm. God, it had been forever since his fingers had danced across a woman’s skin. He inhaled the scent of her—feminine and sweet, like honey. He loved honey. He was a bear, after all.

Her eyes fluttered open. He was stunned by the color—moss green with flecks of gold. He saw the forest, nature, and life reflected there. His heart turned over in chest. What the hell was wrong with him? Then he noticed her gaze was wide with fear.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. He didn’t exactly sound comfortable.

“That man…”

“Don’t worry about him. Can you get out of bed?”

“The meds make me sleepy.”

Shit. Rafe wouldn’t be able to walk out of the hospital with a patient over his shoulder and a baby in his arms. He needed her to get motivated. “Kaylie’s here. I brought her to you.”

“You have her? Oh, thank God. Where is she?”

“Just down the hall.”

Relief filled her expression. Then she frowned at him. “You’re not the police, are you? What are you?”

Not who, but what. “My name is Rafe Pearson. I’m only here to help, I swear. Was your husband in the same accident? Where is he?”

“I’m not married.”

Not married? That meant she was a widow or she was single. Single didn’t make sense because werewolves didn’t breed indiscriminately. They mated before they had babies. He’d been a cop too long. He knew when someone was holding back on information. Gretchen Myers had secrets—and trust issues. He couldn’t blame her, though. It seemed obvious she was operating in a world she knew very little about.

“I cold-cocked the guy who was trying to smother you. Any reason a werewolf wants you dead?”

Her face went bone-white. “Oh, my God. I have to get Kaylie away from here.”

Her panic was real, and so was her distress. When he was a cop, he’d seen that reaction too many times in women who’d been the victims of stalking. Someone was after Gretchen—and her baby.

“Get dressed. We’ll go get Kaylie, and then I’ll get you both out of here.”

“Thank you.” Gretchen sat up, removed the tape around her IV line and pulled it out. She swung her legs off the bed and put her feet on the floor. Her determination was admirable. Rafe sensed there was a lot about this woman he could like. Strength and perseverance was as sexy as beauty and lush curves. She managed to stand, but immediately began to sway.

“Easy, sweetheart.” Rafe guided her to sit on the side of the bed. “I’ll bring your clothes to you.”

He went to the small closet and pulled out what he could find: a sweater, jeans, socks, black lace panties and bra set—not standard mom issue—and a pair of zip-up ankle boots. He plopped them all next to Gretchen.

“Would you mind giving me some privacy?” she asked, glancing down at her undergarments then back at Rafe. Her cheeks turned a charming pink, but she didn’t drop her gaze. Damn, she was cute.

“No problem.” He moved to the door and turned away from her.

“How did you find Kaylie?”

Rafe heard the rasp of clothing and couldn’t help but imagine what Gretchen looked like without clothes. Those gorgeous breasts filling his hands, the feel of her writhing beneath him, breathy moans coasting along his skin as he plunged inside her wet heat. Rafe shook away the images, shocked at his own thoughts. It had been a long time since he’d had lustful inclinations. What the hell was this inexplicable attraction to a woman he knew nothing about?

“Rafe?”

Right. She’d asked a question. “My wolf found her and brought her to my cabin.”

Her could hear her hesitation. Then softly, she asked, “You mean … you were in wolf form, and you found her?”

Rafe looked over his shoulder, somewhat offended to be mistaken for a werewolf. Gretchen hadn’t yet put on her sweater, and his gaze roamed over her breasts so nicely displayed in the black lace bra. Desire swept through him, a hot yearning that he felt right down to his suddenly perking cock. Down, boy. We don’t have time to be frisky.

“Do you mind?”

“Oh. Sorry.” He faced the door again. “I’m not a werewolf. I’m a bear shifter.”

“Bear shifter? How many kinds of shifters are there?”

“Lots.”

“I had no idea,” she said unperturbed.

Rafe heard a soft groan. Shit. He opened the bathroom door and saw the werewolf coming to, his eyes fluttering open. Rafe gave the would-be assassin a left hook that slammed him into the side of the bathtub. The werewolf slumped to the floor.

“Rafe?”

He shut the door and pivoted.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking care of business.”

She didn’t question him. Instead, she asked, “Where’s the baby?”

The baby. Not my daughter or my child. He frowned. “Isn’t Kaylie yours?”

Gretchen looked at him, haunted. “She’s my niece. Sorta. It’s a long story. But her mother is … gone.” She swallowed hard. “Vivian is—was my stepsister. She asked me to take Kaylie to Aunt Lila in Bleed City.”

“Bleed City is a Shadow Pack protectorate. If Kaylie’s mom is a Shadow, then why do you have her daughter? The Shadows protect their own, especially the children.”

“Look, I don’t know, okay? I came to Las Vegas for a conference, and Vivian found me. She asked me to take Kaylie to Bleed City—and that’s what I’m going to do.” Gretchen’s voice ached with sorrow, and her eyes gleamed with unshed tears. “Please help me.”

“I will.” Rafe crossed his arms and stared hard at her. “But first I need you to answer a question. Who is Kaylie’s father?”

“His name is Rand Blackthorne. He killed my stepsister right after she handed Kaylie to me. I ran. He came after us … and … and caused the accident.”

“I’m sorry, Gretchen.” He blew out a breath. “The Blackthornes are rogue werewolves. They don’t affiliate with any pack because they believe breeding with humans weakens their bloodlines.”

“I know how vicious the Blackthornes can be.”

“There’s only one left now. After his father died, Rand became the only living heir to the Blackthorne legacy. If Kaylie is his child...”

Gretchen shook her head. “I don’t care about werewolf politics. I just need to get Kaylie to safety. I owe Vivian that much.”

Rafe nodded. “All right. Let’s go.”

Gretchen retrieved her purse from the closet and leaned heavily on Rafe as they exited the room. The more she walked, the stronger Gretchen apparently felt. Within moments, she was striding straight and tall without his help. Her fortitude amazed him. She had the strength of a bear—and it seemed, the heart of one. Her dedication to her stepsister’s wishes was commendable, especially when Rand Blackthorne was involved.

Blackthorne owned a couple of casinos and few other more shady businesses. His corruption had gotten him onto the human radar, and he’d been investigated several times by state and federal government agencies. Witnesses tended to disappear, and justice personnel often got transferred or suspended, making it difficult to prosecute him.

In the shifter world, Blackthorne was an outcast. Even if he wanted to join a pack, none would have him—not even the Blood Pack, and that was saying something.

They reached the tiny waiting area, and Rafe’s gaze swept the room. He counted three people—and none of them were sweet old grandparents and a werewolf baby.

“I don’t understand,” said Gretchen. “Where’s Kaylie?”

“Excuse me,” said Rafe, attracting the attention of the nearest woman. “Did you see an elderly couple with an infant?”

“No,” said the tired lady. She gestured to the other two people. “We’ve been in here all day. No one else has come in.”

Dread drop into his stomach like a lead weight.

Kaylie was gone.

10

AUNT LILA, A slim silver-haired woman dressed in a lavender pantsuit, poured coffee for Gretchen and Rafe, who sat at the dining room table. After tending to her guests, Aunt Lila took a seat opposite of Gretchen.

The last three hours had been a hazy tumult of emotion and stress as Gretchen dealt with the aftereffects of medication and guilt. Rafe, who had no vested interest in helping her, had driven straight to Bleed City, promising Gretchen they would get Kaylie back—whatever it took.

Rafe sat next to her. The bear shifter was all kinds of handsome, from his sharp cheekbones and straight nose, to his full lips and the cute dent in his chin. His eyes were a deep brown, the color of melted chocolate. He was the exact opposite of the kind of man she usually dated. Her fear of big, muscled men had become ingrained in her the night Trent and Jacob had tried to rape her. But Rafe’s large presence brought her a kind of comfort she couldn’t quite understand. His nearness gave her a feeling of safety, she hadn’t experienced since she’d left Vivian’s with the baby. And when he said they’d rescue Kaylie, she believed him.

Rafe seemed to sense her distress and reached over to rub her back. It was such a sweet, impulsive way to offer her solace. She had the sudden and disconcerting realization that she could find plenty of things to like about Rafe—not the least of which was the way her skin tingled at his platonic touches. However, the smoky look in those dark eyes left no doubt what he was thinking about her. And nudity. And doing things that made two people sweat and moan and—whoa. She really needed to stop thinking about the way he’d looked her in the hospital room when she was half-clothed. Even now, her blood heated and her heart pounded. The way she felt baffled her. How could she be so utterly attracted to him with everything going on right now? The last thing she should do was think about Rafe Pearson in that way. Her desire for him just added to the guilt pile she’d already accumulated by failing Vivian so completely.

Gretchen clutched the mug and sipped from it. The coffee was strong and sweet, just the right thing to help clear her mind. She couldn’t let her fright for Kaylie or her fear of Rand dissuade her from her purpose. Vivian didn’t want that murdering bastard anywhere near her child, and Gretchen would make damn sure Vivian’s wishes were honored.

Her gaze flicked to the woman across from her. Aunt Lila was the kind of woman who didn’t fill up the silence with inane talk or useless questions, and Gretchen felt better in her presence. She radiated a soothing calm, which lasted until the doorbell rang.

Aunt Lila smiled. “The alphas are here.” She left to answer the door. When she returned, a striking man with impossibly long hair, and a lithe, graceful woman followed her into the dining room.

“This is Grey Burke and his wife, Belle,” said Aunt Lila. “This is Rafe Pearson and Gretchen Myers.”

Everyone shook hands and said hellos, and then Grey and Belle seated themselves at the table. Aunt Lila brought them coffee, too, and then re-settled in her chair.

“We know that Rand has the baby,” said Grey.

“Oh, no.” Gretchen blinked back tears. “I can’t leave her with him. He’s a killer.” She told them everything—from the moment Vivian gave her the note at the hotel to the accident that left her unconscious.

“He must’ve found out about her plan to leave,” said Aunt Lila.

“She was leaving him?” asked Gretchen. “Then why didn’t she come with me?”

“She made the decision to sacrifice herself to save her daughter. Nothing was more important to her than that little girl,” said Aunt Lila.

“A month ago, she came to the Shadows in secret and joined the pack,” said Grey. “She and Kaylie are legitimate members and are entitled to our protection.”

Gretchen put the coffee mug down, though her suddenly shaking hands nearly dropped it. “A month ago?” She inhaled a shaky breath. “She never planned to leave Rand. I won a radio contest for a Las Vegas trip that I had to take this weekend. Believe me, I checked things out to make sure it was legit. But … Vivian must’ve set it all up. That’s how she knew I was at Caesar’s.”

Silence descended. Gretchen felt her throat knot, but damned if she would give in to tears. “Why would she marry a Blackthorne? She—” She stopped short of confessing what Vivian had done to save her. It had been a secret for so long, she couldn’t bear to say it out loud. It would make everything real—Vivian’s death, Kaylie’s kidnapping, the mistake Gretchen had made and could never, ever take back.

“We know what she did,” said Belle softly. Her gaze was kind. “She explained that if she could no longer care for Kaylie, you would be her first choice to raise her daughter.”

“Why?” Gretchen couldn’t stop the tears this time. “I haven’t talked to her for ten years. The last time we saw each other, she … she risked everything to save me.”

Aunt Lila, Belle, and Grey all shared a look. Then the Shadow Pack alpha nodded. “We know she killed Trent Blackthorne. The father of Trent and Rand demanded a blood debt.”

“What does that mean?” asked Gretchen.

“It’s the werewolf version of an eye for an eye. Harry agreed to indenture himself into the service of the Blackthornes, but Vivian couldn’t bear the thought of her father paying for what she did. She offered herself instead, and she was given to Rand as a bride.”

“How long was she married to him?” asked Gretchen, horrified.

“For the last nine years,” said Aunt Lila. “She told us that she had taken precautions against getting pregnant. Rand wanted her to have children.”

“Whatever she was doing to prevent pregnancy either failed or Rand figured out what she was doing and forced her to stop,” added Grey. “Once she had Kaylie, she knew she couldn’t let her child grow up as a Blackthorne. That’s why she reached out for our help. And we gladly gave it.”

“Her life was awful because of me,” said Gretchen. “If she hadn’t tried to save me from my foolishness, she would’ve never killed Trent. Oh, my God.” She buried her face in her hands and wept.

Rafe’s arm dropped around her shoulders in a protective gesture, and his kindness only made her cry harder. After a while, the sorrow lessened and the tears dried. She was able to once again to face the people at the table.

“What happened was an accident,” said Aunt Lila. “This tragedy befell Trent because he was a cruel, malevolent creature. You were not the first girl he chased into the desert and tried to ravage. Vivian knew his true nature—she stopped him from ever doing it again. She married Rand because he’s the last Blackthorne. She wanted the line to die with him. When she couldn’t ensure that—she made plans to save Kaylie.”

“Are you saying she tried to kill him?” asked Gretchen. “That’s why she wanted me to take the baby. She was going to end it all.”

“It’s only a theory,” said Rafe, breaking his silence. “We won’t ever know what her intentions were, so let’s focus on what we can do.” He looked at Grey. “You have a plan to rescue Kaylie?”

“We do,” confirmed Grey.

“I’ll help.” Rafe looked indecisive for a moment, then he nodded. “In fact, you’ll have the entire Pearson bear clan at your disposable.”

“Excellent.” Grey stood. “We know that Kaylie is at the Mt. Charleston house. Guards have been doubled. He’s probably expecting someone to come after the baby. Our best chance is strike before dawn.”

“Will you kill Rand?” asked Gretchen.

Her question startled everyone.

She looked at Grey, resolve hardening in her heart. “Because if you don’t, I will.”

“You won’t have to,” said Rafe. “I’ll make sure that bastard stops breathing.”

11

RAFE COULDN’T SLEEP. He felt stifled in the small bedroom. He wore nothing but his boxers, but his claustrophobia was unrelenting. He shoved off the covers and stood, walking to the window on the left side of the bed. The guest bedrooms were upstairs in Aunt Lila’s house. Gretchen had taken the one across the hall from his. He wondered if she’d been able to sleep or if worry kept her awake.

Her guilt was eating her inside out. He knew that kind of guilt, it was the same he suffered from when Samantha had died trying to give birth to their child. They’d taken the baby from her womb and tried to revive … him. He swallowed the knot in his throat. His son. He’d lost his wife and his son on the same night. Aneurysm, the doctors said. The baby didn’t get enough oxygen. He’d suffocated in the womb.

A double tragedy—one that could not have been prevented.

Deep in his gut, he always believed that he’d somehow killed Samantha. She was a human trying to birth a bear shifter baby. Her body couldn’t handle the stress. His family had tried to convince him otherwise, and so had the doctors, but he couldn’t … wouldn’t listen to them. Someone had to pay for his loss, and he decided the only person he could punish was himself. He quit the force, moved into the cabin, and relived his pain over and over. Until Wolf found him. She appeared in his backyard when he was chopping wood, and the next thing he knew, he was feeding her and inviting her inside his home.

That was the day his healing had begun.

Even though he couldn’t let go of what happened, the pain began to ease. The memories didn’t hurt quite as much anymore. Combined all that with the efforts of his family, it had only been a matter of time before he would rejoin the world.

Kaylie had been the final push.

He owed that little girl a lot because she’d made him truly feel again.

So, yeah. Rafe understood Gretchen’s guilt. She couldn’t have known Trent Blackthorne would attack her. She didn’t know Trent and Vivian were werewolves, subject to rules she couldn’t fathom. Nor could she see into the future and know that Vivian would have to marry a Blackthorne.

Vivian chose to pay the blood debt, and tried to end the Blackthorne line not just for herself, but for future generations. He’d never known her, but her bravery and honor were apparent. Qualities that Gretchen had in spades, too.

A soft knock sounded at his door. “Rafe?”

He let Gretchen inside, his gaze drawn to the pink nightgown. She saw the direction of his look and pinched the side of the material. “Aunt Lila let me borrow it.”

He could just make out the dusky tips of her nipples poking through the silky fabric, and he had to bite back his groan of unbidden lust.

“I’m so jumbled up inside,” said Gretchen. “I want to stop thinking. For a little while at least. I need…” She trailed off and looked up at him with a luminous gaze.

Rafe pulled her into his arms and kissed her. She sank into his body, and he enveloped her fully into his embrace as he deepened his conquering of her mouth. He scooped her up and carried her to the bed. The mattress dipped beneath his weight as he leaned forward to drape Gretchen over the messy covers before he joined her.

He knew he should be thinking about the way things turned out with Samantha. He should give Gretchen comfort, instead of giving in to their baser needs. But she smelled so good. And dear God, she felt like redemption.

His heart thudded erratically. It had been a long time since he’d made love to a woman. There’d been no one since Samantha. He was nearly overwhelmed by the idea of taking Gretchen, of letting her fill the empty spaces inside him, of giving to her what he had once reserved for another.

But he did so gladly.

The ghost of Samantha faded, and then there was only Gretchen in his mind, in his heart.

The deep coral of her areolas and

Her blonde hair fanned out against the pillows. He picked up a strand and rubbed it between his fingers. It was a cool blonde, the color of winter sunsets. He inhaled her purely unique scent, which reminded him yet again of the sweetness he associated with honey.

Gretchen leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss on his mouth, but her hands, her wicked, wicked hands, dipped into his boxers and stroked his cock, which went to full mast in a hurry.

Pleasure clouded his mind. But that was nothing compared to what she did next. She pushed on his shoulders until he lie on his back.

She kneeled between his legs and took off his boxers. The next thing he knew, his cock was wrapped in her warm, hot mouth. Her mouth slid down his length until her seeking tongue connected with his balls, wrapping eager fingers around his cock to stroke it as she licked his testicles. Then her mouth and hand switched places. While her hand cupped and kneaded his balls, her mouth sucked the tip of his cock.

He felt the soft piercing of her tongue in the slit then she was taking all of him down her velvety wet throat. He reveled in the feel of her tongue, her lips, her hands…

“Wait,” he said, his voice hoarse. “It’s been a while for me, sweetheart.”

She stopped her tender ministrations then she stretched out across him. She wound her arms around his neck. “Rafe,” she whispered.

He helped her off with her nightgown, and then rolled her onto her back, covering her with his muscled body. His fingers trembled as he cupped the tender weight of her breast in ones hand. His breath shallow with excitement, he rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. It hardened, the tight bud a wanton temptation.

The deep coral of her areolas and her tight, sweet nipples beckoned him. Grasping one breast, he leaned forward and swirled his tongue around one bud, teasing it with light, quick licks until Gretchen’s soft moans begged him for more.

He took the taut peak into his mouth and suckled.

She cried out, shoved her hands into his hair, and pressed him closer still.

He moved to her other breast, kissing the underside before tasting her areola.

His lips clamped her nipple and suckled it with the same intensity he’d devoted to the other.

His hard cock strained against the welcoming heat of her womanhood. It had been too long. He needed her. Wanted her.

This…

Oh, yes. This.

He shuddered with desire, stalling the deep need to ravish her, to show her right now how much she meant to him.

His cock pressed against her sex—then she was reaching between them, adjusting his position so he could take her.

He moved.

Slowly.

“Oh, God,” he said, “You feel so good, Gretchen.”

“So do you,” she said. “Please, Rafe.” She grabbed his hips and writhed against him, her strokes short, frantic, and torturous.

She bucked against him, her hands fisting against his buttocks.

He felt the rise of his own pleasure, the bare edge of an orgasm threatening. He suckled her nipple, matched her strokes, and enjoyed the feel of her taking him and making him whole again.

Her orgasm claimed her scant seconds before he lost his control. As she milked his cock, saying his name like a mantra, Rafe cried out, his penis jerking hard as he spilled his seed inside her

For long a moment, they held each other, hearts pounding and breathing hard. Rafe rolled to his side, tucked Gretchen into the crook of his arm, and held her close.

“Should we … we talk or something?” asked Gretchen.

“You know, I’m a bear,” he said tenderly, “and there’s one thing we really like after having awesome sex with a beautiful woman.”

She arched a blonde eyebrow. “Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

“Snuggling.” He drew her closer still and she clung to him, giving him as much warmth and solace as he tried to give her. Sometimes, no words were needed.

Soon, they both slept.

12

GRETCHEN WALKED BEHIND Rafe and his two brothers as they crept through forested hill toward the shining chrome and wood mansion above them.

Two hours earlier, three SUVs filled with werewolves, Rafe, and Gretchen had met up at the offices of Pearson Security. She had to admit that waking up in Rafe’s arms had been wonderful. He was affectionate, unafraid to wrap his arms around her or tickle her ribs to make her giggle.

As they entered the back rooms of Pearson Security, Rafe’s brothers, Gabe and Mike, had greeted their oldest brother with the sort of affection that encapsulated the term “bear hugs.”

Rafe hadn’t argued when Gretchen said she wanted to be part of Kaylie’s rescue. Instead, he showed her how to load and aim the .9 mm pistol now holstered on her hip. She was already falling hard for the bear shifter, and this gesture really clinched the deal. Now, she wore the same black outfits as the rest of the Pearson clan—including a heavy bulletproof vest wrapped around her torso. The Shadows were taking lead on the operation, disposing of the posted guards while the Pearson brothers and Gretchen breached the house.

They each had an earpiece tuned in to the same frequency. Small mikes attached to their collars allowed them to communicate quickly and effectively. Everyone would be able to hear what was going on with everyone else.

The guards—twelve in all, came to quick and silent ends. The werewolves took positions around the house, prepared to annihilate anyone stupid enough to run out of the manse and threaten them.

Gretchen and the bear brothers went up the driveway to the side door Gretchen had told them about. Mike kicked the door, and it shattered inward. Its wood and glass was no match for the bear shifter’s sheer strength.

The mudroom led into the massive kitchen. Gretchen got a vague impression of steel appliances and granite countertops as they ran through it. The dining room was clear, and the next room was a massive living area with multiple seating arrangement and a fireplace so huge, three people could stand upright in it.

“Clear,” said Mike. “We’ll go through the rest of the downstairs, you two go up.”

Mike and Gabe took off, and Gretchen followed Rafe up the elaborate wood staircase.

The first four bedrooms on the upper floor were empty. She assumed the double-doors at the end of the hallway led to the master suite.

Gretchen heard the baby’s wails interspersed with tiny barks. She froze.

Rafe cursed. “He’s in there with her. Stay behind me.”

Shaking and fearful, Gretchen followed Rafe down the hall. He busted open the doors, his pistol firing before she could even enter the room.

Two men lay dead on the floor. Sitting on the massive four-poster bed was Rand. He was dressed in a suit, his dark hair slicked back like a movie mobster’s. His malicious grin was all teeth and no conscience. He held Kaylie against his chest, and by the baby’s cries, Gretchen knew Kaylie was in distress.

“Come any closer, and I’ll kill her.”

“Your daughter?” scoffed Rafe. “After everything you did to get her back?”

“I can make more babies.” Rand looked down at his daughter and grimaced. “I don’t really want reminders of my whore wife.” His glance took in Gretchen. “You’re the one who took my child.”

“She was given to me,” said Gretchen. “She’s mine now.”

Rand’s heavy black brows lifted in mock surprise, and he laughed. “A human? Really?”

“The human responsible for your brother’s death,” she said.

That put him off-guard. Rafe crept closer, his gun trained on Rand’s skull. Gretchen followed, feeling helpless. How could they get to Kaylie before Rand did something to hurt her? The big werewolf could snap her little neck with ease. Fear pulsed at the base of Gretchen’s spine.

Rand stroked Kaylie’s hair as he spoke. “Vivian killed Trent. He wanted to mate with her, and instead of doing what she was put on this earth to do, she murdered him. I had to make her pay for that. And I did, believe me. Every single day.”

Fury welled up inside Gretchen. “You’re going to rot in hell, right next to your asshole brother.”

Anger and sheer force of will propelled her around Rafe and toward Rand. He didn’t seem alarmed by a human coming at him, and certainly didn’t expect Gretchen to slap him across the face as hard as she could.

“You bitch!” he thundered. “How dare you!”

Gretchen snatched the baby right out of his hands. That’s when she saw he’d been hiding a gun underneath his precious, innocent daughter. She whirled away, clutching Kaylie tightly against her chest. She heard the report of two bullets.

Rafe yelled, “No!”

Then she felt like she’d gotten punched in the kidneys. She staggered, her breath going out of her as she fell to her knees. She swayed, staying upright, determined to protect the little werewolf in her arms.

The next thing Gretchen heard was a hair-raising, animalistic roar … she’d heard that sound before on nature shows about grizzlies. She moved forward until she reached the far wall, then she turned and leaned against it, twin aches blooming across her back.

A brown bear stood fully on its haunches, and raked its claws through Rand’s chest. The werewolf had been trying to change into his other form, his face a mask of both human and wolf, but the bear’s rage was too much.

Rand fell back onto the bed, his chest a bloodied, pulpy mess.

His eyes went wide and then glassy, and he stilled.

Gretchen blew out a shaky breath and closed her eyes. It was over.

“Gretchen?”

“I’m okay.”

“Let me check.” She crouched forward and Grant felt along her backside. “Thank God. The bullets are in the jacket, not in you. You’ll probably have some spectacular bruises.”

“It was worth it.” She looked up at him and blinked. “Why are you naked?”

“I shifted, sweetheart. Clothes never make the transition.”

“Rafe!”

“Over here.” Rafe slid the baby out of Gretchen’s arms and handed Kaylie to one of his brothers. Then Rafe scooped Gretchen into his arms and gently cradled her.

“I can walk.”

“No, you can’t.”

“I wouldn’t argue with him,” said Mike. “He’s a stubborn bastard.”

As Mike and Gabe walked ahead of them, both cooing at the baby, Rafe looked at her. “You’re safe, Gretchen.”

“I only feel that way with you,” she admitted. “Is that weird?”

“Nope. And if I have anything to say about it,” he said, kissing her on top of her head, “that’s the way it’s going to stay.”

Honey Bear

1

WHEN THE DOUBLE-FUDGE triple-layer chocolate cake detonated, Amelia Delacorte stared in utter disbelief at the carnage decorating the top of the display case.

She didn’t remember making the batter with an explosive. Had she switched out canola oil with nitroglycerin?

Oh, you’re hilarious, Amelia.

Licking chocolate from her lips and swiping dessert debris off her face, she ducked down and examined the underside of the refrigerated unit. Had the machine somehow murdered her four-hour homage to all that was chocolate and delicious? It didn’t look homicidal—or even slightly annoyed. The refurbished unit could be cranky on occasion, but it had never killed a cake.

If the damned fridge was dying, she was screwed. She’d barely been able to afford the older used model. Starting over, again, meant scrounging and scraping. This time, she’d started anew in a city where people went to get lost on purpose. In Las Vegas, Nevada nobody cared who you were or where you came from. Or so she continually hoped.

She’d put every dime she had to open Devilish Delights. Creating confections was the only activity that had kept her sane for the last five years. Making and indulging in baked goods might’ve kept her ass round and her curves … well, curvy, but every moment she baked a cake, made gooey brownies, or chocolate-fied evil fruit—was a moment stolen from him.

The monster.

No. She wouldn’t devote a second more to his memory or to the terror still within her—a dark and breathing thing that lived in the raw wound of her soul.

Amelia shook her head. Maybe she should blame it all on Sunday. Sundays always seemed to suck for her. She’d been in the kitchen since three a.m. and here it was just a little after seven, and she’d been basking in dessert triumph—and finally, finally felt tired enough to attempt sleep on the cot she kept in the back.

Then BAM!

Cake destruction.

She bent lower and slid open the thin plastic doors to examine the unit’s sides, still trying to unravel the confectionery implosion mystery. Next to her, the thick, creamy Cherry Berry Cheesecake made an odd ffffft sound.

She looked over, and noted the gouge in the cheesecake’s side and the odd ripple across its once pristine top. Before her brain processed the meaning, her instincts were screaming at her to Move! Run! Now!

Amelia yanked her head away from the unit, glancing up just long enough to see the spider-webbing holes in her shop’s front window. There’d been no sound. None. But that didn’t change the ominous fact that someone was shooting at her.

She dropped to the floor and wiggled across the checkered linoleum. Sweat beaded her brow, and her heart tripled its ragged beat.

Oh, God. Oh, crap. Oh, fuck.

She made it to the swinging door that led into the kitchen. The minute she pushed through, she popped onto her hands and knees and fast-crawled across the floor. Her jeans acted like an overachieving Swiffer gathering flour and bits of chocolate, and oh yeah, that egg she’d dropped.

Hysteria nipped at her. Well, now her pants matched her T-shirt. Yep. Her clothing had taken a real beating. Ha, ha, baker humor. Not good, Amelia. You’re losing it. Cake dripped down the side of her face, and she realized her hair was full of frosting.

Terrific.

She reached up and put her hand on the knob to the back door. It led into the alleyway, where she’d parked her rusty, but reliable Beetle. Her bakery was located in a small shopping center that housed five or six local businesses—everything from beauty supplies to souvenirs. Unfortunately, most of those businesses opened late on Sundays, so she couldn’t hope anyone would be around to help.

The keys.

Shit.

Her car keys were in her purse—the purse she’d stowed in the tiny pantry where she kept bulk ingredients.

No way in hell was she going to risk going back toward the bullets.

The wall next to her exploded.

She screamed, jerked open the door, and crawled into the alley. Terror made her limbs quake and ghastly chills rippled through her. Ironic, since the desert heat made itself known, even at this early hour. Living in summertime Las Vegas was nearly the same as living on the sun—at least for uninitiated.

The screech of metal garnered her attention. To the right, she saw a big, bulky man dressed in a black T-shirt, black cargo pants, and military boots exit a business about ten yards away. He carried a trash bag and a sour expression.

“You suck!” he yelled through the still opened door.

A rumbling laugh echoed into the alley, followed by a, “You lost the bet.”

She knew him. Sorta. He and his brother ran the bodyguard service, which she thought was code for “male strippers”—especially given their outrageous good looks and impressive muscles. They’d come in a couple of times and bought her out of honey cinnamon rolls. She had more of a thing for the dark-haired one with his chocolate-brown eyes.

Which was so not important right now.

Shivering so hard now her teeth chattered, Amelia didn’t even have the sense to get to her feet. She shuffled toward him, keeping low to the ground, terrified that the shooter would burst out the back door and kill her. Her palms scraped against the rough asphalt, and her jeans rubbed together at the juncture of her thighs.

Big Dude must’ve heard something because he whirled around and drew a scary-looking black gun, which he aimed down at her.

She almost passed out.

Okay, so he’s probably not a stripper.

He took in her appearance, his expression flickering with surprise and suspicion.

”You’re really a bodyguard?” she asked.

His brows lifted. “Are you in trouble, miss?”

“My name’s Amelia.” She swallowed hard. “Someone’s trying to kill me.”

“Gabe!” he barked.

The other man came to the door. He wore practically the same outfit, except he’d opted for black snakeskin boots. He took one look at the situation and unsheathed his gun. “Go,” he said. He did a sweep of the area, aiming in the direction of Amelia’s bake shop.

Brown Eyes put the gun into its holster, leaned down and offered his hand. “I’ll protect you.”

She had to give the guy credit. He’d taken her at her word. Grateful, she reached up and grabbed at his long, thick fingers. He pulled her up and twirled her around so that his backside was toward the perceived threat. Securely ensconced by his brawny frame, Amelia felt her knees liquefy. He held her tightly, and for the first time in five long years, she felt safe. She gripped his muscled biceps and held on for dear life.

Her rescuer took her inside the building and Gabe followed, shutting and locking the massive metal door behind him. Amelia was agog at its security—it looked as though it belonged on a bank safe.

“I’m guessing no one gets through that,” she said, her voice trembling.

“That’s right,” said the man who still held her. “And no one gets through us, either.”

2

MIKE PEARSON FELT Amelia quake in his arms. Despite the fact he knew they were in the safest place in Vegas, he couldn’t quite bring himself to let her go.

They’d been calling her the Honey Lady, and she might be amazed to know that he and Gabe had discussed their mystery baker at length. Ever since she’d set up shop a month ago, they’d proposed theories about her origins that involved the Witness Protection Program or the Underground, a covert group that scurried women and children away from their abusers and gave them new lives. Her polite distance, her lack of friends, the way she arrived at work from different directions and always parked in different places—all spoke of someone in hiding.

Speculation, of course.

Mostly, though, he and Gabe argued about who would get the last of the woman’s to-die-for honey cinnamon rolls. Like any bear shifter worth his fur, he had a weakness for honey. And the Honey Lady had a magic touch when it came to making sweet concoctions with his favorite ingredient.

Just last night at dinner, he’d called dibs on the girl—an act that had gotten him a head whap from his mother for being “a sexist asshat,” and a dark look from Gabe because Mike had claimed their baker before he could. Gabe was a sexist asshat too, but he honored the dibs tradition.

Ever since their younger brother Rafe had found true love in the form of an adorable human female and the werewolf baby they were raising together, Mike had developed more than a yen to settle down with the right woman. He wanted bear cubs, too. Hearth and home.

That’s what Amelia felt like right now in his arms.

Like home.

“You’re squishing me,” came her breathless voice.

“Bear hugs,” he muttered.

“What?”

He released her.

Amelia, still quivering, let out a breath that sounded like the softened echo of a scream. Her fear emitted a pheromone powerful enough that it nearly forced him to shift. His bear side sought to lay claim to this woman. So much so, that he had a tough time keeping his claws sheathed. He wanted to annihilate whatever threatened her. She smelled good, too. Part of it was the heavenly scent of chocolate cake smeared in her hair—but the other part was her, clean and soft and fragrant like warm bread and lavender tea.

He cleared his throat. “Let’s get you settled, Amelia.” Reluctantly, he backed away from her. “Then you can tell me why someone wants you dead.”

MIKE STOOD AT the door to the conference room and watched Amelia sip on the bottled water he’d gotten from the break room’s fridge. He’d directed her to the restroom first to wash her face and brush cake out of her hair, which, he noted, she’d pulled into a ponytail. Now, she sat at the conference table, assessing her surroundings. He watched her gaze dart around, taking in every detail. The decor, from the black-cushioned chairs to the big screens that took up the back wall, was designed to impress. He could see her curiosity about the room’s purpose. She had an open, trusting face—a face with distinctive beauty. Call him horny, but the smell of dessert lingered all over curvaceous Amelia and made him hungrier for a taste of her. Down, boy. Instinct told him she was searching for an exit, planning her escape. He believed Amelia was quite good at disappearing.

The question was why.

“You have a very disconcerting stare,” she said, meeting his eyes. “You don’t blink.”

“Everybody blinks.”

“Hmm.” Her gaze trailed over his chest and down his abs, and he got the distinct impression she was wondering what he looked like naked. The urge to show her was strong enough to make him swallow a groan. He didn’t dare adjust his jeans against the pressure of his engorging cock, but if she kept looking at him like that, the erection would soon be full-on and obvious. Bear shifters were well endowed. It was the nature of being a beast.

She looked away, nibbling on her lower lip. “I’m sorry about your shirt. I’ll pay to have it cleaned.”

“I own a hundred of these things,” he said. “They’ve been messed up by a lot worse than cake.”

“Hmm.” She drank more water, and Mike noted that at least her hands had stopped shaking. “Thanks for believing me.”

“Who’s after you?”

Amelia flinched, but didn’t answer. She folded her hands onto the table and stared at her ragged fingernails. Obviously chewed. Being on the run and looking over your shoulder all the time could wear quickly on anyone. He suspected Amelia was a resourceful woman, especially if she’d managed to keep a killer at bay.

He crossed the room and took the seat opposite from her. Clearly, she wasn’t ready to tell him who wanted her dead. So, he asked an easier question. “What’s your real name?”

“Amelia,” she said. “It’s the last name that changes. The birth date. Where I’m from. And every other detail that makes up a person’s life. All lies. But my name—that’s who I am, and I won’t discard it. Not even for him.”

He leaned toward her. “And who is he?”

She glanced up to meet his gaze, and he saw her fear, her wariness. He understood her inability to trust, and the burden of terror and vulnerability she carried. He’d seen it time and time again in victims who came to Pearson Security for help. People who’d been stalked, abused, chased, and threatened.

“You’re safe,” he said. “You can confide in me, Amelia.”

“I believe you.” The corners of her mouth pulled into a brief, sad smile. “I don’t have a choice now. This is the first time I’ve been shot at.”

He said nothing. Instead, he looked at her, waiting. She needed to willingly offer her secrets. He knew what it was like to feel helpless, to have his faith in people shattered with one act of betrayal.

It was why he did this job.

Protecting people was his life, not just his work.

“I was twenty and in college. I was studying to be an accountant.” She shook her head. “My father wanted me to have a solid career, one that I could build with his company. He said I had a mind for numbers.” Amelia rolled her eyes. “A mind for it, but no passion. The last thing I wanted to do was spend my days as a bean counter for my father’s shady business.”

Mike absorbed that information. Okay, no respect for Pops. No love, either. She was tense again, her gaze faraway. Yet, he didn’t press her for more details. Instead, he said, “You liked baking.”

“I loved it. Still do,” she admitted. “That’s my true passion. Dessert.” She offered a sheepish smile. “As you can see.” She gestured toward her voluptuous figure.

He allowed his gaze to linger, demonstrating his appreciation for every lush inch of her.

Amelia blushed.

Mike suppressed a smile. He’d grown up with a single mom and sisters, so he somewhat understood the love/hate relationship women had with their bodies. However, his sisters had to contend with being bear shifters, and turning into 800-pound animals put the kibosh on idiotic human views about “ideal weight.”

He loved curvy women. He was a big guy with strong appetites and even stronger desires. He wanted soft flesh, big breasts, and thick thighs. He wanted a woman who could wrap herself around him and take everything that he could give her. He suspected Amelia could more than hold her own in bed—that she would rock his world.

In other words, he wanted her.

Bad.

He flicked his gaze over her again. She pretended to study the water bottle, but he saw how she covertly watched him through her lashes. Amelia was on the tall side, maybe seven or eight inches over five feet, and she had a to die-for body. He could easily imagine sliding his hands along those sweet rounded hips, cupping her beautiful ass, and kissing that amazing cleavage.

She would fill his hands and his mouth.

And he would fill her with his—

“I didn’t get your name,” she said.

Mike blinked. How the hell had he not introduced himself? “Mike Pearson. The other guy that comes into your shop with me is my brother, Gabe.”

“Mike.” She said his name softly, as though savoring the word.

Under her scrutiny, he shifted in his seat, but the movement offered no relief. Thanks to his wayward thoughts and barely controlled libido, his cock was now at full mast and painfully confined in his boxer briefs. Damn. He had to cool off and calm down before he got up from the table or the eagle-eyed Amelia would know all too well what he was thinking about.

“I thought you were strippers.”

“That’s our back-up plan,” he said. “In case this bodyguard thing doesn’t work out.”

She snorted a laugh. “Where’s your brother now?”

The smile on her face made him ridiculously happy. “Checking out your bakery.” Mike watched her pick at the paper label on the water bottle. “So. You were twenty, close to becoming a reluctant CPA…”

“Yeah. I finished out my junior year. I wanted to spend the summer in Paris. There was an eight-week dessert program at Honoré. It’s a small café in Paris—famous for its opéra cake.”

“What’s that?”

She perked up. Her passion for baking reflected in every gesture, every look. “The best cake you will ever eat. You build layers with almond sponge, dark chocolate ganache and coffee buttercream. Then you top it with chocolate glaze.” Her eyes sparkled. “It’s amazing.”

Mike pretended to wipe drool off his mouth. “That sounds awesome.”

She stopped tearing at the paper and leaned back in her chair. He could tell she felt more comfortable. “Honoré had been in the same family for three generations, but the final owner was the only son of an only son who’d had no other children. He was seventy-two, and had decided to close the café rather than sell it. One of his last gifts to the dessert world was hosting that program.” She smiled at him. “I would’ve loved to have been arm-deep in flour and syrup and chocolate for a whole summer. ”

“I take it your father had other plans?”

“To live at home and accept an internship at his company.”

“Sounds boring.”

She nodded. She started playing with the label again, her renewed anxiety obvious in the way she ripped off the paper and twirled it onto the table. “My dad and I didn’t see eye-to-eye. On anything.”

“What about your mom?”

Amelia went white. She squeezed the water bottle so hard, the plastic crackled in her grip.

Alarmed at her sudden, visceral reaction, Mike straightened his posture. “Amelia?”

“My father,” she said, her moss-green eyes wide and her generous mouth trembling. “He’s a monster. And he killed my mother.”

3

AMELIA TOOK A deep breath. She’d never told anybody the whole truth. She talked about parts of it when she had to get a little help scraping together a meal or finding shelter. “When I say monster,” she said carefully, “I’m not using a metaphor.”

Mike tensed, and for a moment, she thought he would laugh at her. Instead, he reached across the table. His large hands engulfed hers, offering warmth and comfort. “Tell me.”

Relief flooded her. She hadn’t realized how much she’d wanted to tell someone the whole story until this moment. Or maybe it was the way Mike seemed to understand her. His compassion was unexpected. “They were arguing. Honestly, they didn’t get along on the best of days. I didn’t know why they stay married. I’d never seen two unhappier people.” She shook her head. “My mother was wonderful. My father … not so much. Cold. Distant. Controlling. I should’ve bailed the second I turned eighteen, but I’d been raised to be obedient.”

Sympathy crowded Mike’s gaze then he offered a wicked grin. “You don’t really seem like a goody-two-shoes to me.”

Amelia couldn’t help but return his grin with one of her own. Being thought of a rebel pleased her—especially by this man. She would never admit in a million years that she’d thought of him a lot over the past month. Naughty and inappropriate thoughts that left her hot and bothered and aching. She wondered if he could look at her as sexy, as someone he could take to bed and lose himself with. God knew she wanted to lose herself with him. Unfortunately, Mike Pearson was a fantasy, and she had to live in reality. Reality sucked hardcore at the moment.

Twinges of need made Amelia’s lower parts heat up. Her desire made her feel stupid, sitting in this room, alone with him, his warm hands clasping hers, his gaze unwavering. She cleared her throat. Her attraction to this big, charming, gorgeous man was disconcerting to say the least. “I’ll never forget what my father said. ‘The girl is old enough. I don’t need you anymore.’”

She closed her eyes, slipping into that awful moment, leaving the comfort of Mike for the terror of that memory. “Then his eyes turned yellow—and strange. Like an animal’s. He lifted his hand and these claws shot out from his fingertips. Like Wolverine on steroids, you know?” Her eyes opened, and she knew her gaze was desperate as tears threatened to spill. She needed someone to believe her. “He ripped open her throat. I screamed and tried to help, but there was blood everywhere. Everywhere. He dropped her to the floor as if she was nothing. Then he looked at me with this awful, soulless stare. He didn’t even try to hide his—otherness.”

“How did you escape?”

His voice was calm, reasoned. He didn’t seem shocked about her claim, and that made her feel better.

“He told me, ‘Clean this mess up.’ And then he left.” The tears fell now, even though she’d cried a thousand tears a thousand times. “I grabbed my mother’s purse off the kitchen counter, and I walked away. I took my car, but I knew he’d track me down, so I stopped in the next town, got what I could from my mother’s credit cards, and then I bought a bus ticket.” She squeezed Mike’s hands. “I abandoned my mother’s corpse. It was such a cold thing to do. Something he would do, you know?”

“No. Survival is a primal extinct, Amelia. Your mother would want you safe. You did exactly the right thing.”

She looked at him. “Thank you for saying that.” She swallowed the knot clogging her throat, and gratefully took the tissues Mike handed to her. Did he really believe her story? She didn’t know why he would. If she hadn’t experienced it first hand, she wouldn’t have believed it either. She rubbed her cheeks and scrubbed at her eyes. “So, you think I’m crazy?”

“Why? Because your father is a monster?”

“I wondered if I imagined his transformation because of the trauma of seeing my mother killed before my eyes. PTSD or whatever. That maybe it was better than believing one human being could murder another one without conscience.”

“You saw a shifter, Amelia.”

It took a moment for the words to penetrate her thoughts. She stared at him. “What?”

“A shifter. I don’t know what kind, but your father sounds like a rogue werewolf. They don’t join packs, generally because they’re not team players and have serious control issues. There aren’t a lot of rogues, mind you, but there are enough to create problems for the packs.” He grimaced. “We just dealt with one not that long ago.”

“My father is a werewolf.” Disbelief rang in her voice. She sank back into her chair, feeling utterly chilled. Not by the idea of shifters, but by the normal way Mike talked about them. Like they were real. “I know what I think I saw, Mike, but it’s not possible. Not really. I appreciate you trying to make me feel better by … uh, feeding my delusion.”

“Shifters are real.” He still had a grip on her hands and squeezed lightly. “You’re not crazy. And neither am I.

“Hey.”

Gabe’s deep voice startled Amelia. She whipped her head around to stare at the man standing in the doorway. He gave his brother an odd look, and then he turned his concerned gaze to her.

“Either the guy shooting at you is blind, or he was missing on purpose.”

She cleared her throat and slipped her hands free from Mike’s. “Maybe I wasn’t really targeted. This is Vegas, after all.”

“No, the bullet I pulled out of your back wall is used by pros. He was definitely sending a message,” said Gabe.

“Whoever was shooting wanted to scare you.” Mike frowned. “You assume that your old man wants you dead, Amelia. But maybe he just wants you to come home.”

“Fuck that.” Amelia slapped the table for emphasis. “I will never return to that house. I don’t want to see him ever again.”

“Has he caught up with you before?” asked Mike.

She shrugged. She was paranoid enough to believe that her father’s goons were everywhere. But after five years of skipping around the US and Mexico and keeping out of her father’s clutches, she’d begun to believe he wasn’t after her anymore.

While Amelia mulled over the new information about the shooter, Mike filled Gabe in on her story—and Gabe didn’t even blink when Mike suggested Daddy Dearest was a werewolf.

“We need to go to the Shadow Pack,” said Gabe. “Maybe they’ll know who this guy is and what he wants.”

“Let’s ask Gray and Belle to come to Vegas,” said Mike. “She’s not safe out there right now. I’ll take Amelia to the panic room. It’ll be best to keep her there until we’ve nullified the threat.”

Gabe gave his brother a long, hard stare. Mike met the stony gaze with one of his own, and neither one looked away. Amelia shivered at the intensity.

Finally, Gabe broke the connection and sighed. “Okay, dude. I’ll make arrangements. I’ll send the copter for them. It’s quicker than the three-hour drive from Bleed City.”

Gabe nodded to Amelia and left.

“He’s very … er, business-like,” she said.

“More like a sore loser,” Mike muttered.

Amelia raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

Mike’s slight smile hinted at a secret. “No big deal.” He stood up. “C’mon. I’ll take you to one of the safest places on this earth.”

“I thought I was already there.”

“Not quite.” He walked around the table and extended his hand to her. “Let me show you.”

4

MIKE SHOULDN’T HAVE been surprised that she found the kitchen within two minutes of exploring the panic room. Well, it was more like a panic apartment with two bedrooms, a living area, a fully stocked kitchen, and a tech room filled with enough gadgets to make sure their clients stayed entertained. And to keep them safe, there was a whole room dedicated to the latest weaponry.

Mike sensed her nervousness as she opened drawers and cabinets. She began taking things out, and then paused. “Do you mind? Baking will help take my mind off everything.”

“You taking requests?”

She laughed. “Let me guess … honey cinnamon rolls?”

It was difficult to keep his bear from rumbling. He smacked his lips. “Hell, yeah.”

“If I can find all the ingredients. While I’m doing this,” she said, rummaging through the pantry and the fridge, “tell me why you and your brother think shifters are real.”

“I could show you.”

She put eggs, milk, flour, and other ingredients onto the center island. She’d already added a big cutting board, a glass bowl, and a rolling pin. When she had what she needed, Amelia turned, leaned a hip against the counter and crossed her arms. “Are you making fun of me?”

“Definitely not.”

“Hmm.” One eyebrow winged upward. “So, if I say, yeah sure, does this mean you’ll start flinging off your clothes and—” She crooked her fingers to form air quotes, “—shift?”

“If you want me naked, Amelia, just say so.”

Her blush was immediate and fierce. She put a hand against her mouth, her embarrassment palpable.

Mike wanted to taste her. He bet she was sweet—as sweet as honey. Dear God. Amelia and honey. The idea of licking his favorite treat from her breasts, her stomach, her thighs about did him in. He swallowed the groan that threatened to reveal his thoughts.

“I’m not trying to proposition you.” Amelia’s voice quivered with mortification.

Mike couldn’t take the wounded look on her face, as if she wasn’t worth desiring. Was she insane? He crossed to her in two quick steps and scooped her into his arms.

“Then I’ll have to proposition you,” he said and leaned down to drink from her generous, plump lips.

Her sharp intake of breath soon turned to a moan as she moved her mouth against his, allowing him to take deeper and deeper sips of her mouth. He couldn’t resist dipping his tongue inside, and she responded with so much raw hunger, it took everything he had to keep his bear caged.

Reluctantly, Mike dragged his lips from hers. He drew his fingers through her silky hair, releasing the strands from the makeshift ponytail holder. “Do you want me, Amelia?” he breathed against her hot mouth. “Please tell me you want me, baby.”

“Yes,” she said, “oh, yes.”

He pushed everything off the island. There was noise, bangs and shatters and pops, but none of it was louder than the thumping of his heart or the roar in his ears. Mine. She’s mine.

He grabbed the sides of her jeans and pulled. The seams gave way instantly. Bear strength had its privileges. She gasped, and muttered, “Holy crap.” But she didn’t ask questions. She kicked aside the shreds as she touched him, her hands wandering down to the edge of his shirt. He stopped kissing her long enough to pull off the shirt and unzip his pants. “Wait,” he said, breathing heavily. “I need honey.” He stumbled back, shaking with bone-crushing need, but determined to have everything his body and heart desired. When had he ever felt this way about a woman? Never. “Shirt,” he demanded roughly, pointing at her chest. “Off. Now.”

She gripped the end of her T-shirt and yanked it over her head. He turned, managing to get to the cabinet where they housed jars of honey harvested by their mother. It was raw, dark, and the best fucking honey he’d ever tasted.

When he returned his gaze to his woman, she was naked. She’d even shimmied off her panties. Her eyes were glazed with passion, her mouth plump from his ravaging kisses. God, she was gorgeous.

“Mike.” His name was pure want on her lips.

He put down the jar of honey long enough to push his pants and underwear down. His rigid cock sprang away from him, and he growled at Amelia’s hungry expression as she took in his size.

This first time would be rough, raw, impulsive. Later, he would take her achingly slow, worship every inch of her beautiful body, and lather her with all the attention his mate deserved.

Mate?

The idea didn’t shock him. In fact, it felt right. Good.

Dibs, damn it.

When he stepped toward her, she wrapped her arms around him. The press of her soft, luscious breasts pressed against his stomach nearly buckled his knees. He could scent her lust, and he longed to taste her sweet desire.

Her hands fluttered down the muscles of his back as she melted against him. Mike grabbed her by the waist and lifted her onto the counter. Before she could protest, he popped open the jar of honey. He painted her nipples with the dark syrup and leaned in to suckle the hard points.

Her nails bit into his flesh as she moaned, arching just a little to give him more access.

While he paid homage to her breasts, he reached between her thighs. She was wet, the tight little bud of her clit sensitive to the lightest touch. Her little gasps of pleasure brought him so close to rapture, he couldn’t fucking stand it.

He grabbed her by the thighs and jerked her to the edge of the counter. His cock was so hard, it hurt.

“I need you,” he said.

“I’m yours.”

Her admission snapped his control. He spread her thighs and positioned himself between her knees. He pressed the head of his cock against her opening, and nearly lost it when she hooked a leg behind his ass, and said, “In me. I need you in me now.”

He slid into her slick, wet channel and groaned as her sweet, tight warmth surrounded him.

“Amelia,” he whispered raggedly. “Amelia.”

She wrapped her other leg around him, her lips against his, breathing into him with each swift stroke as she dug her nails into his back. He couldn’t look away from her beautiful eyes. She held him captive, giving back everything to him, taking him all and demanding more.

God. He gritted his teeth, trying to hold on, to make it last for both of them. Then he felt her clench, felt her give way. Her lashes fluttered as she cried out his name.

He drove into her again, his hands gripping her luscious ass. Her sweet little pussy milked his cock. A shout tore from his lips, and he shuddered while pleasure writhed through him as he came.

He’d claimed her.

Amelia was his.

5

AMELIA WASN’T SURE how to proceed. Mike had covered her breasts in honey, gave her the best orgasm of her life, and he didn’t seem inclined to let her go.

“We are going to be stuck together,” she said.

“Damn right,” he muttered.

“I mean, the honey. We’re going to be glued to one another.”

His laugh rumbled as he pulled back and looked down at her. “I like you naked and covered in honey.”

“Ditto,” she said. “But next time, I get to paint you.”

He leaned down to brush his lips across hers. “We’re just getting started with the honey.”

“Mike.”

Amelia yelped at the sound of Gabe’s voice. She was naked! And still had Mike’s rather sizable penis inside her! Embarrassment flooded through her in a hot wave. “Ohmigawd.”

“Relax. He’s calling on the intercom.” Mike moved away from her, which was no small effort thanks to the honey, and walked confidently naked to a little display near the refrigerator. “Yeah.”

“I smell trouble. We need to move her.”

“We’re out in five.”

“Okay. Meet me—what the fuck?”

The intercom went dead. Mike pushed at the button. “Gabe? Gabe!”

Gabe didn’t respond.

“Amelia.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. She was already off the counter and shoving herself into her shirt and underwear, honey or no honey. Unfortunately, her jeans were toast. Between the two of them, they were dressed in less than ninety seconds.

Amelia heard the swoosh of air compression and realized someone had opened the door to the panic room.

Mike shoved her behind him, holding Amelia there with one hand, while he aimed his gun with the other toward the kitchen doorway. “Get down, sweetheart. On the floor.”

Fear chilled her to the bone. She dropped down behind Mike because that was the safest place to be, but it took everything she had to stay still and quiet.

Amelia heard two “ffffft” sounds, and Mike jerked backward.

Her gut tightened when he fell to the floor, and she stared down at his chest. Two holes pierced his shirt—his flesh—and the blood oozed from the wounds. Horror filled her as she realized he’d been shot.

“Mike!”

He looked at her, his eyes round as saucers and whispered, “Run.”

Then he completely collapsed.

Her heart twisted in her chest and began to pound like a jackhammer. She didn’t know what made her reach over her and grab the gun still in his hand. But she did. She rose to her knees and aimed. Tears blurred her vision, but her hand was steady. When she saw motion—watched the man come around the island, she lifted the .9 mm and pulled the trigger.

“Fuck!” The person she shot lurched forward, clutching his shoulder. “You bitch!” He reached out as if to hit her, but someone else, someone she hadn’t noticed, grabbed him by the hair and twisted him around.

“You don’t touch her, moron.” A massive bald-headed man dressed in black Armani shot the man in the throat and tossed him aside. He shook his head. “This is what I get for hiring local.” He looked at her, his expression impassable. His eyes were gray and cold. “Miss MacGregor, please come with me.”

“That’s not my name,” she said, gulping hard. “I’m not her.”

“I won’t hurt you. In fact, nobody’s allowed to hurt you.” His grim smile showed sharp teeth. “Your father’s been a patient man. But now it’s time to come home.”

Whatever adrenaline had kept her going seeped away. The hand clutching the gun shook uncontrollably. The man reached down and plucked the weapon from her. “Miss MacGregor?”

“No,” she said. “I’m not going with you.”

“Yes, you are.”

Before she could protest more, he leaned down and scooped her up as if she were a bag of feathers and threw her over his shoulder. He turned, holding her tightly as she fought against his embrace. Her flailing arms and legs didn’t faze him, though, and he walked out of the kitchen with her toward the exit.

“No,” she wailed, “No, damn it!”

The hulking asshole stopped. He seemed to be listening, and she saw him flare his nostrils. They way he carried her put her within arm’s length of his genitals. Determined not to be taken, she balled her fist and hit him as hard as she could.

He screamed in agony, dropping her to the floor. He bent at the knees, breathing harshly.

Amelia landed in a heap, and a shock of pain radiated down her left side. She pushed the pain aside. She needed to get back to Mike. He wasn’t gone. He couldn’t be. They had too much to do. Too much to learn about each other.

She wasn’t letting him go.

Amelia heard the roar before she saw the beast barreling her way. She scuttled backward until she smacked against a wall. She watched as a bear—a big fucking pissed-off Grizzly bear—stomped out of the kitchen and toward Mr. Kidnapper.

She heard the bald man growl and saw his face morph from human to … to something like a wolf.

The wolf-man had no chance. The bear’s huge, black claws swiped his throat with one brutal slash. He collapsed to the floor, blood pooling around him.

Amelia blinked.

She couldn’t quite wrap her mind around what had just happened. Her gaze went to the bear. It was coming toward her, but as it walked it changed … changed into the form of Mike, who was very much alive.

“Hey. Are you all right?”

She looked at the dead man who had been a wolf a second before, and then at Mike who’d been a bear. A freaking bear. Naked and bloody, he crouched down beside her. “Are you okay?”

Amelia stifled a hysterical laugh. “It’s been a really weird day.”

“Amelia. I promise I will explain everything. And you’ll be safe. I’ll protect you.” He reached out, stopping just short of touching her. His gaze begged her to understand, to give him a chance.

“You believed me,” she whispered. “I believe you.” She took his extended hand and squeezed. The relief on his face made her smile. “So. Shifters. They’re real.”

“Yeah,” he said.

“Why does it smell like honey down here?” Gabe limped down the stairs, his expression pissed off. He paused on the bottom stair and studied the body of Amelia’s kidnapper. He looked at his brother. “You’ve been busy.”

Mike grinned. “You have no idea.”

Amelia felt safe. Protected. With Mike she could look forward to a real future, one that didn’t include hiding and running. Feeling almost giddy, Amelia leaned in and whispered, “I think things are about to get sticky.”

“Oh, they will,” promised Mike, “because I’m the bear for you, honey.”

Bear Winter

1

HOPE BOLTED UPWARD, clutching the patchwork quilt to her chest. Shudders wracked her body as she gulped in deep breaths. She buried her face into the old, familiar blanket, reaching for any kind of comfort. The last wispy layers of the nightmare faded, but her skin crawled with residual fear.

She slept on a too-soft mattress that occupied an elaborate bronze frame. Across from the bed, a white marble hearth housed a low-burning fire. She glanced at the rose-covered wallpaper and elegant mahogany trim and frowned. Where the heck—oh yeah. Silver Creek. Cripes. She took a deep breath to still the pounding of her heart.

A terrible ringing thrummed in her head. She pressed her palms against her ears, but the unceasing bells wouldn’t stop. She pulled away her hands, realizing with shaky chagrin that the trill of the phone had woken her.

She picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Hope?” Her grandmother’s gravelly voice pierced the static-filled line.

Hope blew out a relieved breath. Gran’s voice had comforted her on nights long ago when childhood monsters had haunted her dreams. But her grandmother no longer held sway over Hope’s demons. She knew the truth: Monsters were real. Some were so evil, so vile, they could never be vanquished, and the ugly memories they created could never be purged.

“Hope? You there?”

“Yeah.” She grabbed the clock off the nightstand and groaned. Damn. She’d only been out twenty minutes—if the restless fear-filled journey into dreamland could be considered sleep. “Jeez, Gran. It’s nearly midnight.”

“Midnight? So what?”

Hope rolled her eyes. Her grandmother’s motto should have been “screw propriety.” When she figured something needed to be done, she didn’t wait for the so-called “right moments.” According to the old woman, there was doing it or not doing it. Virginia Matthews, age 76, was a lot like an Old West Yoda.

“I’m staying in Reno until the end of the week.”

“Gran! You’re already supposed to be here.”

“You ready to talk about it yet?”

No. Never.

Stop asking.

She bit her lip to keep the words from spilling out. Every day for the last three months Gran had asked the same question. Dread curled through Hope, stabbing at her conscience like hot knives, and seeping into the raw wounds left by guilt and self-damnation.

Hope stared at her red strands of hair draping her nightshirt. She took a curl and looped it around a finger. “I managed to pull the sheets off the tables and inventory the bar. We’re going to need some more rum—last year it seemed like everyone wanted Long Island Teas.”

“It’s only February. We don’t open until April.” Gran’s voice was soft, reproaching. “How long do you plan to run away from your problems?”

“I was thinking along the lines of forever.” She tugged on the coiled lock of hair. “I can’t get this place ready by myself.”

“We have plenty of time to bring the ole girl back to life.” Her grandmother paused. “Why do you sound skittish? You usually like being alone.”

Hope settled against the pillows, released the trapped ringlet, and rubbed her left temple. “It’s scary here at night.”

Her grandmother chuckled. “There isn’t a soul there who would hurt you. Even the ghosts are friendly.”

The line clicked then the dial tone buzzed in her ear. Gran never said good-bye. As Hope hung up the phone, she shivered. She couldn’t possibly close her eyes now. The fire in the hearth crackled, reminding her that there wasn’t any more wood in the bedroom. The flames sputtered, allowing enough light for shadows to creep around the room. She sighed. The wood was stored outside in the shed, which meant she’d have to tramp around in the cold desert air.

Goosebumps pimpled her arms at the mere thought of leaving the bedroom. On top of the impending storm and bitter cold, the lights in the outside hall, stairs, and bar had gone out earlier in the evening. Another electrical problem that would cost a fortune to fix. Last time she checked, only the lights in the kitchen worked.

The nightmare, the one she’d been unable to escape, coupled with Gran’s reminders of ghosts, made her feel particularly vulnerable. She kicked aside the quilts, uncovering a Stephen King novel: The Shining. She picked it up and shook her head at her own foolishness.

“That’s what you get,” she muttered as she dropped the book and pushed the quilt off her, “for reading a scary story while stuck in a ghost town.”

She sighed. Time to go downstairs and grab the damn firewood...and raid her stash of Hershey’s Kisses from the kitchen freezer. Chocolate. Now there was suitable motivation to get her ass out of bed.

Hope pulled her pink bunny slippers from underneath the bed then she reached inside the nightstand’s drawer and grabbed the flashlight. As she walked to the door, the bunnies’ fuzzy ears flopped back and forth, tickling her ankles. Just as her hand touched the cold brass doorknob, she heard a groan, a creak, and an “ooooooohhh.”

Her hand clenched the knob, but she couldn’t find the courage to twist it. She debated diving under the covers to hide until morning came and sunshine swept away all the shadows.

A storm had been brewing all day and was still threatening to unleash its fury. In an old building like this, creepy noises were common and made worse by the fierce wind and ominous thunder. She just hoped it wouldn’t turn into a snowstorm.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door. She stepped onto the landing, stopping when cold uneasiness pooled in her stomach. She touched the smooth wooden railing with her fingertips and looked down. The only discernable light was the moon shining through the big square windows. She nibbled her lower lip as she glanced to the blackness waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs.

Her grandmother loved to tell the tragic story of the first saloon owner’s murdered daughter, and how her ghost now haunted the upper floor. As a psychic, Hope accepted many weird things about life. After all, she was aware of shifters, and one bear shifter in particular. Gabe Pearson. Former handsome stubborn fiancé. She missed his face, damn it. But the only way for her to protect him was to stay away from him. As long as they were apart, he would live. She knew that as the truth because ever since she’d walked away from him, she stopped having all the ominous visions about his death. And if she knew one thing about her gift, it was to heed its warnings. She knew Gabe wouldn’t. As a bodyguard and bear shifter, he thought himself damned near untouchable.

Yep. I’d rather deal with the ghost.

After a short debate with her irrational fear, she decided chocolate was worth facing the dark. Hurrying wasn’t an option with her unwieldy slippers flopping around, but at least her feet were toasty-warm.

Gusting high winds lashed at the building; the windows rattled and shook.

Letting out a startled scream, Hope nearly turned around and fled to the safety of her bedroom. She took several deep, shaky breaths until she calmed herself and shored up her courage. She pointed the flashlight at the stairs. Chocolate awaits, remember?

2

GABE FINALLY FOUND the town of Silver Creek, Nevada. He’d passed Virginia City five miles back—which felt more like a hundred in the steep, winding mountain roads. He checked the map spread on the passenger seat of the Jeep. This had to be the place.

The ghost town, a summertime tourist attraction, wasn’t much to look at. Six buildings, two tall, three squat, and one crumbling, leaned against each other like drunken soldiers trying to stand at attention.

The sun had set about half an hour before and dusk slowly turned into night. Wind whipped through the parched street and dust swirled, dancing to the brewing storm’s ominous tune.

Yellow light flickered in an upstairs window of the structure second from the left in the misshapen row of derelict buildings. Gabe resisted shuddering. He stayed in the Jeep, procrastinating the inevitable as he watched the shadowy movements in the distant window.

A blustery gale roared suddenly, viciously, startling Gabe out of his thoughts. Thunder rumbled. Seconds later, lightning cracked open the dark, rolling clouds.

Goddamn it. He didn’t want to come to her like this. When she’d walked out, he’d been gut-punched. He’d been shocked and angry. He felt rejected as hell. Three months he’d been without Hope, and it had sucked. Now, here he was, not woo her back, but to ask for her help. He hadn’t involved his brothers in this situation, because they were off doing married couple shit. He knew they’d drop everything if he asked, and that’s why he didn’t ask. They deserved to have personal lives.

Gabe gripped the steering wheel, shored up his courage, and drove the Jeep to the Silver Creek Saloon & Hotel and parked next to Hope’s white Honda.

Reluctance clawed at him. He had the same heavy feeling he’d experienced when he hadn’t gotten the weekly check-in from Donna. Four months ago, Pearson Security had rescued Donna and her young son from a domestic violence situation and re-located them to the California side of Tahoe. One month before Hope left him.

Damn it.

He got out of the Jeep and took the three rickety steps to the plank wood street in front of the saloon-hotel. Just as his boots thudded onto the timber, the skies opened and rain poured down.

The knob rattled as he opened the creaking door. For the thousandth time, he wondered why Hope had chosen this dilapidated old place for a retreat. Musty smells of dust and disuse assailed his nostrils. The door clicked shut behind him. She’d talked about this place and about her grandmother. He’d met Gran a time or two—the old lady was a real hoot—though he’d never been to Silver City. It was one of things that he and Hope had said they’d do—and never did.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he realized he faced a large room. On the left was a staircase. He discerned the cloth-covered objects in the occasional flash of lightning. He’d probably scare Hope to death if he showed up outside her door. Should he yell for her?

The dread he’d been trying to ignore bloomed in his stomach.

Gabe made a decision. He put his hand on the rail and stepped up. Too late, he heard the creak and registered the presence on the stairs. Strong, white light blinded him He reared back, but too late. The huge flashlight clipped him on the chin.

BEFORE HE HAD time to utter “ouch,” the damned fool woman launched into him with enough force to knock him to the floor. He threw his arms around the flailing female before landing on his backside with a painful thud.

He clamped his arms around her. Thick, lavender-scented hair covered him, clogging his ability to breathe. The suffocation-by-hair ceased suddenly. Gabe inhaled a deep breath, only to find his face squeezed between the rounded swells of two pert breasts. Oh, man. He’d missed those breasts. He’d missed everything about her.

“Are you okay?” he asked against the soft, sweet-smelling flesh pressed to his lips.

White-hot pain shot through him as her knee made contact with his groin.

“Shit!” His senses focused on the sharp ache that stole his breath and his will to live. He released Hope. One of her elbows found its way between his ribs as she scrambled off. Gabe heard her light footsteps as she retreated. She’d chosen to run into a dark, eerie section of the decrepit building, which he assumed was the saloon.

Not that he damned well cared right now. He just wished dying would stop taking so long. After years had passed—or maybe it was only a minute or so—the pain dulled enough for Gabe to climb to his feet.

He cautiously picked his way through the dust-covered tables and chairs. His heated emotions melted under the ever-present foreboding. Hope hadn’t recognized him, and she was obviously terrified.

His boots thumped the dusty wood floor, a ghostly echo in the cavernous room. Rain pounded against the stained glass windows. Lightning flashed, and Gabe spotted the long, wooden bar to his right. He scanned the dark interior, but couldn’t see any other exits or doors. His beautiful psychic had taken refuge behind the only place to hide.

His groin ached still, but at least the pain had subsided to a bearable level. Gabe knew she’d reacted from fright and self-preservation. He needed to calm her, to reassure her. Yeah. That’s it. He would throttle her after she was reassured.

Gabe stopped in front of the long brass and wood bar. Attached swivel stools lined the front, and he put a hand on one as he peered over the edge. The vinyl felt slick underneath his palm. He heard a soft swoosh as the cushion depressed under his arm’s weight.

“Freeze, dirtbag.” Hope popped up from behind the bar.

Startled, Gabe stepped back. She pointed a tiny gun right at his chest. Sweat broke out on his brow as she carelessly waved what appeared to be a derringer at his heart. She moved the gun in an awkward motion. He swallowed heavily. If he wasn’t careful, she might accidentally plug him one, but Hope had never liked guns, and he couldn’t believe she owned one, much less would use one.

A gush of soda water blasted him in the face. The cold liquid invaded his eyes, nose and mouth, causing him to stumble sputtering from the bar.

HOPE DROPPED THE soda dispenser. Her heart thudded in her chest. She spun around and darted into the kitchen. A few seconds later, the door creaked open.

She stilled, pressing her back against the cabinets and put a trembling hand against her mouth to stop the scream welling within. Maybe he wouldn’t see her. Maybe he would think she’d run toward the stairs...

“I know you’re in here, Hope.”

Three things sent her mental alarms clanging. He knew her name. He also spoke in a tone of voice adults reserved for unruly children and the insane. And he sounded like…no.

His footsteps warned her that he had walked further into the kitchen. His movements were slow, deliberate. Then his presence loomed before her, his boot making contact with her bare toes.

“Oh, my God! You and your big bear feet.”

“You love my bear feet.”

“Loved. Past tense. Like us.” She found herself pinned between the counter and Gabe’s muscular body. His shirt was wet from the soaking she’d given him and as he pushed closer, her thin nightgown dampened. To her horror, her nipples pebbled against his chest. Her lips touched the small bit of flesh showing through his unbuttoned shirt, and her nose reached the point below his collarbone. She breathed in an earthy, masculine scent.

“I haven’t given up on us,” he whispered.

Hah. She opened her mouth to speak, but her lips scraped against the rough material of his shirt. Relief shuddered through her when he stepped back, but didn’t let her go. She felt an uncomfortable, tingling sensation. He hesitated, his entire body thrumming with a tension she couldn’t define. The air around them thickened with an odd expectancy.

Hope lifted her head and gasped. His face was too near. Though her eyesight had adjusted to the darkness, she couldn’t clearly make out his features. It didn’t matter. She knew every curve and plane of his stubborn face. Sharp cheekbones spoke of his bear shifter heritage. He had a strong, slightly crooked nose, straight brows, chocolate-brown eyes, and beautiful lips.

Gabe’s breath fanned her cheek, those beautiful lips far too close to her own.

“Don’t you dare kiss me, Gabriel Lucas Pearson!”

He let go and moved back, and Hope sagged against the counter.

“Think we can get a light on in here?” he asked.

Hope swallowed the dryness in her throat. “The switch is by the door.”

She heard his footsteps, and then a click. Dim light illuminated the utilitarian kitchen. Her former fiancé turned and leaned a hip against the opposite counter. Nausea roiled through her as she remembered the nightmare that had cut short her sleep. She didn’t remember details, just the terror it invoked. Was it a coincidence that Gabe had shown up this night, right after she’d had a terrible dream? She rubbed her arms to fend off the chill encompassing her.

“Why are you here?”

3

HOPE WATCHED GABE dragged his hand through his already tousled brown hair. She sensed his puzzlement, his deepening dread. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “One of my clients is missing. We rescued her and her son from her abusive husband and relocated them to Tahoe. We do a weekly check-in. She’s never missed a single call. Not once. Until last night.”

Hope trusted Gabe’s instincts. As a shifter, his senses were far stronger than a human’s, and he was able to detect danger a lot faster, too. It was part of why he was so good at his job. “You went to her place today?”

“Yeah. No signs of a struggle in her home. I interviewed the closest neighbor, and she said she’d talked to Donna yesterday afternoon. I called the morgue and all the hospitals. No Jane or John Does have shown up.”

“Well, no news is good news, right? What did Rafe and Mike say?”

Gabe looked away. “I didn’t tell them. They’re with their mates, doing that couples’ retreat in New Mexico.”

Hope’s stomach dropped. She and Gabe had made those plans with his siblings. Three couples on a magnificent getaway. She’d completely forgotten about that trip. Leaving Gabe had meant leaving the Pearsons, including Amelia and Gretchen. She missed them all so much, but her fears for Gabe meant not having any contact. Every sacrifice she made was worth it if she saved Gabe. Now, here he was, asking for her help.

She was torn. She couldn’t leave a mother and a child in the hands of an abuser. Still, was this the situation she’d been dreading? She’d left Gabe to protect him. Would helping him now lead to his death?

“Will you help me find Donna and Joey?”

Hope met Gabe’s distraught gaze and felt her heart squeeze. She resisted the urge to comfort him, to wipe the worry from his brow. No matter how much she wanted to, for Gabe’s sake, she couldn’t say no. She’d just have to figure out a way to protect him.

He flipped open his wallet and withdrew a small photo. It was a candid shot of a young brunette and a boy who couldn’t be older than four with the same eye color and the same smile. Hope’s anxiety grew. Helping Gabe put him at risk, but not helping him...

She looked down at the photo of the mother and son, hugging and laughing. A happier day. “Yes,” she said. “I’ll do it. We’ll need to go to her home. Being surrounded by their possessions will help me connect with them.”

“Thank you.” He tucked the photo back into his wallet.

She nodded. Please don’t let him get hurt. She waved at Gabe. “C’mon.”

Hope led Gabe to her upstairs bedroom and left him staring at the smoldering fire. She went into the small bathroom and changed into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt then brushed her hair. After she returned to the bedroom, she reached for the overnight bag in the armoire, placed it on the bed and opened her dresser drawers, looking for necessary items. She filled the bag with jeans, sweaters, and other clothing essentials.

Gabe sat down on her bed, and in the dim firelight, Hope saw the shadows under his eyes and his unshaven jaw. Even tired, her ex-fiancé was still incredibly handsome.

Hope zipped up the bag. “You need to rest, Gabe. We can start fresh in the morning.”

He turned as though he planned to lie down. Her heart skipped a beat. Oh, if only she could slide into his embrace and feel his skin against hers.

“Get your bear butt off my bed. You can have any room on this floor except this one.”

He stood up, stretching to crack his back. Then he looked at her. “Why did you leave me?” he asked softly. “And don’t give me that bullshit about needing your space and us growing apart.”

“I do and we did.” She pointed to the door. “Good night.”

THE NEXT DAY, Hope waited for Gabe to return from a morning trip into Reno. Curled on a red-velvet settee in front of the saloon’s large picture window, she stared at the muck that had once been a dirt road. She’d called Gran and told her about Gabe and the missing family, so the older woman wouldn’t worry about her.

The Jeep appeared, easily conquering the mud, and Gabe parked it outside the saloon. He jumped out of the vehicle. He wore confidence nearly as well as he wore those faded jeans. He also wore a thick brown sweater and hiking boots. Her gut clenched as longing wound through her. She missed sharing a bed with him, holding him, listening to him…

He entered the saloon and strode toward her. “I got munchies and gassed up the car.” He stopped about a foot from her, his gaze hungry as he took in her jeans and green sweater. She knew that look—like he was about strip her naked and rock her world. “Including a bag of chocolate Kisses.”

Her heart fluttered as she considered her world rocked. She pushed aside the impulse to wrap her arms around him neck and let him kiss her stupid. Instead, she asked, “How are the roads?”

“Slow-going. It’s good thing we’re taking my Jeep and not your Honda.” He frowned. “Cold front is coming in. That rainstorm last night was just the first volley from Mother Nature. It’s starting to snow. The sooner we leave, the better. It’s almost noon.”

Hope stood and picked up her overnight bag. Chill seeped into her limbs. No, wait. Stop, please. She clutched the bag’s nylon straps, feeling the material rub against her stiff fingers, she grabbed for the bit of reality.

Her vision blurred.

No longer safe, no more peace.

Cold. So cold. I’m outside. Blinding snow. Ice everywhere.

Gabe!

“Run,” he yells.

I can’t. I won’t.

Then there are only screams.

And blood.

Hope blinked, but her vision remained cloudy. Someone gripped her arms and spoke to her. So cold...she shivered, her teeth chattering.

“Come back to me, Hope. C’mon, sweetheart.”

The gruff-spoken words filtered into her consciousness. She clung to them like a lifeline. She was okay. She was fine. Then everything snapped into place, and Hope realized Gabe had her by the shoulders, his scowling countenance inches away.

“Are you okay?”

She stared at the movement of his lips then focused on Gabe’s face. He looked pale despite his tan, rugged features.

“I need to s-sit down, p-please.”

“You feel like ice. What the hell did you see?” He lowered her to the settee.

Hope shook her head, unable to speak. He grabbed a throw from the back of the small divan and wrapped it around her. His arms stayed around her shoulders, holding the blanket in place. She couldn’t help but enjoy the comforting weight of his arms. She selfishly leaned into his embrace, stealing as much of his warmth and strength as she could.

The cold dissipated. Soon, her teeth stopped chattering, and she stopped shivering. Reluctantly she withdrew from Gabe and shrugged out of the throw. His arms fell away, but his scent lingered around her. She felt his strength buoying her. She looked at him and saw the questions in his eyes.

“Sorry. That happens sometimes.”

“Since when?”

Since the first time I saw your death.

“C’mon, Hope. Tell me about the vision.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. It was too vague. Images without connections. Sorry, Gabe. It’s not related to Joey or Donna.”

“Okay. But what was it related to?”

She shook her head again. “I don’t know.”

He frowned, his gaze narrowing as he considered her words. She’d always been a bad liar. She stood up, and grabbed her bag once more. “Let’s go.”

As soon the saloon was locked up, they got into Gabe’s Jeep. As they drove away, Silver Creek became, once again, a row of forgotten buildings.

“I like the saloon—and the town,” said Gabe.

“I should’ve taken you here a long time ago,” she said, regret soft in her voice. “But I’m glad you finally got to see it.”

“I can see why you loved spending the summers here.”

Silence settled in the car. Only the soft swoosh of the heater and the occasional squeal of the windshield wipers interrupted the quiet. Snowflakes drifted from the gray sky, but Hope knew it was just the pre-show. Soon the winter storm would hit full force. They needed to get to Tahoe before it did.

By the time they had traveled the winding road down the mountains and got onto the highway, Hope felt drowsy. She yawned a couple of times.

“With this crappy weather, it’s going to be a few hours before we get there,” Gabe said. “Why don’t you recline the seat and get some rest?”

“What if you need me to drive?” she asked as she pushed back the seat.

He glanced at her with a cocked eyebrow. “I’ll let you know.”

She heard his light sarcasm and resisted sticking out her tongue. For a moment, she felt the old spark, the connection that had made them so perfect for each other.

Fool. She closed her eyes. There’s no happily-ever-after for us.

4

GABE LOOKED AT Hope’s sleeping form in the passenger seat. Her mouth, slightly open, pursed and her pink tongue flicked across her bottom lip. The scent of her perfume intruded on his consciousness. Lavender. He shifted uncomfortably as he felt a surge in his groin. He clenched the steering wheel and decided he’d better keep his gaze on the road.

“Is it still snowing?” Hope said in a sleep-tinged voice, startling Gabe out of his thoughts. He glanced at her. She smiled at him, stretched in a cat-like way that made his mouth dry, and adjusted the seat to an upright position.

He peered out the window and frowned. “Yes. It’s getting worse, too.”

“We almost there?”

“What should’ve taken less than two hours is turning into an all-day trip. We just entered the mountain pass.”

“How long have I been asleep?”

“About an hour.”

“And we’re just now getting out of Reno?”

“Yep.”

The trees, tall and straight, spread their bare limbs upward, pointing to the gray clouds that strutted across the sky. The road twisted up through the thousands of prayerful trees. He wished they could stop just for a minute. His bear wanted to go play in the snow and hunt in the forest.

Sorry, buddy. Maybe next time.

The next half hour was spent in silence as Gabe maneuvered on the narrow road. The snow fell thick and fast. He slowed when the road curved like the coils of a snake. He glared at the unforgiving sky and felt as temperamental as the weather. They should have left much earlier. It was already late afternoon. Soon, it would be dusk. Donna’s cottage was technically an hour and a half away, but the threatening blizzard would double the time it would take to get there. Hell, maybe even triple it.

“I can barely see.” Gabe slowed, or tried to, to no avail. The car skidded on the slick road, fishtailing. Before he could blink, they were doing 360s until the Jeep slid backwards off the road, down a slight grade, and smacked into a pine tree. The screech of metal echoed in the thick quiet of the woods.

His heart felt like it was going to pound out of his chest. His Jeep was a classic, one that he’d restored with loving care. It didn’t have air bags, but the seatbelts worked well enough. He tugged the strap straining across his chest and breathed a sigh of relief.

“Hope?” She looked whiter than the snow, but he couldn’t detect any obvious bumps and bruises. She seemed dazed. “You okay?”

She nodded.

Gabe got out of the car and viewed the damage. The Jeep’s back end was caved in and the back glass was shattered. The back right wheel had blown out. The only way his Jeep was getting out of the ditch was with a tow truck. He looked up the hill, still able to see the road. He grabbed his cell from his pocket and tried to dial nine-one-one. No signal.

Damn it.

He returned to his door and opened it. “The Jeep’s toast. And my cell’s not getting a signal.”

“Let’s try mine.” She slipped her cell out of her purse and gave it to him.

He tried the emergency number again, but the call didn’t go through. He returned the phone to Hope. “We need to get to the road, maybe the signal’s better there. And we might be able to flag down a car.”

Hope unhooked her seatbelt, grabbed her purse, and got out. He met her in the front of the mangled Jeep.

They stared at each other. She looked tired, unsure, and shaken. She rubbed her neck with one hand. Protectiveness rushed through Gabe. He took her arms and turned her around. His fingers slipped over her shoulders, kneading the tight knots in her muscles.

“Relax,” Gabe said softly. “Let me do this for you.”

She bent her head forward, exposing the soft, cinnamon-speckled skin of her neck. Little darts of fire erupted in his stomach as massaged her. Gabe wanted to pull out the pins holding her hair and feel the silky texture of the red strands. A vision of her naked body pinned under his burned through his mind. He imagined her hair spread like fire-silk across her pale, freckled breasts as he took her.

“Hope,” he whispered. She turned around, and he saw the spark of desire in her green eyes. This was crazy. They had a damned good chance of freezing to death out here if they didn’t find help. But he couldn’t stop touching her, couldn’t stop wanting her.

Gabe put his hands on her cheeks and stroked the fine bones of her face. Then oh so slowly, he lowered his head and nibbled her bottom lip. Urged by the desire roaring through him, Gabe pressed his mouth against hers, demanding entrance. All Gabe could hear was Hope’s breathless gasp. All he could feel was the throbbing of his heart as it crashed against his chest. He wanted this warm, beautiful woman who was destroying him inch by inch with her response.

Gabe drew away reluctantly. It occurred to him that a quickie in the snow wasn’t the best idea, though the heat in her gaze made him think getting frostbite might be worth it.

She looked at him dazedly. “That was…nice.”

“Nice?” He thought it was a fantastic, blood-boiling, melt-your-pants kind of kiss, and she’d thought it was nice?

Hope nodded, but he saw her lips tremble. ”Yes, it was very nice.”

“I see. I suppose you could do better?”

“What?”

He shoved his hand through his hair then gestured at her. “I’m asking if you think you can do better than that kiss.”

She looked at him suspiciously. “Probably.”

“Prove it,” he drawled. “Kiss me.”

He nearly lost his breath when Hope leaned forward and placed her palms against his stubbly cheeks. Taking a swift breath, she softly kissed his chin and each corner of his mouth. She ran the tip of her tongue along his lower lip then placed her mouth against his. His lips allowed her entrance, and she tentatively tasted his mouth.

A low sound caught in his throat, and he pulled her closer. He thrust his tongue inside, mating with hers, before he drew away to kiss the underside of her jaw. He nibbled on her ear and trailed feathery kisses along her cheek before claiming her mouth again. Her sweet scent drugged his senses. Her trembling fingers thrust into his hair, and she pulled him closer, moaning, when he trailed a fiery path of kisses down her neck.

Gabe lifted his head and looked at her, and found her eyes muddled with desire. He stroked her cheek with his forefinger then did what he’d wanted to do since the trip began; he reached around and pulled out the pins trapped in her hair. Red curls rained down upon her shoulders. He took a strand and rubbed it along his jaw.

“Gabe?”

She looked at him with such longing, his hard-on jumped inside his jeans. Frostbite be damned. He wanted her. He always wanted her. But he could see her doubts, her fears. But what was she so afraid of? He shook his head, sighed, and dropped the confiscated curl.

“Let’s go.” Gabe gestured for her to walk ahead of him. She presented her slender back to him and climbed up the small hill. He watched her sweet ass, his gaze sweeping up her back to trail the curve of her spine with an invisible finger.

HOPE WATCHED THE snow swirl from the murky clouds cluttering the sky. The frigid breeze nipped at their exposed faces, but she had donned a thick coat and gloves. As a bear shifter, Gabe didn’t feel the cold or have the same reaction to it as a human. The fresh mountain air was tinged with scent of pine trees. When they reached the roadside, they looked around for any signs of cars or houses. She peered down the ditch and took in the crashed Jeep. They were damned lucky to have walked away.

Hope spied a large rock under a shelter of trees and walked to it. Were Donna and Joey okay? She contemplated opening her mind just a crack to see if she received any impressions, but what if she saw something she didn’t want to face? Besides, her abilities worked better when she touched objects owned by the victims. Victims. Guilt burbled to the surface. Hope shoved aside the excuses in a flash of self-recrimination. She didn’t want to try because she was afraid. As much as she wanted to help the single mom and her young son, she knew she was risking Gabe’s life. She’d never forgive herself if she caused his death.

The rock was probably damp and cold from the snow, but the surrounding trees had kept its surface from becoming too wet. Hope climbed the stone and sat down, pulling her legs up. She rested her chin on her knees and stared at the snow-encrusted mountains rising into the gray sky. The highway ribboned through the flurry, a bare, black line in the unceasing white. It was too quiet. The wind whispered across Hope’s face.

Why had she kissed Gabe?

Well, duh. Because kissing him was amazing. All the same, it would’ve been easier to stick a knife in her heart—it was the same kind of pain. They had an explosive attraction, a deep need for physical intimacy that they’d experienced from the moment they met. She craved his presence like the desert craved the rain. She knew what it was like for someone to care about her soul-deep. If he stays with me, he dies.

That knowledge was agony.

“We better walk,” said Gabe as he leaned against the rock. “Surely, there’s a house around here somewhere.”

“Okay.” She hopped down. Then she sneezed.

Gabe drew her close, and checked her forehead.

She stared at him with raised brows. “What are you doing?”

“Are you feeling okay?” he asked, releasing. “Not too cold, are you?”

“I’m freezing my ass off, Gabe. For once, I envy your ability to grow a pelt.”

He chuckled. “C’mon, walking will get your circulation going.”

As they trudged up the mountain, Hope felt the tentative touch of Gabe’s hand. He grasped her gloved fingers and squeezed. For some reason their clasped hands made her feel better. They didn’t speak, but she felt no need for words.

Cars were scarce and walking to Tahoe wasn’t an option. She kept in shape by running, but that many miles up a mountain was beyond her physical endurance. If Gabe shifted he could move a lot faster without her.

She cast her gaze ahead and stopped. “Gabe!” she shouted excitedly. “Look! A pay phone.”

“Are you serious? Those still exist?”

“You better hope so.”

They jogged toward the phone, but their relief was short-lived. Hope looked at the destruction in silent disbelief. Someone had severed the receiver. The only thing left was a silver cable hanging uselessly from the metal enclosure.

Gabe cussed a blue streak. He whirled around suddenly, startling her. “Now what?”

Since Gabe directed the question to the trees behind her, she didn’t respond. He glared at the forest as though the vandalism was its fault. Snow fluttered on his straight nose and slanted cheeks. His hair curled around his shirt collar. She’d never known Gabe to wear his hair that long. She liked it. His gaze was shuttered, keeping her out. Gabe’s eyes were not windows to the soul, but opaque reflections.

Ah, yes, she thought. There’s the bodyguard. The one that shuts down emotions and focuses on actions.

“Maybe I could hole up somewhere, and you could shift. You’d be able to cover more ground as a bear.”

“I’m not leaving you. Not even for a second.”

Yep. That’s what she figured. Hope trudged behind him, wiping a few tendrils of damp hair off her forehead. A fairy godmother or a magic lamp would come in real handy. She looked at the sky, hoping for a ray of sunshine or a sliver of blue, but only saw the ugly gray clouds and the constant barrage of snow. It was getting darker, too. The sun was setting, and soon, it would be night. The rhythmic sound of sticks and gravel crunching wetly under their feet reminded Hope of a commercial she had once seen on television. The advertisement consisted of people munching on chips to the tune of—

“Hope,” Gabe cried out. Her head jerked up just as she heard the squeal of tires on wet pavement. She spun around, blinded by the bright lights of a large car speeding toward her. Before she could open her mouth to scream, her body was flung to the ground.

Stones dug painfully into her back. She could barely breathe with the huge male body on top of her. “Gabe?” she said into the shoulder plastered against her mouth. He didn’t answer and terror filled her. Had the car hit him? Was he okay? Then she felt his hands stroking her hair. His entire body shook. She felt him slowly adjust his position until he could see her face.

The jerk driving the car hadn’t stopped. Hell, they hadn’t even slowed down. She could tell Gabe was thinking something similar. His dark eyes were stormy and his mouth a thin line.

Hope licked her lips nervously. “Gabe? I’m not dead. You can let me up.”

He gave her a harsh look then pressed his lips against hers. Startled, she opened her mouth. He thrust his tongue inside, tasting her until she felt weak. Abruptly, he stopped.

“Don’t ever do that to me again.” He gave her another fierce look before he rolled off.

She sat up dazedly. He offered his hand, and she took it. Her knees felt wobbly as she stood, but Gabe steadied her. She wiped mud off her jeans.

He plucked a twig from her hair and threw it on the ground. “We should get going before anything else happens.” Before Hope could answer, Gabe began a brisk pace up the mountain. As she hurried to follow him she couldn’t help but notice the way his jeans tightened on his buttocks. He had such a cute ass.

She peered into the surrounding forest. A thousand eyes, brighter than the stars, seemed to stare at her from the branches. Tiny shockwaves dotted her spine, and she moved closer to Gabe. He didn’t comment on her sudden appearance at his side. After what seemed like a century had passed, she touched his shoulder. “Can we stop a minute? I need to catch my breath.”

He nodded and led her to a large, brown rock that jutted out from a copse of trees. She sank onto its hard, rough surface and sighed gratefully. It felt like a soft mattress to her sore backside. “How long have we been walking?”

Gabe glanced at his watch. “Thirty minutes. Are you going to make it?”

“Of course,” she lied. She didn’t feel like taking another step, but damned if she’d tell him.

“The air gets thinner the farther we go,” he said. “Walking uphill in this altitude isn’t exactly recommended exercise.”

“Unless you’re a bear shifter.”

“Yeah, well. There’s that.”

A white Lincoln pulled up on the shoulder. Its headlights briefly blinded her before the driver turned them off.

She saw Gabe frown. He crossed his arms over his chest as he moved in front her. She got on her knees and peered over his shoulder. ”What are you going to do, play chicken with that car? I’m laying odds on the Lincoln.”

“What if it’s the same car that almost hit you?”

Hope’s heart nearly jumped out of her chest. “You think they’re coming back to finish the job?”

The car window on the driver’s side caught her attention. The glass slowly descended. As Hope tried to see into the car, an older man with shocking white hair popped his head out. “What the hell are you two doing?” the man asked in a gravelly voice. “Don’t you know it’s snowing? You can catch pneumonia in weather like this.”

“I don’t see how its any of your business, friend,” Gabe said.

The old man raised a shaggy eyebrow then chuckled. ”Don’t see how, huh? For one thing, I have a car with a heater. It’s dry in here, too.”

Hope hit Gabe on the shoulder. “We’ve been looking for a ride. Here it is.” She punctuated the statement with a sneeze.

“Sounds like your wife is coming down with a cold,” the man called out. “I own a cabin rental place about five miles down the road. I’ll take you there, and you can use the phone to call whoever you need.”

Hope stared at Gabe, wondering why he was suddenly so indecisive.

“We’d appreciate your help, sir,” he finally said. He turned around and helped Hope off the rock. As they crawled into the back seat of the Lincoln, she sighed with pleasure. Gabe enclosed her in his arms and pushed her head against his shoulder. She didn’t protest, but snuggled close. The thing about bear shifters? They were awesome huggers.

5

“MY NAME’S GABE Pearson and this is Hope,” Gabe said. He tugged on one of Hope’s loose curls and heard a soft snore escape. She must have been more exhausted than she let on. “I think she’s asleep.”

“A little thing like that? I’m not surprised. Personally, I like ‘em with some meat on their bones. Now my wife—there’s a fulsome woman. By the way, I’m Elias Hanover. How come you’re on foot? Did your car break down? Where is it?”

Gabe laughed. The man fired questions like a machine gun. “We had an accident, and our cell phones couldn’t get signals. We were hoping to find a ride or a house.”

“Ain’t nothing ‘round here, son. You’re lucky I came along. Nobody’s traveling these roads—it’s getting dark and looks like this snowstorm is going into a full-on blizzard. So, where are you newlyweds headed? Tahoe?”

“What makes you think we’re newlyweds?”

Elias caught Gabe’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “I’ve been in love with my wife, Mary, for forty years, so I think I can recognize the emotion by now. Did you know that there’s only one person for you in the whole world? Just one. Guess that makes you and me lucky men.”

Gabe opened his mouth to deny being married to Hope, but he stalled his response. He wanted to be married to her, damn it. He tightened his hold around her shoulders and looked down at her. The familiar sense of comfort invaded him as he lightly kissed her forehead. He inhaled her lavender scent, floral and all Hope. Gabe caught Elias’ knowing smile in the mirror.

He’d been sincere in needing Hope’s help to find Donna and Joey. But he wasn’t going to miss an opportunity to show her that they belonged together.

He wasn’t going to lose Hope.

Not again.

“HOPE?”

The dark sexy voice invaded her dreams. Someone tugged on her arms, but she resisted. She wanted to explore the sensual promises the voice seemed to hold. She snuggled closer to the warm body next her.

“Honey, it’s time to wake up.”

“No, it’s not,” she murmured. A whiskered chin brushed her cheek. Like a blossom opening to the sun, Hope opened her mouth and caught the lips connected to the voice. His mouth was warm, wet. When his tongue touched hers, she moaned. Her whole body seemed to burn. The lips moved away and nuzzled her throat.

Hope slowly opened her eyes. The toasty contented feeling of her dream world vanished as her gaze captured Gabe’s. His eyes were darker than the night, a black molten liquid that told of his desire. He cupped her chin and tasted her lips with a whispery touch.

“C’mon, sleepyhead. Elias is waiting for us inside the house.”

Hope allowed him to usher her out of the car. She had a weird feeling something had changed between them, but she wasn’t sure what. Snow slapped at them as they dashed across a small yard and entered an enclosed porch. The cabin’s door swung open. A tiny woman with hair almost as white as moonlight ushered them into the house.

“Come in, come in. My goodness! I’m Mary Hanover, Elias’ wife.” She gestured for them to follow her and led them into a bright yellow kitchen. “Sit and drink your cocoa. The cinnamon toast will be ready in a minute.”

The woman flashed them a smile then bustled around the room, removing plates from the cabinets and silverware from a drawer.

”You poor dears,” she said as she worked. “Walking in that blustery snow after wrecking your car! Goodness, goodness.”

“Ma’am, we just need to use the phone,” Gabe said. “You really don’t need to go to all this trouble.”

“You can’t use the phone,” she said with a dismissive wave.

“I can pay for the call.”

“Oh dear me, no.” The woman laughed as she put two plates onto the table. “The storm has knocked the phones out. Cell towers are out, too.”

Hope turned her attention to the buttered pieces of toast slathered with sugar and cinnamon and felt her stomach growl. She chose the most sugary piece and bit into it. “This is the best cinnamon toast I’ve ever had.”

Gabe agreed, and downed his first piece of toast in three bites. Bears were known for their love of sweets, not for their delicate manners.

“On rainy days I used to fix cinnamon toast and cocoa for my daughter. But she’s grown now. In fact, she’s a new mother herself. I have a two-month-old grandson, Jason.” Mary turned to Hope. “Are you feeling okay, dear? Elias said you might becoming down with a cold.”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

Mary patted Hope’s hand. “I’m so glad. But I have a terrific recipe for chicken soup I could whip up just in case.”

“Well folks, it looks like you’re out of luck,” Elias said as he walked into the kitchen. “Radio says the roads to Tahoe are blocked. Blizzard’s going full force. Good news, though. Weather guy says it should be clear as a bell in the morning.”

Elias sat down at the table. “Be glad to give you a room. No need to pay for it seeing as how you’re already out a car. I can give you all a lift to Tahoe in the morning—soon as they get the roads clear.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Hope saw Gabe shake his head. “I had insurance on the car, Elias, and I insist on paying you for a room. We’ve already put you out enough. Do you think the phone lines will be connected again in the morning?”

Elias rubbed his chin. “Maybe. Storm should let up by then. C’mon, I’ll show you where the cabin is.”

Hope felt her stomach drop to her knees. Could she stay in a one-room cabin with Gabe? No. He’d seduce her or she’d seduce him…any way it happened, they’d end up having hot sex. Huh. What was the bad part again?

She swung around to face Gabe and lost her breath. Pure lust lit his gaze. She doubted she’d have enough time between the door closing and her clothes coming off to make a single protest. How was it possible they could do this…this unknowable thing…to each other? She knew he had just as difficult a time resisting the sexual impulses as she did. You’re in love, idiot. What else do you think is going on?

They followed Elias outside. He pointed to a cabin still visible in the blowing snow and handed Gabe a key. The cabin was ten feet or so away. “You need me to walk y’all out there?”

“No, sir. Thank you.”

Elias nodded. “It’s a bleak and cold night, but at least y’all have each other.” And with those parting words, he returned to the warmth of his kitchen and his wife.

Tall trees blocked out the night sky, but the thick branches didn’t stop the snow from pelting them on their short walk to the cabin. But before they entered, Hope turned to Gabe and found his head descending toward her. His lips claimed hers. His tongue invaded her mouth, exploring the inner edges. He didn’t end his tender violation of her mouth, but he did gentle the kiss and nibble her lower lip. She couldn’t stop a moan of pleasure from escaping. He released her shoulders and stroked her throat with his strong fingers. He tasted her earlobe.

“God, I want you, Hope,” he said in a heavy voice. His hands continued their search under her coat with feather-soft touches on her shoulders, arms and ribcage. He didn’t hesitate to cup her breasts and to lightly pinch the stiff nipples through her bra.

Hope gasped at the entirely too enjoyable sensations. She discovered her hands had slipped under his sweater, under his T-shirt to touch the curly hair on his warm chest. She felt his heart thumping erratically against her cold palms.

“Gabe, what are we doing?”

6

HE GRABBED HER hand and lowered it his jeans. She clasped his hardness, and he groaned, rubbing against her slender fingers. She wished she had the willpower to stop him. To walk away from the lust and…the love she harbored for him.

Hope took a deep breath when Gabe raised his head to look at her. His eyes were a black river of desire and his lips swollen from feasting on her. He touched her cheek. “Let’s go.”

Without another word, he led her the last few feet to the door.

She wanted Gabe.

It was as simple and as complicated as that.

Gabe inserted the key and opened the door. As they entered, Hope watched as he turned on the lights. A dial on the wall allowed the lights to be adjusted from dim to blinding, and of course, Gabe chose dim. She shut door and barely had time to take in the space before Gabe back her against the wall, and placed his hands on either side of her. The gentle invasion of his tongue sent sparks of heat to the pit of her stomach. Gabe stopped kissing her so he could strip off her coat and gloves. The sweater went next, followed by her bra. His gaze slid to her breasts. He leaned down and suckled one hardened nipple. Pleasure cascaded through her, and she moaned. He knew her so well. What she liked. What she didn’t. He moved to her other breast and gave it the same sweet treatment. Hope grabbed his shoulders and hissed out a ravaged breath. Gabe lifted his head and gave her a dark, sensuous smile.

He drew his forefinger across her cheekbone then tugged her lip. “I want you.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell.”

“Let me make a fire.” He gave her a wicked grin. “Although I like the one we have going right now.”

She reached down for her sweater, but he stalled the movement. “Stay naked, babe.”

“You’ve always been such a romantic.”

She watched as he went to the rick of wood next to the hearth. He bent over to gather a few pieces, giving her a view of his rear. Every part of the man tempted her. She looked away from Gabe and concentrated on the details of the cozy cabin. The main feature of the only room was the large oak bed, complete with bushy feather pillows and an old-fashioned quilt pushed against the east wall. To the left of the bed was a stone fireplace. Facing the fireplace was a comfy-looking couch. A yellow afghan hung over the back.

Two doors were opposite the bed. Curious, she went and opened them. One led to a roomy closet, and the other to a tiny bathroom. Hope closed the doors and went into the small kitchenette, which was located three steps away from the fireplace. Oak cabinets lined around a stove and refrigerator and were conveniently filled with assorted plates, glasses and utensils.

She heard the small whoosh of flames that signaled Gabe had the fire going and left the kitchen, skirting the rather large bed. Obviously the small cabin had been intended for couples who wanted romance. She sat down on the bed and sank into the soft mattress. From her cozy perch, she watched Gabe pile more wood into the hearth. The firelight bathed his face in gold, emphasizing the high angles of his cheeks. He was so handsome he took her breath away. Damn, her hands were trembling.

“Quarter for your thoughts,” Gabe said, interrupting her mental ramblings.

“A whole quarter?”

“Inflation.” He grinned. “You look sad.”

“You think I’m sad?” She leaned back on her elbows and thrust her breasts upward. “What do you think now?”

He crossed the room in three steps and tumbled onto the bed with her. “Hmmm. You feel good,” he said, nibbling on her neck. She squirmed beneath him, her hands trying to get under his shirt. “It turns me on when you move like that,” he whispered in her ear.

Her heart missed a beat as he kissed the underside of her jaw then trailed a wet line to her collarbone.

“Sweet Hope,” he murmured. “You taste so good. Must be all that chocolate you devour.” He plunged his hands through her hair. “Just like silk. I love your hair.” He lowered his mouth to hers and pushed against her pelvis, letting his body tell her how much he desired her.

She wound her arms around his neck and splayed her fingers through his hair. It felt silky against her fingertips. He nibbled her lips then kissed the point of her chin. He kissed her neck, tasting a sensitive spot behind her ear. She gasped and the grip he had on her waist tightened.

She rubbed against his chest, wanting to get closer, wanting to feel more of him. With a muffled curse, Gabe set her away long enough to rip off his clothes and the rest of hers. It took way too long by her estimation, but soon they fell naked upon each other like two starving people presented with a feast.

She felt tiny shivers race up her spine and swallowed a groan when Gabe cupped her breasts and laid a gentle kiss on each one. He nuzzled her neck again and pinched her nipples with his fingers. She gasped at the incredible sensations. He bent his head and laved the hard nubs. Intense pleasure curled through her.

He shimmied down her torso and grasped her waist. His tongue dipped into her navel then he trailed a line of heat to her pussy. There was no prelude, no coy seduction. He suckled her clit…then his tongue stroked her. A swift heat plunged through her and caused her thighs to tremble.

He moved his hands to grasp her behind. He tasted her more fully and a thousand electric sensations singed her body. Her fingers dug into his flesh, and she threw her head back. The more he licked, suckled, worshipped, the more her body strained to end the torturous feelings flooding through her.

GABE KNEW THE moment Hope shattered. Her fingernails dug holes into his shoulders, and her cry sang to his soul. He pressed even closer, tasting his prize, delighting in her sweetness. Her convulsions teased his chin as he nipped her center. He kissed his way back to her mouth. He grinned at her stunned expression.

He cupped her bare breasts, knowing they fit his hands too perfectly. He suckled each coral tip, nipping gently when he heard her indrawn breath. Reluctantly he stopped and gathered her closer. He groaned when she rubbed against him. Her nipples felt good against his chest. He pressed his hardness between her thighs. Roughly, he caught her buttocks and squeezed. She looked up at him, desire still evident in her green eyes.

“Sweetheart,” he said as he cupped one of her pale breasts. “It’s not over yet.”

“Thank God.” She reached down and grasped his cock. Her fingers glided over him, causing his member to jerk in pleasure. He closed his eyes and allowed her to continue the sweet torture, but he clenched his fists to keep from throwing himself on her and plunging into her hot depths. Not yet.

She squeezed his penis, her other hand reaching down to cup his balls. She bent and took his cock into her mouth. Her tongue slid up and down, then around. She sucked the tip before she glided to the base, and he fought to keep from thrusting into her warm, wet mouth. She played with his balls, cupping and squeezing and all the while her sweet lips pleasured him. She wrapped her fingers around the base and stroked as she licked and suckled the top of his cock. The pleasure was intense. A fired gathered in his groin. She was relentless, her strokes of hand and tongue faster and firmer until he came, spurting his seed into her mouth. She drank it all, licking his pulsing shaft like it was forbidden candy.

She crawled on top of him and rubbed his cock with her wet heat. He cupped her breasts, traced her ribcage, and kneaded a creamy white hip. His tan hands were a stark contrast against her pale skin. She writhed under his minute ministrations, gasping when his fingers found the pulsing nub hidden among her red curls.

Watching her face contort with pleasure nearly undid him, but her positioning herself above him and sliding his still half-hard cock inside her made him hot, horny, and rigid like a virgin with surfing his firsts porn site. She leaned forward. He caught her breasts and suckled those beautiful, hard nipples. She clenched him tightly and she rose, riding him in a slow, sensual, torturous pace. He kneaded her breasts, pinching the taut peaks, delighting in her breathy moans. She captured his gaze with luminous desire-filled eyes, sparkling emeralds demanding all he had to give.

With a hoarse cry, he grabbed her hips and plunged into her, creating an urgent, smooth rhythm. “I’m so close. So close.” Her eyes drifted shift as she rode him, and made him insane with her fearless quest for pleasure. He kept the rhythm, but released one hand to thumb her clit with short, quick strokes.

Her tight, wet heat gripped his cock as she met each of his thrusts. “Yes,” she cried. “Yes, Gabe. Oh God…oh please…” She screamed, her orgasm so strong his cock slipped out, her come slick on his flesh.

He wouldn’t let her recover. He wouldn’t let her deny him anything. She was his.

“I want you to come again.”

“No. Can’t.” She collapsed against his chest, sweaty and limp. He scooted from under her, and she stayed face-first in the sheets, still shivering from the intensity of her orgasm.

God, her ass was beautiful. Round, perfect, white…his cock jerked at the very idea of taking her from behind. He was close to coming, still in the throes of sexual ecstasy, when he parted her buttocks and slid inside her slick sex. On the edge of orgasm, hot pleasure exploded when she squeezed his cock, and he sank deeply inside his mate, expending his seed.

He was breathless and weak, his body sweaty and shaking from one of best goddamned orgasms of his life. Hope was breathing heavy, her moans telling him she was close to coming again. He rolled her over and took her clit into his mouth, sucking it until she bucked against him, her cries of release echoing in the room.

AFTER A LONG shower, Hope and Gabe snuggled together in bed and enjoyed the coziness of the thick coverlet. He gathered her against his chest, shifting to a more comfortable position. He brushed away the wet strands of hair sticking to her forehead.

Her eyes searched his face, and he felt as though she might be on the brink to confiding in him. Why did you leave me? The emotion hovered as a palpable thing between them. Then she sighed, and snuggled against him. Words left unspoken, she fell asleep, her soft breath skittering across his flesh.

He stared into the darkness, not quite sure why he couldn’t follow her into dreamland. He was exhausted—physically and emotionally. He heard the creak of wood as the wind battered the exterior. For a minute more, he listened then closed his eyes. They popped back open when he heard a moan and Hope’s restless shifting.

Hope muttered incoherently. He sat up and looked down at her. Moonlight from the window above the bedstead caressed Hope in its silvery light. Her red hair flowed around her. Her skin looked pale and sweat beaded her face.

He leaned forward and put his palm against her forehead. She felt cool but she was drenched in sweat. Her lips moved as if she were speaking, but made no sound. He tucked the blanket under her chin, smoothing away the hair from her face. He’d seen this before. Every so often, one of Hope’s visions would be so intense, it was almost as though she were actually living the horrors.

Hope sprung upward, her green eyes pinning his. Yet, her gaze had a faraway look, and he knew she wasn’t really seeing him. Instead, she’d been ensnared by the vision. “Why are you here? Leave Gabe. Leave before it’s too late.”

Gabe’s heart flip-flopped. Her face held a desperation no human being should experience. The vision was about him? “Hope, I’m fine. I’m right here with you. Babe?”

He couldn’t help the way his voice trembled. She was scaring the hell out of him.

She continued staring wide-eyed at things he couldn’t see. “Please, Gabe. I don’t want you to die. If you don’t stay away from me, you’ll die.”

Gabe shook her lightly. He wanted to wake her, to make her stop speaking in that awful, dead voice. She slumped in his arms, sobbing. His heart pounded against his chest and sweat beaded his upper lip. Dear God, what was that all about?

“Hope?”

To his surprise, she was out cold, limp as a rag doll in his arms. He patted her on the back. She didn’t move. Gabe pushed her gently into the pillows. “Hope?”

Her eyelids fluttered, but she still didn’t move. Gabe felt frustration roar through him. What was the matter with her? He grabbed by the shoulders and shook her.

“Don’t leave me,” she murmured in a hoarse voice, without opening her eyes. “Don’t leave me, Gabriel.”

His fear and confusion melted underneath her request. She needed him tonight, and by God, he wouldn’t fail her. He’d figure the rest out in the morning. Gabe gathered her in his arms, marveling at the way she fit so snugly next to his body. He stroked her hair away from her face and kissed the tip of her nose.

“I won’t let you go this time,” he promised. “Not without a fight.”

7

GABE STIRRED BESIDE Hope and opened his eyes. The digital clock on the nightstand read: 4:13 a.m. He looked down. One of Hope’s slender legs was thrown across him and her head rested on his shoulder. Her long hair tickled his arm where she slept, but damn if he’d move it. He touched her wayward leg and felt himself stir when his calloused palm stroked the soft inner flesh of her thigh.

She shifted against him, moaning softly. Gabe slowly rolled onto his side. The movement caused Hope to lie completely on her back, but she didn’t wake.

God, the woman was beautiful. He trailed a finger along the top of her leg, tracing her hip and the delicate bones of her ribcage. Freckles lightly sprinkled the tops of her breasts, and he couldn’t resist tasting a few of the tiny brown spots.

He noticed the pace of her breathing quickened, but still her eyes didn’t open. He cupped one breast and suckled the tip, swirling around the stiffened nipple. He gave the same attention to her other breast.

Gabe felt Hope’s arms creep around his neck, her fingers delving into his hair, and he looked up.

Her eyes were dark green with desire. Her bottom lip seemed swollen as if she had bitten into the tender flesh.

“Hello,” she said in sleep-tinged voice.

“Hi.” He caressed her cheek. “Babe, what’s going on? You had a nightmare, a bad one.”

Her expression blanked. “I did?”

“You said I was going to die.”

She turned pale and swallowed hard. “I don’t remember, Gabe.” She lightly scraped her fingers across his unshaven jaw. “It was just a dream.”

He opened his mouth to question her further, but she reached up and kissed him. He felt her hand wrap around his cock. “What’s this?” she asked throatily, stroking his hard-on.

“That’s my happy meter,” he said.

“You mean horny meter?”

“To-may-to. To-mah-to.”

She cupped his balls, playing with them briefly before returning to the long strokes.

He groaned as she worked a sweet magic. His hand traveled down her side, across the flat expanse of her stomach until he found the very center of her. She shifted underneath him, opening eagerly as he slipped a finger inside her wet heat.

“God, woman,” he said tightly as he positioned himself above her and slowly slipped inside. Apparently impatient with his slow seduction, she gripped his hips and arched against him, urging him to take her. A hot emotion burst inside him. He knew she would never tell him no, never deny him all the physical pleasure.

She grasped him with her inner muscles. Excitement rushed through him, made him grab her hips to plunge deeper inside her. All control slipped away, and Gabe held onto her hips pumping into her. His thumb found her most sensitive spot, stroking gently. Liquid desire poured through him, a vortex of feeling that spiraled up, spreading tendrils of heat and light through his body.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Yes,” Gabe said in a low voice, as she grabbed onto his shoulders and began to buck her hips. Gabe thrust deeply, his orgasm cresting, when she shattered around him. He moved his hands to her hips again and pulled her close to keep himself inside her. The aftermath of her climax tugged at his cock. She felt so good, so tight, so wet…he cried out as his release rushed through him.

He rolled off, gathered her close, and they clung to each other, silent, until they both fell back asleep.

THE POUNDING WOULDN’T stop. Over and over, the obnoxious sounds continued until Hope put the pillow on her head and buried herself deeper into the sheets. Still the knocking didn’t cease. Wait. Knocking? She dragged the pillow away from her face and listened.

“Mr. and Mrs. Pearson, are you awake?” Elias’ voice filtered through the cabin’s door. Hope heard Gabe groan then his dark, shaggy head popped up.

He blinked. “Who the hell is that?”

“It’s Elias. Want me to get it?”

He fixed her with a bleary, blood-shot look and slowly nodded. She suppressed the urge to grin and give him shit for not being a morning person. She watched as he sank into the mattress and promptly closed his eyes.

“Uh, hello?” Elias hollered.

With an amused look at Gabe, Hope bounded off the bed, tugged on her jeans and sweater, then hurried to the door and opened it. Elias stood on the small porch hunkered in a gray overcoat. She was surprised to see the bright blue sky and sparkling snow at least two feet high around the cabin.

“Good morning, Elias. Wow! The snowstorm moved on, huh?”

“Howdy, young lady. Yep. Roads are cleared and phones are working.”

The crisp, sweet scent of cinnamon rolls bit into the cold morning air. Her eyes were drawn to a plate of gooey pastries sprinkled with cinnamon that Elias’ held in his left hand.

“Are those for us?” she asked, her mouth watering.

“Yep. Mary sent ‘em.” Elias handed her the plate, and she eagerly took it.

“Tell her thank you,” Hope said. Her thoughts turned to the sleeping man behind her. Their stolen time together was over.

“Should Gabe and I call a cab?”

Elias laughed. “Won’t get cab service out here even on a good day. I’ll take you to Tahoe soon as y’all are ready to go.“ He looked at his watch. “It’s a little after ten now. What say we meet up at the office about noon?”

“Thank you. You’re very kind.”

“It’s my pleasure, missy. Well, enjoy yourselves,” he said with a wink.

She felt the sting of a blush on her cheeks as she shut the door. She took the rolls into the tiny kitchen, put them on the counter, and opened the fridge. Bottles of orange juice, water, and tomato juice were lined up like little soldiers on the top shelf. She grabbed two bottles of orange juice.

“Hey, are you going to hog breakfast?” Gabe mock-growled from the bed. She closed the refrigerator door and turned around to look at him. He had his arms behind his head and was watching her through half-closed eyes. Her gaze was drawn to his naked chest.

“Your morning attitude still sucks. Orange juice?”

“Yep. Bring those buns over here,” he said. “Oh. And the cinnamon rolls.”

“Ha. Ha.” She grabbed the plate and carried it to him. He sat up and plucked a sticky roll from the fragrant pile. He took a bite, and sighed with happiness. “These are good. Not Amelia good, but nobody can bake like her.”

Amelia had gotten the entire Pearson clan hooked on her honey cinnamon rolls. And Gabe wasn’t kidding. Amelia was the best baker on this side of Mississippi.

“Elias said the phones are working. All we have to do is get dressed and go to the office.”

“If the land lines are fixed, maybe the cell towers are, too.”

She watched him scoot off the bed, grab his jeans and tug them on. She fished her phone out of her purse and looked at the bars. She had none. She tried Gran’s number anyway, and got silence for her efforts. “Damn.”

Gabe scooped his smart phone off the nightstand and stabbed the screen before putting it to his ear. “Guess the cell towers are still out.”

8

AFTER SHOWERING AND getting dressed, Hope and Gabe left the cabin and walked down the cleared stone path to the tiny rental office. Elias stood behind counter, sipping a steaming cup of coffee. Gabe insisted on giving cash to cover the costs of the long distance calls, and Elias finally gave in and took the $100 bill.

“I’ll leave you to make your calls in private while I go warm up the car.”

Elias left, and Hope looked at the state maps on a wire rack as Gabe called for a tow truck and arranged a rental car once they got to Tahoe. Next, he called his insurance company. She discovered a candy display by the door, and immediately spied seven different kinds of chocolate. Her mouth started to water. Chocolate counted as food, right?

“Okay, we’re set,” said Gabe as he put the receiver back into the cradle. “Got a guy who will tow the Jeep to Tahoe and fix it up. We have a rental car waiting for us, too. Just for the hell of it, I tried Donna’s apartment. Nothing.”

“We’ll find them,” said Hope. She touched his arm. “Keep—”

She felt electrified, as though Gabriel were an unsafe conduit that she accidentally touched. She was mentally thrown forward into swirling chaos that soon became…

Donna yelling.

Joey crying.

A tall, well-dressed man with handsome features and a vicious smile held the little boy by his coat collar.

“No!” Donna made a grab for her son. The man backhanded her. She fell, cradling her cheek. Blood mixed with her tears as she rose to her knees and reached out for Joey. The man slapped her arms away.

“You never should’ve taken my son. He belongs to me.”

“We aren’t possessions, Evan! You don’t own us.”

“You ungrateful bitch.” He curled his free hand into a fist and punched her. Donna collapsed.

Joey’s sobs turned into terrified screams.

“Hope? Hope!”

“We have to go,” she said, sagging against Gabe. “Donna and Joey are in trouble. We need to hurry.”

THE DRIVE TO the rental car agency in Tahoe seemed to take forever. Worry knotted Hope’s neck muscles, and Gabe’s silence was rife with recrimination. Elias seemed to sense the tension and turned on the radio to a swing band station.

Once they arrived, Hope leaned kissed Elias on the cheek. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure, young lady.”

She climbed out of the car and waited for Gabe to say good-bye to Elias. Thankfully, getting the rental car took very little time, and they were on the road again, driving into the mountains toward Donna and Joey’s cottage.

“How do you think her ex-husband found her?” asked Hope.

“I don’t know. He lives in Boston, which is why we settled Donna and Joey on the West Coast. New names. New identities. New job. New school. We took every precaution. But Evan Phillips is a vengeful prick with very deep pockets.” He smacked the steering wheel. “Damn it.”

“It’s not your fault, Gabe.”

“Every contingency should’ve been covered. I swore to Donna that she and Joey would be safe.” He pulled onto a paved driveway curving up a small rise. He parked in front of a home that looked like a country English cottage. It should’ve invoked feelings of comfort and coziness, but instead it oozed with terror. Bad intentions. Pain.

Gabe jogged up the steps. Hope followed, feeling like a badly stitched doll. Her arms and legs didn’t want to work right, but she managed to stand beside Gabe without grabbing onto him for support. Gabe unlocked the door and ushered her inside.

Her guts immediately started cramping. Gabe was right. The house appeared undisturbed. One would think that Donna and Joey had simply gone on vacation. On a metaphysical level, however, it was chaos. Fear. Terror. Hatred. This horrible mix of emotions left by victims and perpetrator assailed her, knocking the breath right out of her and causing physical pain. She walked to the living room where the feelings intensified.

“Babe?”

“I’m okay. I need to go room to room,” she said. She opened her purse and took out her digital recorder. “I’ll record everything I see and feel.”

Gabe nodded. He started shucking off his clothes. “I’m going to shift and sniff around.” Naked, he strode out the back patio doors, starting his shift as he sank to all fours. He was a magnificent creature—both man and beast.

Hope inhaled a steady breath and began her walk-through. The living room still had echoes of the argument. She traveled down the hallway, went into both bedrooms, and even stood in the only bathroom. No bad vibes in this part of the house. Whatever happened started in the living room. She returned to that space and instantly felt sick again. Nausea roiled in her stomach as she stepped into the small kitchen. Shit. The horrid feelings were even stronger in here.

She saw a door that she thought led to the pantry, but when she opened it, she saw instead a wooden staircase that disappeared into the darkness below. Donna’s cottage had a basement.

Her fingernails dug into the paint as an image flashed.

Evan carried the limp form of his ex-wife into the kitchen. He called over his shoulder, “Joey stay in the living room.”

“Don’t hurt Mommy anymore!”

“I’m not hurting her. She’s just taking a nap.” He opened the basement door and muttered, “A permanent one.”

Hope dragged in shuddering breaths. Were they too late? Had Evan killed Donna and kidnapped Joey?

Hope dug around in the kitchen drawers until she found a small flashlight. She aimed it down the stairs, using the tiny beam to guide her into the shadows. She felt around on the wall for a light switch. Instead she felt a heavy string slap her face. She reached up and pulled it. Light flooded the area, revealing thick concrete walls, a washer and dryer, and a large metal rack filled with an assortment of tools, holiday decorations, books, and other random items.

No Donna.

I’m missing something.

The cramping and nausea were even worse down here. She walked the space, looking for anything that set off her psychic alarms.

The left side of the metal rack was askew. She tugged objects off the bottom shelves and peered at the back wall.

There was a large square panel. A knob placed at the bottom edge meant the door could be opened.

Feeling like she was on the right track, she moved the shelving system. Items fell off and bounced along the floor, but it wasn’t the mess she was worried about. Once she had enough space, she grabbed the knob and yanked.

The whole panel fell off, clattering to the bare floor with a loud clang.

A low moan issued from its dark depths. Hope poked her head through and immediately saw Donna curled into a ball, her hair matted with blood.

“Donna? C’mon, honey. We’re getting you out of there.” Hope reached in and took the woman under the armpits and dragged her into the basement. She laid her flat and checked for injuries. Donna moaned when Hope felt along her arm. Sprain or break, maybe.

Shit. She couldn’t tell Gabe about Donna until he reappeared in his human form. Getting Donna up the stairs wasn’t going to happen. Hope didn’t have the strength to carry her. She brushed hair away from Donna’s pale, bruised face.

Shit. She couldn’t tell Gabe about finding Donna until he reappeared in his human form. Getting the injured woman up the stairs wasn’t going to happen. Hope didn’t have the strength to carry her. She brushed hair away from Donna’s pale, bruised face.

Donna’s hand shot up and grabbed her wrist. Her bloodshot gaze pinned Hope’s. “Evan and Joey … snowstorm.” She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. “Heard him say … Fannette Island.”

“Sshh,” soothed Hope. “We’ll find Joey. Everything will be all right.”

Donna slipped into unconsciousness. However, the badly injured woman didn’t let go of Hope’s wrist.

The vision slammed into her mind with an almost physical force.

The little boy’s fearful brown eyes were on hers. She saw the tiny scar above his eyebrow, the freckles sprinkled across his nose, his tiny mouth open in a silent scream. Surrounded by darkness and blinding snow, she struggled toward the bound boy. She smelled the wet earth, felt the rocks scrape her hands as she fell. She scrambled to her feet and ran. The unending drops of water soaked her shivering skin, but she pushed onward.

Almost there. Almost there. Almost there.

With a lunge, she wrapped her arms around the terrified boy. The resignation in his brown eyes chilled her. He whispered, “You’re too late.”

She followed his sad gaze to the body that lay next to him.

Gabe was on his back, a gaping wound in his chest, his eyes locked in an unseeing stare. Snow had already started to cover his body made cold by death.

Hope jerked her hand from Donna’s grip, her heart pounding erratically.

It was exactly as she feared. Gabe being within her radius would lead to his death, especially if her stubborn ex-fiancé tried to rescue Joey. She was being shown the future now. A future she could change. This was her opportunity to save him.

AFTER THE AMBULANCE left with an unconscious Donna and the police had finished taking statements, Gabe and Hope returned to the empty house. From the moment Donna gave her clues about Joey’s location, Hope had been formulating ways to save the boy and Gabe. No matter which way she came at it, she could only see one solution.

She had to go alone.

So, she hadn’t told Gabe everything when he asked if Donna has said anything, only that Evan had taken Joey. The police issued an all-points bulletin and an Amber Alert. Even with the police working the case now, she couldn’t trust that they would find Joey in time, or that Gabe would give up on finding Donna’s son. No, he would put himself in harm’s way without a second thought. Gabe was insanely good at tracking. It’d be foolish to think he wouldn’t find her. All she had to do was stay one step ahead until she’d nullified the threat to Gabe and saved Joey.

“There’s no way Evan drove out of town last night. He had to be pinned in by the weather, just like we were,” said Gabe. “I’ve checked the Reno-Tahoe Airport and they’re still delaying flights. And no one can even get to the Sacramento International Airport. With another snowstorm brewing, we might be in for another brutal night.” Gabe rubbed his chin.

“He’ll want to go to the Sacramento airport,” said Hope. “They have international flights.”

Gabe lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. “You’re right. The easiest way to retain custody of Joey is take him to another country, probably one without extradition. Shit. That really ups the ante.” He looked around. “There’s nothing more we can do here. Let’s get back to Tahoe and rent a hotel room. We both need rest.”

“Sounds good, but first I need to use the facilities.”

“Okay.”

She went to the bathroom and secured the door. She took her cell phone out of her purse and used the map function to find Fannette Island. Luckily there was only one island on Lake Tahoe and it was located in Emerald Bay. Twenty miles up the mountain. She scribbled down the address so she could input into the car’s GPS. She took the battery out of her phone, dropped it into the toilet, and flushed it. Then she put her phone on the tile floor and stepped on it. She didn’t want to risk the smart phone clogging the toilet, so she opened up the tank and dropped the large pieces into the water.

She washed her hands, took a deep breath, and told her reflection in the mirror that she was doing the right thing.

Gabe waited for her in the living room. She made a show of looking into her purse. “Shit. I think I left my cell phone in the basement.” She grimaced, and as she expected, Gabe immediately came to the rescue. “I’ll get it, babe. Meet you in the car.”

“Okay. Thanks.” She stood up on her tippy toes and kissed Gabe. He looked surprised, but also pleased. He dipped his head and gently placed his lips against hers. His mouth was warm. His purely masculine smell gave her visions of long nights spent making love. She allowed his tongue entrance and then boldly swept the tip of her own tongue against his bottom lip, devouring his mouth as he did hers. She heard him groan and a shot of electric desire zapped the pit of her stomach. She wanted to die when he broke the kiss, but instead she smiled.

“That’ll keep me for a few minutes,” he said in a gruff voice. Then he turned and headed into the basement.

She waited until the door shut behind him, then she ran outside, jumped into the car, started it, and left.

Hands shaking, she plugged in the address for Emerald Bay.

Please let me get there in time.

9

GABE WANTED TO slam his fist through the wall. Instead he dialed his Las Vegas office. His mom, who’d offered to run the front desk while he was gone, answered on the first ring. He told her the situation and asked her to procure him a ride.

“You’ll have a transport there in the next thirty,” she promised. “And don’t worry, Gabe. Hope is a smart cookie.”

He ended the call and started pacing. Thirty minutes. Fucking hell. That was a lot of time for Hope to get herself into trouble. But what choice did he have?

He knew she hadn’t told him the whole story. No doubt Donna had told Hope where Evan had taken Joey. Somewhere nearby, he would guess. Driving distance.

Goddamn it.

Why would she try to rescue Joey by herself?

Please, Gabe. I don’t want you to die. If you don’t stay away from me, you’ll die.

He was a fucking idiot. He’d been so glad to reconnect with Hope that he’d let her distract him from explaining her nightmare. No, her vision. Suddenly, it all made sense. That’s why she left.

She thought he would die if she stayed with him. Why didn’t you tell me, Hope? Never mind. He knew why. She was foolish enough to believe it was her responsibility to protect him, and she would have known he wouldn’t let her sort this out without him. Not even if his life depended on it. She was putting herself in harm’s way because she thought it was the only way to keep him safe.

Sharp fear raked his spine.

He had to find her.

Gabe went into the bathroom and looked in the cabinets, the trashcan, and the bathtub. He opened the toilet tank and saw the smashed pieces of her cell along with its waterlogged battery.

If he hadn’t felt so terrified by the thought of losing her to an abusive psychopath, he might be impressed with her ingenuity. Unfortunately, Hope knew a lot of his tricks, which meant she would take countermeasures.

After a few panicked moments, he remembered that the rental car agency used GPS trackers on all their vehicles. All he had to do was get the information—and hightail it after his stubborn, beautiful, crazy mate.

PEBBLES AND ROCKS crunched underfoot as Hope darted through the trees. Icy rain slapped at her coat and her battered knit hat. She’d parked the car at the top of the hill. The only way to get close to the beachfront was to walk a mile down a steep, curved path. The snow and ice made the trip even more treacherous, but she’d finally made it to the Emerald Bay. Her nerves were frayed, especially after she realized the car had GPS tracking. Gabe might get to her sooner than she thought.

The temperature had dropped even lower. She shivered, her teeth chattering. The wind picked up, blowing branches against each other. The scratching sound grated on Hope’s nerves. Sheesh. Not even the moonlight penetrated the thick darkness. She flicked the flashlight on and pointed it at the churning water of Lake Tahoe.

Out there in the middle of the lake sat Fannette Island. Apparently there was a guesthouse built on it, but it wasn’t open during the winter season. No doubt Evan thought holing up with his kid at a remote location and no easy access to wait out the storm was better than risking being found in a Tahoe hotel. What kind of moron, other than her, would brave the storm and choppy waters to reach Fannette?

Almost to the beach, the wind whipped her hair as freezing rain beat mercilessly at her. Hailstones fell, smacking the water like small cannonballs. As she reached the edge of the bay, she saw a line of overturned canoes.

She hurried toward the nearest one, careful not to slip and bust her butt, and flipped it over. To her delight, its paddle was underneath it. She put the paddle inside, and shoved the canoe into the water. The glacial lake soaked her jeans, but she ignored the burning cold. She crawled inside and starting rowing toward the island.

THE BLACK HUMMER roared down the road. Every time Gabe rounded a curve, the tires screeched.

Forty-five minutes.

It seemed like a lifetime. The GPS tracked the car to a parking lot near Emerald Bay. That’s when he found out about Fannette Island. Mom had looked up the remote island and told Gabe about its guesthouse retreat, which was the only building on Fannette, and a perfect hiding place for a kidnapper. He’d asked for an additional accessory to be delivered with his transport.

When Gabe arrived at Emerald Bay, he immediately saw the rental car. His heart jolted. Hold on, babe.

He circled around and found a narrow paved road that lead directly to the beach. He ignored the Walking Only sign. The Hummer bounced along, and soon the headlights shone on the rocky beach.

Gabe made a wide turn then reversed the monster vehicle, backing up until the trailer hitched behind the water’s edge. He shut off the SUV, hopped out, and untied the three-passenger Jet Ski. He checked to make sure the plugs were sealed. If all went as planned, he’d be returning from the island with Hope and Joey. The machine slid into the water, floating against the edge of the beach as Gabe held onto the tether. He heard the rocks scraping the bottom of the massive machine’s acrylic underside.

Gabe strode into the lake, boots and all. He fastened his weapons bag onto his shoulder strap and threw his leg over the vinyl seat. The nob turned easily, and he waited a few seconds for gas to get to the engine. As soon as he could smell the acrid fumes, he pulled the clutch and pushed the starter button. The machine roared to life. He turned on the single powerful headlight and using full throttle, he followed the narrow beam of bright light across the frothing lake. Water splashed, soaking Gabe from head to toe. But he didn’t care. It was unlikely he’d die from hyperthermia. Shifters had superior genetics and tended be a whole lot less frail than humans.

The roar of the Jet Ski’s engine was lost under the wind’s constant gusts. The island came into view in less than five minutes.

Too late, Gabe saw the tree trunk floating in the water. He throttled back, but his momentum was too great, and he rammed into the dead wood.

He killed the engine and leaned to the side to push the debris out of the way. He struggled to stay put on the slippery seat. More than once, he almost fell off the Jet Ski. The heavy bag made balancing himself even more treacherous. He had to do something or he knew he’d end up in the ice-cold water.

Shit.

He let unfastened the bag and let it go. Without its weight, he immediately righted himself.

But his guns, his flares, and his cuffs... Basically, fucking everything was gone.

He’d have to make do.

Another five minutes passed before he reached the shore. The Jet Ski’s headlight bounced across the stone guesthouse. It was dark, but Evan wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t put light anywhere someone would see and report it.

Gabe maneuvered the Jet Ski closer to shore. He slid off into the water and pushed the machine onto the rocky beach. He put his on his hip before he remembered he’d taken off his holster and Glock and put it into the bag.

Fuck.

He took his keys out of his pocket and used his penlight to scan the beach. The tiny beam of light danced across a dark green canoe. Hope’s? He moved forward, his senses on high alert. He leaned down to the canoe and inhaled. Lavender. His heart squeezed. Please don’t let me be too late.

He hurried toward the back of the house, moving with adept stealth and speed he’d developed over the years as a bodyguard. Sounds emitted from the trees just ahead, and he stilled.

10

HOPE MARCHED INTO the thicket of spruces and enormous, lush pines that shielded a lovely pavilion. She stumbled and got a poke in the back from Evan’s revolver.

“Keep moving,” he demanded.

Hope didn’t need the reminder that Evan had every intention of killing her. Before Evan had figured out she was in the house, she’d discovered a terrified Joey hiding under the covers in a small bedroom upstairs.

“We’re going to play hide and seek,” she said. “Do you know that game?”

Eyes wide, Joey nodded.

“This version is a little different. I’ll show you where to hide, and then my friend will find you. Does that sound fun?”

Joey nodded.

She took him into the downstairs bathroom and hid him in the bathtub. “Gabe Pearson is his name. He’s a big guy with messy hair. He might look mean, but don’t be afraid. He’s a big teddy bear

Joey’s fear made her heart race. She’d protect him, just like she was protecting the love of her life. She might not be a shifter, but she understood what it meant to love someone like only a mate could. “Forgive me, Gabriel,” she whispered, knowing he probably wouldn’t. Not if she got herself killed to keep him alive.

“Stay put, Joey,” she said to child as he huddled against the back of the tub. “It’s going to be all right.” With that last parting affirmation, she twisted the lock on the knob and closed the door.

After she’d left Joey, she found Evan in the study, drinking Scotch and laughing to himself. He was shocked to see her, but after she told him he was going to jail for kidnapping, he’d wasted no time pulling out a revolver. She’d led him away from the house, toward the pavilion. Booze and arrogance made him sloppy.

She was confident that Gabe would arrive any minute. He’d check the house first, and find Joey. All she needed was enough time to enact her plan, and then no one would get hurt.

Well, almost no one.

FEAR COURSED THROUGH Gabe as he watched Evan point a gun at his mate. He debated about whether or not to shift, but decided it was too risky. As quietly as possible, he crept through the forest following until they stopped when she stumbled under the large pavilion.

He ducked low and ran across an open area until he positioned himself at the corner of the structure. The storm worsened, along with his fear, as each moment passed. He now stood behind Evan, but the man was at least five feet away from him. Gabe adjusted his position to get a better look at Evan’s profile and the revolver in his hand. He watched the man edge closer to Hope, apparently drawn in by her words. She bent low, scooped something out of the bushes, and tried to stab Evan’s neck with it. Evan easily caught her wrist and blue light flashed as the stun gun released its charge.

Hope screamed her fury and gave the man a right hook that made Gabe proud.

Evan staggered backwards, his face mottled with rage. He raised his gun, his hand shaking from the cold or cowardice or both.

Gabe’s heart beat a tattoo of dread as he lunged forward, propelling himself towards Evan. His teeth slammed together as his head connected with Evan’s back. They both hit the ground, sliding in the instantaneous mud created by the rain. Evan bought up his knee and jabbed it into Gabe’s stomach then twisted out from underneath. Evan rolled over, elbowed Gabe in the gut, and scrambled away. Gabe staggered to his knees, but Evan was already standing. He knew, from his research into Evan Phillips, that he’d been trained in hand-to-hand combat during his stint in the Army. Evan knew how to hurt people. It’s why he and his brothers had taken so many precautions when they’d hidden Donna and Joey. He knew not to underestimate the tycoon, but in his worry for Hope, he’d forgotten Evan could hold his own. Even against a bear shifter.

Evan pointed the gun at Gabe’s head, finger on the trigger, his scent reeking of triumph.

A primal scream froze both of them, but Gabe recovered first. He lunged forward, bringing his forearm up. It connected with Evan’s wrist, and the man’s arm sailed upward, the gun flying out of his hand.

A blur of motion slammed into Evan.

The kidnapper cried out as Hope pummeled the crap out of him, her fists connecting with Evan’s face and chest in a wild flurry of punches. Evan tried to fight back, but Hope was fast—and pissed off.

Gabe plucked his kicking and screaming mate off the asshole and managed to avoid getting hit in the process. Well, almost. She’d connected with his shin in a painful shot. After he set her down behind him, he raised his fist and brought it forcefully down on Evan’s face. The sickening sound of flesh hitting flesh broke through the storm’s unending cadence.

Evan went limp.

As soon Gabe stood, Hope dove into his arms and squeezed him so tight, he almost forget how fucking furious he was with her.

“Where’s Joey?” he asked.

“In the house.”

“Let’s get him and get the hell out of here.” He kissed Hope hard and said, “You’re in so much trouble.”

They both hurried toward the house, and wasted no time getting inside. Hope led him to the downstairs bathroom. “Joey? Open the door, honey.”

Out of reflex, she tried the knob. It turned easily. Her look of horror told Gabe all he needed to know. “I’ll take the upstairs.”

Gabe checked every room, every closet, every bathroom, and hell, even the attic space. There were plenty of hiding places for a scared little boy to conceal himself.

Gabe called out, too, but there was no answer. He came down the stairs and met Hope in the hallway.

Tears filled her eyes. “He must’ve gone outside.”

Gabe kissed her forehead. “We’ll find him. You go to the beach. I’ll check around the house’s perimeter.” He strode to the window and removed a hefty tieback from one of the brocade curtains. Except for the tassel, it looked just like a piece of gold rope. “I’ll make sure Evan is tied up nice and neat for the authorities.”

He kissed her, and she smiled, and in that smile, he saw all her love for him. He was humbled by it. “Will you come home with me?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t leave me again, Hope. You are my heart.”

“And you are mine.”

They parted ways with one last kiss.

HOPE SCOURED THE beach, yelling Joey’s name. The storm had been reduced to flutters of snowflakes, though it was still freezing. She felt chilled to the bone, but she couldn’t help but think about Joey wandering around in this awful weather in just his pajamas.

She passed the canoe and the Jet Ski, and saw a figure in the distance. She squinted through the flurry of snowflakes. As she got closer, she realized it wasn’t Gabe.

It was Evan. How had the asshole managed to get up after that beating? She turned to run, but the cold and utter exhaustion made it feel like she was running through quicksand. He caught up to her and grabbed her by the back of her coat.

He swung her around. “You’ve cost me enough, you bitch.”

Hope felt like she would choke on the revulsion rising like bile in her throat. Evan was a sick, sick man, but she had no pity for him. She clenched her fists against her sides. This whole situation was a clusterfuck. Where was Joey? Was Gabe okay? Had he been hurt? Or maybe he found Evan and took him to the house. Or maybe he realized Evan was missing and was searching for him, too.

He propelled her down the rocky beach, the revolver shoved against her ribs. Her palms were damp with sweat and her heart pounded fiercely against her chest. Fear roared through her. He pushed her toward the water’s edge, until she was ankle-deep in Lake Tahoe.

He raised the revolver, his lips curling into a sneer.

“Hope!”

Over Evan’s shoulder, she saw Gabriel running full-force toward them. Evan swung around, obviously deeming Gabe the larger threat.

No, no, no. It was the vision. It was happening. Terror clawed at her guts. I won’t let you die.

Like a movie projected in slow-motion Hope saw Evan’s arm swing out and aim the gun at Gabe. She couldn’t stop him from firing, but she could change the target.

Hope launched out of the water, screaming bloody murder as she barreled toward Evan. Now, she was the immediate threat, and he reacted accordingly, firing the gun three times in quick succession.

The loud report of the shots echoed in her ears.

Twin sources of pain in her shoulder and hip brought her to her knees. She pressed a hand against her coat, and came away with a palm soaked in blood.

Gabe’s cries of agony turned into a roar so loud and ferocious, Evan whirled back around.

But he was too late. Gabe had shifted. The man in human form was impressive, his beast doubly so. The massive black bear reared up and roared, his breath heating the air into a frosty fog. Evan froze, his expression one of utter shock.

Hope sank onto her side, her vision blurry, her breath shallow and rapid.

Roaring, the bear swiped his claws across Evan’s neck, easily severing the carotid artery. Blood spurted from Evan’s wound, and he slapped a hand against his neck, his eyes wide with horror. He lifted the gun with a shaking hand.

Gabe removed the revolver, along with Evan’s hand, in one vicious swipe.

The man flopped down into the shallows, his blood clouding the clear water. With a final gasp of air, he left this Earth.

And she hoped he went straight to hell.

“Gabe,” she whispered.

He trundled over to her, and picked her up, and she sank into the warmth of his fur and the sound of his beating heart.

And let go.

HOPE HEARD LOW murmurs and beeping sounds.

“Turn off the alarm,” she demanded. “I need five more minutes.” She tried to turn onto her side, but she couldn’t seem to manage it.

“Hope.”

Gabe. He touched her face, and she opened her eyes.

“You’re back,” he said softly.

“Did I go somewhere?”

“Evan shot you. A through and through in the shoulder. The bullet that hit your hip caused more damage, but you’ll heal up.” He took her hand. “I thought I’d lost you.”

“I had a vision, Gabe. I couldn’t stand the thought of you dying because of me.”

“So you took ten years off my life by trying to get killed yourself?”

“It made sense at the time.” She studied the worry lines around his eyes, his ashen skin, and the untamed beard. “What happened to Joey?”

“He’s fine. He said the storm scared him so he went to his special place. There’s a little door under the staircase. He fell asleep there. Donna’s recovering, too. They’ll both be just fine. Because of you.”

“And you.”

He took her hand. His eyes were bleary and his hair needed brushing, but he was still the best-looking man she ever saw. She loved him more than her next breath.

“Your Gran’s outside waiting to see you, but I had a question for you before I go.” He cleared his throat. Then he got down on one knee and offered her the engagement ring she’d given back. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes.”

He stood up, leaning down to kiss her. Then he straightened and took her hand once more. “Let’s get one thing straight. You have a vision about me, you tell me. You don’t run away or put yourself in danger. If you get a warning again, I will heed it. I trust you, Hope. I want you to trust me, too.”

“I do,” she said. “I was so scared, babe. The thought of losing you…it was too much. I’m sorry.”

“I’m just glad we have a second chance. Together, we can conquer anything.” He kissed her fingertips, the heat of his lips more healing than the meds dripping through her IV. “I love you, Hope.”

She looked at him, her heart full. “I love you, too, Gabe.”

* * *

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Michele Bardsley is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of paranormal romance. When she’s not writing sexy tales of otherworldly love, she watches “Supernatural,” consumes chocolate, crochets hats, reads on her Kindle, and spends time with her husband and their fur babies.

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The Dragon’s Wife

1

SHANNON BRAM STEPPED out of the limousine, her hiking boots touching the earth that had once belonged to Áillen mac Kearney if the legend of the fire-breathing warrior was to be believed. Her little archeologist’s soul wanted more than anything to find proof that Áillen was not some pub-born legend, but in fact, a real man who deserved a place in history.

“Welcome to Cloghnykyltye. She’s the biggest jewel in Clonakilty’s crown,” said the limousine driver with pride. He flourished an arm toward the foreboding castle that stood on a small rise. “It’s also known as Cloch nag Coillte. That’s Gaelic for the Castle of the Woods.”

It was an accurate description, given the thick, tangled forest surrounding the lonely-looking fortress. Dark clouds hovered above. A chill wind swept across the craggy hillside, rattling the stiff grass. The breeze stroked Shannon’s face with cold, witchy fingers.

She shivered.

Shannon looked at the driver, who merely gave her the same bland smile he offered when he’d picked her up from the Cork Airport. After he’d placed her suitcases in the limo’s trunk, he encouraged her to enjoy a selection of snacks and beverages and then put on soothing classical music—no doubt to allay any questions. So, she’d been left alone with her doubts. During the hour-long drive to this place, those doubts had turned into hungry, little monsters that nibbled viciously at her confidence.

Why me?

Out of all the archeologists who’d applied for the Kearney grant, she should’ve been one of the last considered. She was barely done with college and had only one full season under her belt digging for dinosaur bones in the Arizona desert. Thanks to a favor owed by the friend of a friend, it had been the only gig she could get with no experience. She’d taken the job and sweated her ass off dusting sand from the bones of extinct animals.

Shannon’s true passion was historical archeology, in particular, the medieval cultures that existed in Ireland between 1200 and 1400 CE. The most fascinating part of that era was the supposed fiery rule of Áillen mac Kearney, half-man, half-beast, and all temper. According to legend, a maiden named Clíona tamed the savage of Clonakilty. Reputedly, her beauty was only rivaled by her tender heart, and Shannon fantasized about the glorious romance that must have existed between the two of them.

Unfortunately, no one in the archeological field put much stock in the legend or the romance. Despite a statue dedicated to Áillen and Clíona’s true and tragic love, along with hundreds of years of oral traditions, there was a larger belief in the leprechauns than in a fire-breathing lord. Not even the Kearney family claimed the man as an ancestor, and Shannon was sure he had a direct connection to their bloodline.

The driver retrieved Shannon’s bags and put them on the stone pathway that curled toward the massive front doors. She eyed the distance to the castle and estimated she was in for at least a ten-minute hike. Good thing she’d worn sensible shoes and her luggage had wheels.

“It has another name, doesn’t it?”

“What, miss?”

“The castle. Dragain Cuthaigh.”

The driver paused, his young face revealing shock. “You speak Gaelic?”

“Not really. But I’ve researched the area quite a bit.”

“You might want to avoid mentionin’ Dragain Cuthaigh to Mr. Kearney. He’s not fond of the way people tell the tale of the ragin’ dragon.”

“Why not? It’s a wonderful story.”

The driver slammed the trunk. “Except the part where the Raven Maiden drowns. We don’t need any more sorrows ‘round here, miss. Not even the made-up kind.” The young man tugged his cap down. “Need help gettin’ to Cloghnykyltye?”

His words quivered with nervousness. She looked at him sharply and realized he wasn’t at all comfortable. Was it the castle’s purported ghosts that made him restless? Or the fearsome reputation of Aiden Kearney? Mr. Kearney was a recluse, and he never let anyone who didn’t work for him onto his property. Ever. The fact he had openly sought an archeologist to excavate his family lands had set the entire world abuzz, at least, the entire world of medieval archeologists and historians.

“I can take it from here,” Shannon said. “Thank you.”

Relief flooded the driver’s expression. He tugged his cap once more and slid into the limo. The sleek black car disappeared down the craggy, twisted road. At this elevation, she could see the town of Clonakilty and hoped she would be able to visit soon. She’d read about its history, of course, but she wanted to explore the nooks and crannies that so often told the real stories of towns and the people who had lived in them.

She opened the invitation and read it again, even though she’d long since memorized it.

Shannon,

I have chosen you out of nearly 1,800 applicants for the chance to excavate Kearney’s private lands.

The strong scrawl on the thick cream paper seemed so familiar to her—she’d probably read it so many times she began to feel as though it was part of her own past. For the last three months, they’d e-mailed each other. He’d always been polite and impersonal—asking detailed questions, not only about her application but also about her personal life.

Are you married? (No.) Have you ever had children? (No.) Who are your parents? (Gary and Karen Bram, technically my uncle and aunt. My biological mother died a month after I was born. Uncle Gary was her brother, and he and his wife adopted me.)

Some might consider his queries intrusive, yet she hadn’t minded. Nothing to hide—and nothing to lose. Besides, the questions had probably been standard for all the candidates in order to gauge their level of commitment to the project.

She must have answered right, because two days ago, a FedEx package arrived at Shannon’s apartment, and to her surprise, she found this handwritten note, a plane ticket, and instructions about her transportation to his ancestral home.

You will be allowed to excavate one section of the Kearney lands. I promise you that this parcel has many intriguing possibilities. You will have two weeks and full autonomy to complete your exhumation of my property.

He hadn’t given her much time. It was mid-October. If she began the dig tomorrow, her last day to process the site would be Halloween.

I am compelled to tell you that if you come to Ireland and claim this opportunity, your life will change in ways you cannot possibly know.

He felt compelled to tell her? Her life would change in ways she couldn’t know? The wind howled as if giving voice to her distress. It whipped about her, loosening her hair from its clip. The strands tickled her neck, and she swept them away. Her gaze riveted to the most intriguing sentence in the letter.

I will be waiting for you.

And I for you, love. Shannon blinked. Where had that thought come from? Wow. The jet lag was already getting to her. That, and not eating anything in the last twelve hours. She glanced at the end of the note.

Ever Yours,

Aiden Kearney

Ever Yours. What an odd way for him to sign off.

“Miss Bram.”

The deep voice startled Shannon. She’d been staring at the note more than the castle so the man could have been making his way down the hill, but surely she would have seen him before now. He had seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

As he drew near, Shannon’s heart thundered in her chest. The man was gorgeous. Broad-shouldered and nicely muscled—if the fit of his jeans was any indication—and the kind of chiseled good looks that belonged to Celtic gods. That face. Beautiful. Familiar. Square jaw, sharp cheekbones, amber eyes. I know you. A mess of mahogany brown hair curled around the upturned collar of his coat. He stopped in front her, his gaze filled with trepidation.

Her thoughts swirled, and she felt dizzy. Yes, she knew him. Somehow, she knew this man she’d never met. She couldn’t look away from his amber eyes, and she imagined she saw them darken, saw fire flare in his black pupils.

“Shannon, is it?” He stretched out a hand, and she shook it, marveling at the gentle strength in those tapered fingers. “Call me Aiden.”

“Aiden?” His name was a query, but she didn’t understand why she’d made it into a question. His creamy chocolate voice was made all the better by the lyrical quality of his Irish accent. She wondered how many women regularly swooned at his feet.

“My housekeeper Mrs. Calhoun has prepared tea for us in the main living room.”

A cup of coffee sounded better than tea, but all she really wanted to do was collapse onto a bed and sleep. She felt so terribly tired. Shannon’s knees buckled, and the next thing she knew, she was crumpling. Aiden caught her and easily scooped her into his arms. She clutched at his shoulders, her eyes on his. Grief invaded her; her limbs felt weighted down, her heart filled with loss. She fought an unaccountable desire to cry. Not just to cry, but to wail.

“Shannon?”

The despair deepened. Her breath left her body in a whoosh as tears scalded her cheeks. A buzzing droned in her ears, and Shannon felt suddenly woozy. She’d fainted before, so she knew the signs. Her vision darkened, her limbs going loose. From far away, she heard her own voice say, “I did not betray you, love. I’d die a thousand deaths rather than harm even a single hair on your stubborn head.”

Just before she passed out, she felt Aiden nuzzle her cheek and whisper, “I know, a chuisle mo chroí. I know.”

2

THE CORRIDORS HID untold dangers. Her life was in peril, but fear for her husband propelled her down the dark passage. She knew the way well, and thank Brigid for that because she dared not use any source of light. She couldn’t risk being found by Aithne. The woman had made it quite clear what would happen to the village if Clíona did not obey her insidious command.

Oh, this damnable love! She could no more control her heart’s longings than she could control the moon and the stars. She had to know Áillen was all right. She’d only believe it if she saw him with her own eyes. Her head ached, her throat clogged. Grief shrouded her, and she cursed herself once more for leaving him. Aithne’s blackmail had been effective, and though it cleaved her heart in two, she had disappeared from the castle and hadn’t returned.

Not until now.

Clíona made it to the door. Her heart pounded, her palms slickened with sweat. She only needed to check on him. Rumors spread thick as honey that he’d been sick, sick enough to make people whisper about the plague.

She shuddered. The sickness hadn’t come to Clonakilty … had it?

She entered her husband’s bedchamber and shut the door behind her. The light of the dying fire offered some visibility. Relief weakened her knees.

Just check on him and be on your way.

Her husband slept on his stomach. The coverlet concealed him from the waist down, but she knew every battle scar, every muscle, and every wicked line on his body. For a moment, she allowed herself the luxury of gazing at him.

Fear chilled her.

Surely he breathed!

She rushed forward, caring not if she woke him and invoked his wrath. But he did not stir. She tugged on his shoulder—still he didn’t wake. Grabbing his arm, she managed to roll him over. His beautiful eyes stared unseeing at the stone ceiling.

Blood covered his chest, the furs, and his scarred warrior’s body. No breath. No heartbeat.

No! This was not the plague. This was something worse. Not a random act of the divine, but an intentionally cruel act of man.

No! No! No!

An ungodly wail echoed in the room.

“ÁILLEN!” SHANNON BRAM rushed into Aiden’s bedroom, her eye wild. Something about her bespoke a torment so deep he thought it might shatter his soul.

“I’m here, love,” he said automatically. He scrambled from where he’d sat working at his desk, surprised when she fell into his arms, sobbing. “I’m right here.”

“I am lost.”

He scooped her up and set her down on his bed. Her keening cut him to shreds. In the throes of the nightmare, she’d remembered her past life. The life that had led her to him. The modern day woman probably didn’t realize she’d come to his room and curled into his arms like a frightened kitten. The fire in the hearth crackled, the flickering light shadowing her beautiful face, so much like... “Oh the gods, Clíona. I never thought I’d find you.”

“You were dead.”

“I can’t be killed, love.”

Eyes closed, still in the throes of memories made into dreams, she whispered, “I saw the blood. All that blood.” She clutched at him obviously still reliving the moment she’d found his body in this room, in this castle, so many centuries before. The sword that pierced his heart had not killed him. But the wound had been severe enough that healing had taken time. Once he’d healed, he immediately went to search for the human who’d tried to kill him.

Instead, he found something much, much worse.

“Áillen.”

“I’m here, mo choi. Forever yours.”

Tears fell, dripping down her cheeks like rain, and then her mouth sought his. Blind in her need and gripped by horrors perpetrated more than eight centuries before, she sought his comfort.

He could not deny her.

Aiden tasted her lips. Ah, how familiar the curve of her mouth. He sipped gently. Her sweetness filled him, and he was reminded of that first kiss he’d shared with her so very long ago. Is it really you? He pulled away and stroked her hair. She turned her face and nuzzled his palm. So like Clíona. He recognized little things about her—the shape and amber color of her eyes were nearly the same. So was the way the left side of her mouth tilted higher than the other when she smiled. Her hair was dark blonde, the tresses barely touching her shoulders. Eight hundred years ago, she’d sported long white-blonde locks that reached past her buttocks. He had relished the chore of brushing out the tangles, usually because he was the one responsible for creating them in the first place.

Aiden smiled.

He had the Moon Pack alpha to thank for finding Shannon Bram. How the werewolf had managed to find the girl was something of a miracle. And when Aiden had received the pictures of her—and got the details of her interests and her career, he’d had his first hope in centuries that Clíona had been reborn.

Until this moment, he’d feared the dragonwitch’s prophecy had been untrue.

You will find her again when the world no longer believes in dragons.

Aiden hadn’t imagined there would ever be a time that the world would stop believing in his kind. But they had. Creatures that had once ruled both land and sky had been killed off by the thousands until only a very few remained. In an effort to stave off extinction, dragons had transformed themselves to look like men and women as a way to blend in with the human populations. By the time he’d come to Clonakilty more than 800 years ago, he and his siblings were nearly the last of their species, only able to survive by hiding their true and powerful natures.

He had kept his land and castle by “dying” every seventy or eighty years and inheriting the land as the “only son” of the previous owner. Humans and their pain-in-the-ass rules.

His gaze roved over Shannon’s face. She wasn’t the same, not exactly, but the echoes of the woman he’d loved for centuries were there.

She who tamed the beast of Clonakilty

Slumbers beneath waters silty

Mourn the Raven Maiden one and all

For she caused the great dragon’s fall

The town burned

The lesson learned

If you wish to see the morrow

Ne’er speak of Kearney’s sorrow

3

AFTER HIS WIFE had been found dead in the cavern beneath the castle, Aithne had tried to convince him that Clíona had sent one of her cousins to kill him and then drowned herself. She was crazed, Áillen. She blamed you for the babe’s loss. She’s frail in mind and body. What did you expect—mating with a human?

His stepsister Aithne hadn’t known that Clíona had been utterly devastated by finding his body. Healing from the monstrous stabbing to his heart and organs took many hours. Killing dragons took a specific skill set and knowledge that had been lost even in that time—and no one in the modern world knew the ways. That was one advantage to being relegated to myth. As a fictional being, he was safe from arrogant assholes looking to make reputations by hanging a dragon’s hide on their castle walls.

He’d been attacked less than an hour before Clíona found him. Though he could hear and see her, he couldn’t move. He couldn’t even blink or force air into his chest. After she’d sobbed herself limp, she’d gotten herself under control and began searching the room. He didn’t know what clue she’d found, but after a while, she’d kissed his brow and whispered, “I shall avenge you. I love you, dragon.”

He lay there, helpless, thoughts whirling. The healing was nigh on complete by dawn. The moment he could move his limbs, he went searching for her. He had so many questions. Why did you leave me? Why did you come back? Who are you accusing of my murder? He worried that she’d confronted the fiend on her own and landed in trouble. She followed her heart absolutely, common sense be damned.

For weeks, he grieved. Then he went to the dragonwitch and begged the crone to give him some hope. Hope, he said, or he would join his sweet Clíona in death.

And now his patience had paid off.

The fact she’d sought him while entranced was proof enough. She’d sought him out like she always had when she needed his comfort, his reassurance. She was a strong woman. Only with him would she allow herself to be vulnerable, to show weakness.

And to a dragon no less.

God, how he’d mourned her death.

Their last parting pained him still. Tonight, he would begin his apology to her. Seek her forgiveness. Show her his eternal love.

Her small hands fluttered around his shoulders as if unsure where to land. He clasped them and gently pushed her against the bed. Her silky hair fanned out against the pillows, and he picked up a strand and rubbed it between his fingers. He leaned forward and inhaled. It smelled of lavender and mint—the same scents she’d used to wash it so long ago.

She moaned. Her eyes closed, her mind lost in dreams and memories, she sought his comfort, his love.

Tear tracks marred her pale cheeks. He kissed away those remnants of sorrow then covered her mouth with his own. She returned his kisses with desperation that spoke of her love for him, of her need for him.

His heart rejoiced.

“Clíona,” he whispered against her lips.

“Áillen.” His name was a sigh. “Love me.”

“I cannot. You are…” he sought the right word “…unwell.”

Her mouth curved into a luscious pout, and her American accent turned into a flirtatious Irish brogue. “What would you be knowin’ about my health?” Her smile turned sly. “Have you inspected all of me body? Just t’ be sure?”

He laughed, and the tension crowding his chest released. How he had missed her impudence!

Stretching like a lithe cat, she wound her arms around his neck. “Love me,” she demanded.

“I will give you pleasure, beloved,” he acquiesced. He hesitated, though, because even though his wife asked him for lovemaking, the woman now in his bed was not his wife. Not yet. The dragonwitch had warned him that human souls were memory-less entities. The present Shannon and the past Clíona had to merge together and become one…thus, the need for the potion and the ritual.

“Áillen?”

He pushed away his doubts. Shannon would not remember anything that happened here this eve as real. No, she’d believe it to be a dream. He wanted her so much. She felt so wonderful in his arms. His dragon ruled his heart, his passions. All the same, he would not take her body, but he would bring her to orgasm.

Her pleasure would be his pleasure.

She wore a thin T-shirt and running shorts, easily breached barriers. His hand slid under her shirt until he felt the firmness of her breast. His fingers trembled as he cupped the tender weight in his hand. His breath shallow with excitement, he rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. It hardened, the tight bud an unbearable temptation.

Patience, Áillen. Patience.

He pushed up her shirt. His heart thudded erratically. Sweat trickled down his neck. Eight hundred years of waiting had taken its toll. And now his love, his only love, lay before him, a feast for a starving man.

The deep coral of her areolas and the dusty tips of her nipples beckoned him. Grasping one breast, he leaned forward and swirled his tongue around the nipple, teasing it with light, quick licks until his love’s soft moans begged him for more.

He took the taut peak into his mouth and suckled.

She cried out, shoved her hands into his hair, and pressed him closer still.

He moved to her other breast, kissing the underside before tasting the areola.

Patience.

His lips clamped her nipple and sucked it with the same intensity he’d devoted to the other.

His hard cock strained against the interior of his jeans. The rasp of the rough material against his flesh made him sensitive to Clíona’s squirming beneath him.

It had been too long.

He didn’t want to stop…

He shuddered with desire, stalling the deep need to ravish her, to show her right now how much she meant to him.

He seated himself between her thighs, his jean-clad cock pressed against her sex—protected only by the thin material of her shorts.

He moved.

Slowly.

Clíona had no such compunction.

She grabbed his hips and writhed against him, her rocking strokes short, frantic, and torturous.

She bucked against him, her hands fisting against his buttocks. “Áillen!”

He felt the rise of his own pleasure, the bare edge of an orgasm threatening. He teased her nipple, matched her strokes, and enjoyed his woman, his very heart, for the first time in eight centuries.

Her scream of completion was scant seconds before his orgasm claimed him. He cried out, jerking hard and painfully against the confine of his jeans. As guilt slashed at his conscience, he rolled to the side, tucked Clíona into the crook of his arm, and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

“Are you angry with me, Áillen?”

Aiden’s breath lodged in his throat. Grief crushed him, so much so, that for a moment, he couldn’t quite speak. Finally, he said, “No.” His voice broke. “Never.”

His heart clenched. Was she remembering their last argument? The reason she left him? But her love for him had been stronger than her pride. Had she not put away her hurt and his betrayal to rescue him? He’d been a fool to let her go. She was his muse, his light, his soulmate. Only together were they strong enough to face the challenges of life and love.

“You are my heart,” she said.

“And you are mine.”

She cried, curling into his chest and giving voice to her despair. He held her; regret spearing him relentlessly for using her, for hurting her, for taking the woman’s body that was not yet his.

Her sobs quieted, and her grip relaxed. He wanted to heal her wounded spirit, but all he could do was caress her back and murmur soothing nonsense. When her tears were spent and sleep claimed her, he kissed her brow and prayed she would be free of nightmares.

He had two weeks to strengthen their bond before he had to reveal the truth. Before he had to ask her to give her life as Shannon…

To become the Raven Maiden Clíona.

And once again to save the dragon of Clonakilty.

4

SHANNON FELT LIKE she’d been on an all-night drunk. Her limbs trembled, her mouth felt like she’d swallowed a whole bag of cotton, and she’d slept like the dead.

Now she felt like the dead.

One vague dream haunted her. In it, she and Aiden were together in bed, exchanging words of love and gestures of passion. Probably a side effect of the bodice-ripper novel she’d bought at the airport gift bookstore and read on the long plane ride to Ireland.

Been here one friggin’ day and I’m already having fantasy sex with the gorgeous Aiden Kearney.

Feeling shaky, jetlag no doubt, Shannon left her room. The hallway tilted—or rather she did. Groaning, she clutched the wall and rested her cheek against the rough stone, contemplating the idea of going back to bed.

Just until her headache went away.

Alas, the mysterious Aiden Kearney wanted to take her on a tour of the castle and the excavation area. The housekeeper, Mrs. Calhoun, a doughy woman with button-black eyes and a habit of clucking her tongue whilst giving unwanted advice, had awoken her.

Not even a shower and the strong coffee brought by Mrs. Calhoun had made Shannon feel better. Dressing had been a chore, too. She ditched her bra and slid into a cream-colored sundress with spaghetti straps before she shoved her feet into a pair of heelless sandals. Forget make-up and fancy hair-dos, too. She barely had the energy to brush a single strand, much less wrestle her too-long hair into submission. Right now, she didn’t care if she looked scary enough to frighten a banshee.

“Maidin mhaith, grá mo chroi.”

“What?” Shannon asked, startled at his presence. Even so, Aiden’s resonant voice brought an instant smile to her face. She turned and found him leaning against the opposite wall. Good lord. Had he gotten even more handsome?

“I wished you a good morning.”

He straightened, his gaze on hers as he crossed the hall. He lifted his hand, presumably to touch her face, and stopped. Why had he felt compelled to touch her face? Attraction stretched between them. She couldn’t deny the connection but his gaze held sorrow. What could make such a powerful man so sad?

“Feeling rough, Ms. Bram?” he asked.

“Afraid so.” His mouth was beautiful. Perfect. She loved how it crooked up on the right when he was deep in thought, and how he’d use his tongue to wet his bottom lip before... Oh God, she was fantasizing again, but damn, the fantasy had seemed so real. She shook away the weird thoughts. “Please call me Shannon.”

“Shannon.”

He said her name in a way that sent shivers through her. She swallowed the nervous knot forming in her throat.

“Call me Aiden.”

Heavens! The way he affected her should’ve terrified her to bits—she’d never felt this kind of pull to another human being. Her body responded to his in a way that should have been impossible for two strangers. Shannon craved Aiden Kearney’s touch like she normally craved chocolate. Her flesh tightened under his intense gaze, and her nipples drew into hard nubs against the soft rub of sundress fabric. His eyes drifted to the sharp points, and she groaned at his appraising glance. Áillen. The name of the ancient warrior rang in her mind. Without thinking, she stepped into his arms. His eyes reminded her of a tiger’s, intelligent, predatory, hungry. He knew her heart. Saw into her soul. Offered her a promise of—what am I doing?

She jumped back as if his skin had turned acidic. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s come over me.”

“Well, it’s not a Tuesday if at least one beautiful woman doesn’t jump into me arms.” He offered her a wicked smile, and her belly felt as though a thousand butterflies fluttered within.

Her lips twitched. “I’m sure they line up at the door just for the opportunity.”

“You’d be surprised,” he said. “Clonakilty has a long memory.”

“How so?”

Aiden straightened. “It’s an even longer story, Shannon.” He gallantly gave her his arm, so she took it.

As they walked down the wide stone steps, she enjoyed the palpable strength of Aiden’s muscled bicep. He pointed to the huge paintings on the wall. “Are you familiar with the legend of the dragon and the maiden?”

“I know the myth well. It’s one of the reasons I applied for the Kearney grant.” God, she felt fuzzy headed. Maybe she just needed more caffeine. She tried to gather her wits and concentrate on Aiden’s words. She looked at him through her lashes. “It seems the locals are under the impression you don’t like the legend.”

“I don’t.” A muscle ticked in his jaw.

“Will you admit that you are related to Áillen mac Kearney?”

He stopped midway on the staircase and stared at her. “You’ve searched the family lineage, have you not?”

“Yes.”

“So are you basing your query on facts you uncovered?”

“On a working theory, I hope to prove with my archeological finds.”

“Do you believe in dragons, Shannon?” he asked as they continued down the stairs.

“Of course not.” But even as she said it, a niggling doubt tickled at the back of her memories. She locked down the lofty emotion. “But I believe Áillen and Clíona were real.”

Aiden’s step faltered for a second, and he seemed genuinely startled by her declaration. Shannon hid a smile. He’d been throwing her off balance since they’d met the day before, and it was nice to know she could do the same to him.

When they reached the end of the staircase, she released his arm and felt an immediate and keen loss. She resisted the urge to grab onto him and hold him tightly. Why did she feel so anxious whenever Aiden was out of reach?

What’s wrong with me?

Shannon took a steadying breath and followed him into the dining room, where he seated her to the left of the head of a long, beautifully carved cherry wood table. He took the master’s seat. A ghost of a smile flitted across his lips. “The dragon and the raven maiden is a tragedy—true love rent asunder by betrayal.”

“You’re a romantic.”

“I wasn’t always.”

She accepted the coffee poured by Mrs. Calhoun. The older woman flashed a look at Aiden, and she watched him nod slightly to the housekeeper. The older woman put the silver pot near Shannon and left the room, the sound of her sturdy black shoes thudding against the floor in a way that suggested she wasn’t too happy about the silent request to leave.

“She reminds me of Mrs. Danvers.”

Aiden chuckled. “She’s not a bad sort. Just set in her ways.”

She spread jam on her toast. She wanted nothing more than to talk with Aiden, but every time she tried, the words failed her. She had a thousand questions about him, the dig site, the town, the legend, but none that she could verbalize.

“Do you believe in reincarnation?”

Shannon laughed but stifled it when she saw the serious expression on Aiden’s face. She shook her head. “No, I don’t believe in reincarnation. I don’t believe in fairies, monsters, ghosts, or witches.”

“Or dragons.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I wish dragons were real.”

Aiden studied her, his gold eyes asking questions she didn’t understand. “Maybe dragons are the same as love.”

“A fantasy?”

“Yes,” he said softly.

“Love is real,” she insisted.

“Mmm.”

“The people thought Clíona was a witch, right?”

“So the legend goes,” said Aiden. “She lived with her grandmother, who was also known as a witch—and a very powerful healer. They had a small cottage in the woods near this castle. Supposedly, Áillen hunted her down one night because he believed she was responsible for poisoning his sister. She was very ill. He believed she’d been cursed.”

“I don’t remember this part.”

“Because it is not particularly well known.”

Shannon blinked and felt suddenly dizzy again. An image fluttered to the surface of her mind…

“Remove the curse, witch, or I’ll remove your head.”

Her heart leaped in fear, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how he terrified her. Grandmother told her no one escaped fate. If hers was to die by this man’s hand, then so be it.

“If I’d cursed you, Áillen mac Kearney, you wouldn’t be standin’ in front me swingin’ about that fancy sword.” She tossed back her thick, blonde hair and put a hand on her hip. “If you don’t go now, I’ll turn you into a frog.”

“A frog?” Aiden’s bemused tone startled Shannon out of her fogged thoughts. “You just told me how you didn’t believe in witches. How do you plan on turning me into a frog?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I never said—” She realized her tone sounded biting and disrespectful. “My apologies. I’m afraid the long trip has destroyed my manners.” And my sanity, she thought. If she told him about imagining Áillen and Clíona’s meeting, he’d find the nearest insane asylum and drop her off at the front door. To keep her hands busy, she refreshed her coffee and added a dollop of cream. She needed a bigger dose of caffeine. She felt so tired as if she hadn’t slept at all. Damn. The coffee was too hot. She put down the cup and licked her singed lips then picked up her toast.

Aiden watched her nibble the toast with such a ravenous gaze; she had the distinct feeling he wanted to nibble her. She cleared her throat. “Uh, so, what’s next, Aiden?”

“I want to show you something.”

She bet he did. A small thrill ran through her belly ending in a flutter. She placed her palm flat against her stomach to calm her charged libido. “What?”

“The beginning of an 800-year-old legend.”

5

SHANNON STARED AT the portrait. The woman lounged on a beautiful red chaise. A man who looked very much Aiden stood behind her with one hand on her smooth, white shoulder. Both of their gazes held looks of joyful possession. She envied them. She touched the ornate frame.

Electricity sparked through her. She closed her eyes and swayed. When she felt his hand on her waist, everything became clear.

She opened her eyes and found herself staring at their finished portrait. Áillen had teased her and tickled her—trying to make her move when the artist insisted they remain still.

“It’s amazin’ we got a portrait finished with all your play,” she said, looking at Áillen through her lashes.

A flash of surprise lit his eyes and for a moment Clíona saw the face of the man who looked like Áillen, but his clothes were strange, and their favorite room had been filled with items she didn’t recognize.

She shivered against the odd sensations and felt the arms of her love surround her, protect her, add his strength to hers. As always, the delicious buzz of need zipped through her. Their couplings satisfied her beyond her wildest expectations, but her thirst for Áillen was unquenchable, her appetite always ravenous when near him.

She turned in his arms and kissed him, mating her tongue with his, reveling in his groans of desire. “Take me,” she whispered, hitching up her dress.

His hands covered hers, and he lowered the cloth she grasped in her hands. She blinked up at him, confused. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t, my love.”

Her brows rose as she posed an impertinent question about his virility with her eyes, not daring to voice the thought aloud.

A dull flush rose from his neck to color his cheeks. “My sword will always be strong enough to impale you, wife.”

“If you say so, my lord. But as you’re so fond of pointin’ out, actions speak louder than words.” She flounced away, twitching her hips. Mere seconds passed before he caught her arm and whirled her around, his playful growl sending shivers to her very core.

Her hand dipped to his cock, but he captured her fingers and nibbled on them one at a time. He backed her toward the wall as she kissed the strong column of his neck, the rough line of his jaw, the dip in his chin. Breathing in his scent, she moaned.

“Áillen.” His name rushed from her lips. Heat assailed her, burning through her blood like wildfire. This time, when she reached for his manhood, he didn’t stay her hand. She freed his cock from the odd trousers. He sucked in a sharp breath as she encircled the smooth, warm flesh. His length jerked against her palm.

He tipped her chin so that she would look at him. “I want you so much.” His disappointed sigh skittered across her cheek. He gently removed her hand. “We must wait, Clíona.”

Clíona puzzled over his words. She understood on an instinctive level that something between them wasn’t quite right. Panic wormed into her heart. She grabbed his hands and held them close to her chest. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing we can’t fix, love. I promise.”

SHANNON SHOOK HER head. She sat on a rather uncomfortable couch that faced the huge portrait of Áillen and Clíona. She cradled her head as a dull ache crept across her skull.

“Are you okay, Shannon?” Aiden’s voice was thick with emotion. She lifted her head to look at him. Aiden didn’t look like a man who feared. Yet, there, in his gaze, she saw true terror and the shadow of guilt.

“What happened?”

“You fainted.”

“I did?”

She remembered touching the frame—and then everything had gone dark.

“I think you should rest,” said Aiden. “Take the day. Take two. You’ll need to be in shape to start the dig.” He hesitated. “There are some conditions, Shannon—a few may sound odd.” He looked away from her steady stare, focusing on the portrait of Áillen and Clíona. “I’ll need you to begin the dig in two days’ time. Exactly at midnight.”

Shannon couldn’t hide her astonishment. “Why?”

“I’m afraid I must insist.” He took her hand and held it cupped within his own. “Do you—can you agree to this?”

Shannon didn’t even have to think about it. She wouldn’t lose her chance at a lifetime dream because of a few quirky details. “Yes,” she said. “Of course.”

Relief entered his expression. “Excellent.” He waved toward the portrait. “You seemed shocked to see the rendering of my ancestor and his wife.”

“Why don’t you admit who they are?” she asked, her voice trembling. We are one, together in body and soul, and I give you the dragon’s promise of fealty and adoration. She’d memorized that line from one of the many variations of the myth. It had touched her deeply, and it had felt like the truth. “They’re real, aren’t they? Áillen and Clíona.”

Aiden clutched at her hand. “There’s so much I need to—”

“Phone call, sir.” The brittle voice of the housekeeper startled Shannon. Aiden dropped her hand and stood. Suddenly cold, Shannon wrapped her arms around herself and glanced at Mrs. Calhoun. The woman’s black eyes chilled her. “Your office, sir,” she said. “Says it’s urgent.”

Aiden smiled and patted Shannon. “Please forgive me. I’ll return shortly.”

“I’ll stay here and wait for you.” He nodded to her. The look in his eyes held tender regret. She resisted an insane urge to reassure him, to kiss him, to place a hand against his cheek and murmur her love. Before she could act on any of the strange impulses, Aiden left the room.

“Might I bring you some tea, Miss?”

“No, thank you.”

The woman sniffed her disapproval. Shannon resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she pasted on a smile and met the woman’s dour gaze. “You don’t have to bother with me,” Shannon said, trying to be kind and less of a burden to the grumpy housekeeper. “Please feel free to attend to your other duties.”

“Be assured, Miss. I always attend to my duties.” Her tone made the statement sound more like a threat than a reassurance. Shannon shivered and watched the woman stride toward the door. She stopped and looked over her shoulder. “My daughter’s visitin’ today. Just so you know, she and Mr. Kearney are quite close.”

With a swish of her gray dress, she disappeared through the door.

La-de-da. Shannon gritted her teeth. The woman sure wasn’t trying to warm up to her. Hmph. And what was this need to let her know about her daughter and Aiden? It was hardly Shannon’s business who the man spent time with.

All the same, she felt unaccountably jealous.

Her gaze went to the portrait—to the happy couple staring at her.

If only they could tell her the secrets of Clonakilty.

And Aiden Kearney.

6

HE ENTERED THE library, shut and locked the door, and then turned and surveyed the room. The slightly parted curtains allowed sunlight to illuminate the white dust cloths covering the furniture. The rest of the library was shrouded in darkness. A room full of ghosts. But every room in this cursed place had ghosts.

“Are you here?” he whispered.

“Yes.” She rose from one of the wingback chairs positioned in front of the fireplace. The shadows hid the cerulean eyes he knew so well. She was the one he had loved beyond all measure. And if things went well…she would finally belong to him.

“Has Aiden told the woman, yet?” he asked.

“No. We must try tonight,” she said. “Before he reveals the truth.”

“That’s a long way from her believing anything he says.”

“It will be enough. Trust me.”

He walked to her and gathered her into his embrace. Her arms slid around his neck, and her lips grazed his chin. “Your waiting is almost over, my darling.” She brought his hands to her breasts and arched as he cupped them.

He pinched her nipples hard. Her low moan thickened the hot lust already claiming him. He unbuttoned her shirt and unsnapped the front-clasp bra. He licked the tender skin of her breast until his teeth found her nipple. The light bite made her cry out.

“I want you now.” He pulled her close so he could rub his erection on her center.

“No.” She broke free and stepped out of his reach.

“I weary of your games. I love you. I ache for you. What stops us from consummation?”

She snapped her bra, buttoned her shirt, and then smoothed her hair. “You know why.”

“Dragon’s blood. Dragon’s soul.” The words were bitter and tasted foul. Like lies. Her lies.

“Dragon’s heart.” She leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss on his mouth, but her hands, her wicked, wicked hands, unzipped his pants and stroked his hard-on. Pleasure clouded his mind, crowding out the anger and frustration.

She kneeled and took him into her mouth. Her tongue slid down his length until her hot mouth connected with his balls, licking them, wrapping eager fingers around his cock to stroke it as she sucked and licked his testicles. He felt the soft piercing of her tongue in the slit then she was taking all of him into her mouth, down her sleek, wet throat. He reveled in the feel of her tongue, her lips, her hands on his ass urging him forward.

He never lasted against her skilled tongue. The orgasm rocked his entire body. His hands slipped into the fine silk of her hair; he held her head and fiercely came, shuddering as she drank all of him.

She rose regally. Delicately, she dabbed at the corners of her mouth. Yes, she was, as always, the queen and he the loyal subject. He felt as if he’d been the one kneeling to her. He zipped his pants and clasped his hands to hide their trembling.

“It’s almost over,” she said. She nodded toward the door. “You know what to do.”

AFTER HALF AN hour, Shannon grew restless. She’d looked at all the portraits in the room—twice.

“Aiden?” said a female voice.

Shannon turned and watched a small, lithe woman flit into the room. Black hair framed a heart-shaped face; wide blue eyes stared guilelessly at Shannon. Who was this pixie?

“Aiden had to take a phone call,” said Shannon. She felt rather frumpy next to this woman. Not a hair was out of place and not a wrinkle creased her black pantsuit. Her make-up merely highlighted the beauty of her face.

The woman smiled, revealing dimples. “Aiden spends so much time in this room, I just assumed he was in here. You must be the American—Shannon, is it?”

“Yes.”

“Ah. I’m Jessica Calhoun.”

“The housekeeper’s daughter?”

Laughter tinkled, but the woman’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “Yes. I have known Aiden my whole life. I’m his…Erm, assistant.” She purred in a way that suggested she assisted Aiden with all his needs.

Shannon extended her hand, shivering when Jessie’s palm slipped into hers. The pixie’s skin was as cold as ice on a winter day. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“And how do you find the castle? Besides, drafty, old, and crumbling.” Laughter tinkled again. “I find it quite charming, even though it needs updating. Aiden is terribly sentimental.”

Shannon did not like Jessica. Something about her cool perfection and insulting tone grated on her nerves. Or maybe it was the implication that the woman was sleeping with Aiden. Heat filled her face, and her vision blurred. Why did she feel trapped in the ether of two different lives—one intruding on the other in ways that frightened her?

“I have every intention of claimin’ what’s mine. And I won’t abide a greedy little thief who thinks she’s clever enough to take what belongs to me!”

Jessica’s brow furrowed, and she took a step back. “I beg your pardon?”

“You better be beggin’ more than my pardon, missy. You ain’t any better than the dogs that fight over the bones after supper. But you don’t want the scraps anymore, do you?”

“Shannon!”

Shannon clamped her hand over her mouth as Aiden’s voice filtered through her consciousness. She turned and saw him in the doorway, sporting an open shirt and a saffron walking kilt. No. Wait. A tailored shirt and belted pants with shiny black shoes. Pain ripped through her, and she clutched her stomach.

“I can’t breathe.” She felt as though she’d fallen into water, her body weighted with stones. Water filled her lungs. She coughed. Struggled.

“You’re all right, love,” said her husband. He sounded so far away. But then he was there, catching her as she fell.

The room began to spin. She saw Jessica’s face, a look of shock in her pixie-blue eyes. “Clíona,” she whispered.

Aiden’s strong arms enveloped her, and he cleaved her to his chest.

Then there was nothing but darkness and silence.

7

AIDEN CARRIED SHANNON to her room and gently laid her on the bed. Her eyes fluttered open, and he breathed a sigh of relief. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“At least, she’s alive,” said Jessica from the doorway.

He glared at his stepsister over his shoulder. “Go. Now.”

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever, your highness.” She spun on her heel and walked away.

Aiden gritted his teeth. Even though she was his closest family, Jessica could be a real pain in the arse.

“Shannon?”

“What happened?”

Aiden brushed aside the strands of hair clinging to her cheek. “You fainted.”

“I’ve never done that before.”

“No worries, love,” he teased. “I swept you into my manly embrace and carried you here.”

Shannon smiled. “How gallant you are.”

Aiden couldn’t stop himself from brushing his thumb over her chin. He wanted so much to kiss her. He was desperate for her to remember her previous life with him. He ached for his wife—had ached for the woman who was his other half more than 800 years ago.

“I’ll send for the doctor,” he said. “To make sure you’re okay.”

“No, Aiden. I’m all right. I’m just tired. I think jetlag has gotten the best of me.” She paused, her tired gaze skittering to the doorway. “Is she really your assistant?”

Damn it, Jessica. “Informally. She does a few tasks here and there, but she’s not permanently in my employ.”

“She seems rather … possessive of you.”

Aiden quirked an eyebrow. “Is that jealousy I detect in your tone?”

She blushed. “No, of course not.” She stared up at him, her face a charming pink, and for a moment, he saw Clíona reflected in her expression. His heart leaped in recognition. Then Shannon blinked, and the ghost of his wife disappeared.

“You should rest. I’ll have Mrs. Calhoun bring you up something to eat later. Tomorrow, we can go to the site where you’ll be excavating.

He saw excitement flare in her honey-brown gaze. “I can’t wait.”

“Neither can I,” he said. Then, unable to resist the urge, he leaned and kissed her brow. “Sleep well, love.”

SHANNON DIDN’T THINK she’d be able to sleep after that intense encounter with Jessica, and then Aiden had called her love. The first time she thought he’d been teasing, but he’d said it again before he left. She touched her forehead, still warm from where his lips had pressed. She’d seen something in his eyes—a desperate yearning that brought an ache to her soul. He seemed so lonely.

She felt exhausted, though, and despite her doubts, she curled up on the bed and soon fell asleep.

CLÍONA GROGGILY AWOKE in pain as someone dragged her across a rough terrain. She felt so weak, so tired, she didn’t have the energy to fight her attackers.

When she’d first been captured and bound, she’d fought defiantly. Even so, Clíona hadn’t been able to wiggle free of the ropes binding her hands and her feet. Her betrayers had fitted her with a skirt that had stones sewn into its lining. This terrible accouterment confirmed that Clíona’s death had been planned before it had ever been put into motion. The idea that someone wished her and Áillen that much harm made her sick.

Despite the goading, the accusations, the lies thrown at her, she kept her silence. Her stubborn refusal to speak had earned her a punch so hard, she’d blacked out. And now she was here. She looked around, her face swollen and sore, and realized immediately where they had taken her.

The cave was directly underneath the castle—a secret lair for the dragons. At least, it had been before her marriage to Áillen bought peace between his family and the village. The dragons didn’t have to hide anymore.

She was brought to the deep pool and dropped at its edge like one of the rocks in her dress. Agony ratcheted her body, and she couldn’t stop a moan of pain.

“She’s awake.”

“Good. I wouldn’t want her to miss this.”

Water dripped from the spiked rocks overhead. The drip-drip-drip might’ve been soothing in other circumstances, but now those sounds only inspired fear and bitterness.

So, this place would be her grave.

Clíona wouldn’t beg for her life. Her beloved husband was dead, and soon, she would be with him. She had to believe they would spend the afterlife together after the denial of their full time as a husband and wife on this Earth.

“Cut the ropes.”

“We shouldn’t risk freeing her.”

“She’s nigh on dead. We must make it look as if she took her own life. Cut them!”

Clíona was yanked around, her already bruised body suffering more indignities as they sawed the ropes off her. Her hands were freed first, and then her ankles.

Together, the two attackers lifted her and swung her body outward. When they let go, she experienced a millisecond of being in the air before she splashed into the cold, dark water.

She tried to swim. She tried to hold her breath. She tried to will herself to the surface and live. But the rocks pressed her down, and the water pushed into her mouth. She swallowed the dank, brackish liquid until her lungs filled and her breath was gone.

8

AIDEN AND JESSICA retired to his study for drinks and discussion.

Aiden handed Jessica a gin and tonic, and she drank deeply. Her blue gaze slid over him like an icy breeze. “Why didn’t you tell me that you’d found her?”

He returned to the bar and poured himself a brandy. “I needed to be sure.”

“Are you?” Jessica took another sip. “Because she might be insane. Or maybe she’s pretending.” She put a hand on his arm. “It’s not like you haven’t been wrong before.”

“It’s her,” he said. “She has these memory lapses—where she becomes Clíona and thinks we are still in the fifteenth century. I’ve found my wife, Aithne.”

“You haven’t called me that in centuries.” She squeezed his arm, her eyes on his. “I’ve missed us.”

“There is no us.” Aiden moved away from her, unsettled by Shannon-Clíona’s earlier outburst against Jessica. Why had she gotten so furious with his stepsister?

“I was torn from my family and given to yours so that I might be your mate,” she said, desperation ribboning her voice. “I am dragon-born, damn it.”

“We were never destined to be mated,” he said softly. “You were raised as my sister, Jessica, not my wife. Whatever desires you have for me should be given to another.”

“Well, I tried that, didn’t I? Too many marriages to count.” She sighed. “This is the first time I’ve been home in two-hundred years. I don’t want to ruin it. Have you told Daniel and Bridget about all this?”

“They’re arriving tomorrow night.”

“Ah, yes. The midnight ceremony that will open memory’s door and restore the much-missed Clíona.” Jessica finished her drink and plunked the glass onto the bar. She turned to face him. “Have you found a witch?”

Aiden shook his head.

“The dragonwitches are extinct. A common witch will not be strong enough for the final ritual. It’s been such a long time. How do you know this spell will still work, Aiden?”

“Fate has returned my beloved,” said Aiden. “I have to believe that all will fall into place to fully reunite us.” He stared at the amber liquid swirling in his glass. Foreboding clenched his stomach, and he no longer desired the brandy. Nothing could go wrong. Nothing. He’d waited so long for her. The world dismissed dragons as legends. Humans no longer believed in their kind. As the dragonwitch had predicted, Clíona had come back to him.

Aiden put the brandy glass down and watched as Jessica busied herself studying the bookshelves, her well-manicured fingers dancing along the hardcover spines. She’d never been much of a reader, preferring action and challenge to quiet, speculative endeavors. Aiden had always believed that Jessica had never felt comfortable with herself. Her confidence came from others. She handed over her self-esteem for pretty compliments and shallow intimacy. Despite all her years, she hadn’t gained an ounce of wisdom.

“Why was Shannon so angry with you?”

Jessica stiffened, her fingers pausing their spidery crawl. She turned to him and offered a smile. “I have no idea. I guess she sees me as the competition.”

“Shannon? Or Clíona?”

Her gaze flickered with annoyance. “Both, I suppose. She certainly sounded like Clíona when she was screaming at me.”

Aiden knew Jessica wasn’t telling him the whole story. He knew that Clíona and Aithne had never been friends. His other siblings embraced his chosen mate as one of their own, but not Aithne. He’d chalked it up to her being young and bullheaded. At that time, she’d thought herself above humans, but so did most dragons. Arrogance had been so many of his kind’s undoing.

His entire family had once lived in this castle. At first, they conquered the area, and those who lived in the village feared the dragons and offered sacrifices. But after Aiden had married Clíona, the dragons became protectors of the humans. Aithne hadn’t taken his bonding with a human female too well, despite the fact he’d disposed of the whole mating notion when they were teenagers. Mostly, she found reasons to stay out of Clíona’s presence. When Aiden found out his stepsister had taken a lover in the village, he thought she’d mended her heart and moved on.

But apparently, she hadn’t.

“How long do I have to pretend to be the daughter of the help?” she asked. “I don’t understand why you can’t introduce me as your cousin, or something.”

“Creating a new identity is vital to keeping the few dragons left hidden from the world. You know that.”

“I don’t think Mrs. Calhoun likes me.”

“She doesn’t like anyone. But she is loyal and willing to pretend you belong to her family.”

Jessica tossed her hair. “If you say so. The name Jessica suits me better than Aithne. I may even keep it for the next incarnation of my dragon self.”

Aiden sighed. His stepsister would never change. She enjoyed the pleasures of wealth far too much to try a morally progressive life. He knew casting her as the Calhoun’ daughter would irritate her, but he had hoped she would embrace the opportunity to learn something about modern, working-class life.

“I think I’ll go freshen up,” said Jessica. “Have fun brooding, Heathcliff.”

“A literary reference?” he asked. “So, you’ve read Wuthering Heights?”

“I saw the movie.” She wiggled her fingers to signal good-bye then she left the study and shut the door behind her.

Aiden retrieved his brandy and went to sit before the hearth. He settled into the leather wingback chair and stared at the flickering flames. The dragonwitch had warned him that he should only complete the ritual when he absolutely sure that he’d found the soul of his wife. He’d lied to Shannon about the excavation. His whole purpose had been to get her to Ireland, to him, to their home, and see if he could revive his true love. Tomorrow night, the powerful spell would release Clíona’s memories and unmask her true soul.

He sipped the brandy, enjoyed the sweet, smooth burn of the alcohol. The dragonwitch had warned him that he might search a thousand years before he found his wife again, reborn in the human world. The hag had nearly been right. Though she long ago settled into dust, he’d searched the world, time and again, looking for signs that Clíona walked the Earth once more.

He had searched eight lifetimes for his beloved.

Now, in the 21st century, he’d begun to fear that his planning, his sacrifices had been for naught. Eight times had he reinvented himself, using his wealth and power to seek what should’ve been unattainable—lost love.

This time, they would have their happily-ever-after. He would not allow echoes from their former lives together to prevent their union. Dragons and legends belonged in the past. He’d been unable to discover how his wife had ended up in that cave, drowned, but he would never believe she’d taken her own life. They had both mourned the loss of their babe, but Clíona was strong in mind, body, and spirit. She would not throw herself into the water out of despair.

Thinking about his wife’s death made him anxious. The nightmares were bad enough, but he still relived the moment he pulled her out of the water and knew she was gone. Aiden squeezed the glass so hard, he heard it crack. He eased his grip. No one existed now who would harm him or Clíona. Happiness was their only future.

He’d make sure of it.

Feeling restless, he decided the only way to shake off his worries would be a quick flight. He tossed the brandy down the bar’s sink and threw away the ruined glass. His bedroom had very large windows that retracted, which came in handy when one was a dragon.

By the time he got to his bedroom, his dragon was roaring to go. He shucked his clothing and strode naked to the balcony. He leapt onto the balustrade, his gaze on the rolling land below, and further out, the shining blue of the ocean. Transforming into a dragon took a few minutes, and he could feel the beast snapping with impatience as he morphed smooth human skin into large red scales. His feet became large claws with sharp talons, and his outstretched arms flowed into dragon wings.

He drew in a breath, smelling and tasting the earth in a way no human ever could. Then he launched off the balcony, talons scratching the stone, and soared into the sky.

9

SHANNON AWOKE, HER heart pounding, the name “Áillen” frozen on her lips. Sweat beaded her brow and fear clogged her throat.

She sat up in bed, shivering, not because it was cold, but because the intensity of the nightmare had revved her adrenaline.

Why on earth would she dream so vividly about Clíona’s death?

Shannon hugged herself, rubbing her arms as she calmed herself. She had studied the legend of the dragon and the Raven Maiden a thousand times. She knew the story by heart. She didn’t know why she was so determined to prove Clíona and Áillen were real. She was desperate, really, to show the world the legend of the dragon was based on fact. Not, the dragon part, obviously, because that creature only existed in mythology. The dragon was part of the Kearney crest, which might be why it was added to the tale. However, Áillen was reported to have a dangerous temper, and she believed that the Clonakilty villagers giving him the moniker out of fear. Unable to shake off the residual effects of the nightmare, Shannon scooted off the bed and crossed the room to her balcony. She opened the French doors and stepped onto the stone patio. The cool October wind tickled her hair. Breathing in the fresh air brought some calmness to her. She leaned forward and studied the landscape.

Ireland was such a beautiful place, especially here. Rolling green hills with forested thatches stretched out before her, and beyond that, the glittering promise of the ocean. Shannon shivered. Not that she wanted an up close and personal view. Water gave her the jitters. She’d learned how to swim because her parents insisted on it, but she’d never willingly gone to pools and lakes and oceans. The drowning dream had probably been an extension of her phobia.

She heard a growling cry and yelped. What the hell? She turned her gaze toward the sound and saw a very large bird in the distance, flying toward the ocean. She squinted as she tried to discern what kind of bird had wings like that and cried like a Cockatiel on steroids. For a moment, the bird turned, and Shannon saw sunlight glint off a red leathery wing. She saw fire spate from the beast’s mouth, and another strange cry followed. Then the creature flew completely out of her sight.

Shannon put a hand to her chest as her heart thumped. She really needed glasses. Or sleep. Or a big vodka martini. Because I did not just see a dragon.

AIDEN KNOCKED ON Shannon’s door. He’d felt refreshed after his flight, but couldn’t resist checking on Shannon before he took a shower and returned to the world at large. When she answered, she looked as if she’d just woken up. Her messy hair and the pillow lines on her cheek made her more adorable. Her womanly scent clung to everything. He remembered that floral smell, nearly the same as the scented oil Clíona would make for herself to dot behind her ears and on her neck. His dragon bellowed to be let out, to claim his mate once more.

Patience, he told himself. Soon, she will be ours again.

Before he could inquire about Shannon’s health, she blurted, “Do you think dragons were ever real?”

Shocked, Aiden stared at her.

Apparently, she took his dazed look as an answer. She lifted her hands beseechingly. “I know, right? No proof of dragons. Not the kind they talk about in medieval texts, at least.” She shook her head. “I'm acting ridiculous.”

“I would like to think dragons are real,” he said carefully, “and that one day you might find evidence of them.”

She smiled. “Really? That’s fantastic. I don’t suppose I get to excavate a dragon’s graveyard tomorrow?”

“If you find a dragon, Shannon, you may keep him.”

“A Kearney dragon.”

Aiden heard the longing in her voice. Guilt ate at him for not telling her the truth. She wasn’t ready. Or maybe he wasn’t ready. What if she denied him? Tomorrow, he would have time to present his case. To show her the truth about her own soul. He had to believe that she would go to the ceremony and let the magic do its work. When her past and present would flow into one, and she remembered their love, nothing would stop him from claiming her fully.

“How are you feeling, Shannon?”

“Better, I think. I’m going to take a shower and change clothes.”

“I’ll make sure Mrs. Calhoun brings you something to eat.”

“Thank you.”

He couldn’t stop thinking about the day to come. What if she was so appalled by his behavior she refused to go through with the ceremony? He loved her. With all his heart. He swallowed his fear and tried to get his emotions in check. Surely eternal love merited forgiveness.

“Do you think we could go into the village? Just for a couple of hours?”

“Of course,” said Aiden. “This evening, I will happily squire my lady around the town.”

“Wonderful!”

“I’ll meet you downstairs in an hour. Does that sound good?”

“Yes. Perfect.”

He took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Until we meet again, love.”

SHANNON WALKED OUT of the bathroom, toweling her hair. After talking herself out of her crazy perception of a dragon flying about Ireland’s shores, she’d taken a shower to wash off the day’s weirdness. When she tied her hair up in the towel, she saw the tray on top of her bed. It held a bowl of stew, a plate with two thick slabs of warm, fresh bread, and a steaming cup of tea. Aiden must’ve sent Mrs. Calhoun with the promised food.

With a little food in her belly, she’d feel her old self again and ready to tackle tomorrow’s field trip to the dig site. She tossed the towel onto the end of the bed, and then sat next to the tray. How lovely. The soup was fragrant and delicious, and the scrumptious bread was made better by dipping it into the soup. She finished off every morsel of food and the minty-tasting tea and sighed with happiness.

She wasn’t sure what to do with the tray and decided to bring it to the kitchen herself. Then she would track down Aiden and see if he was ready to go into the village with her. She wanted to see Clonakilty and soak in its history. She’d explored the streets with Google Earth, but she wanted to walk the cobbled streets, feel the history of it under her feet, touch the centuries-old buildings, and most of all, she wanted to view the memorial statue of Áillen and Clíona.

She dressed in jeans and a dark green sweater. Lastly, she put on her hiking boots, figuring they would work best for sightseeing. Brushing her hair back, she pulled it into a ponytail and applied light make-up.

She examined her handiwork in the mirror. Well, she supposed it would do. After all, she was here to work, not to find a date.

Unless Aiden wanted to date her.

Hah.

As she walked to the door, she suddenly felt woozy. She sat heavily on the bed and pressed trembling hands to her temples.

What’s wrong with me?

She tried to stand, but her legs wobbled and her knees buckled. She grabbed the nearest bedpost and clung to it. Nausea cramped her stomach. Fear clawed at her, a living thing shredding her guts with poisoned talons.

She needed to get help. The wrongness of how she felt frightened her. She let go of the bedpost and shuffled to the door, her insides on fire and her lungs laboring with the effort to breathe. It was as if all the oxygen in the room had been siphoned out. She grabbed the doorknob and wretched it open then stumbled into the hallway. Clinging to the wall, she tried to take several deep breaths and willed her heartbeat to slow its erratic pace. Aiden. Oh, how she wanted Aiden.

“Something wrong, Miss?”

Shannon turned to find Mrs. Calhoun contemplating her from the shadows of the hallway. The woman had been lurking outside her door, probably waiting for her to come out.

“Th-the food,” gasped Shannon. “You d-did something to it.”

“Why would I do that?” Mrs. Calhoun’ dark gaze pinned Shannon, and she couldn’t look away from those otherworldly eyes. She took Shannon by the shoulders and maneuvered her back into her bedroom. Then she shut the door behind her and locked it.

Mrs. Calhoun put her onto the bed. Shannon was so weak, fading in and out of consciousness. She wouldn’t be able to fight this woman. Her teeth chattered, and a freezing chill overcame her body. She was dying. She could feel it.

“What are y-you doing?”

“What’s necessary.” Mrs. Calhoun looked down at her. She removed a necklace from under her dress and revealed a large jeweled medallion. She popped the center out, and then leaned over Shannon. As she moved to place the disc against Shannon’s chest, she added, “This is going to hurt.”

10

SHANNON BURNED AND burned. It was almost as if her blood had turned into acid. The jagged pain emanated from the silver disc pressed against her sternum. Shannon was too weak to fight the woman who held it firmly against her flesh.

“Does it still hurt?” asked Mrs. Calhoun.

Shannon couldn’t get words to form. She managed a low moan.

“The spell is strong. ‘Tis meant to kill you.”

Shannon’s limbs twitched and black edged her vision. Oh, God. Unconsciousness would be welcome. No more pain. She began to willingly sink into the oblivion.

“No, girl!”

Mrs. Calhoun slapped her hard. The harsh sting brought Shannon round enough to glare at the housekeeper.

“You keep those eyes open. Look at me.”

Shannon’s gaze met Mrs. Calhoun’ grey-blue eyes. For a moment, she felt a familiarity—as if she knew the crazy woman. The shadow of memory fled, but for some reason, she felt less panicked. Was the housekeeper trying to help her?

Or hurt her?

Shannon felt a tiny reduction in the fiery torture. Moment by moment, the scorching reduced its intensity until it was completely extinguished. Her taut body, muscles aching from the excruciating tension, sank onto the bed. As relief flowed through her, hot tears coursed down her cheeks.

“What did you do to me?” she rasped.

“I saved your life,” Mrs. Calhoun said. She removed the disc and reattached it to her jeweled medallion necklace. “Someone wants you dead.”

Shocked, Shannon stared at the housekeeper with an open mouth. “Why? I haven’t done anything.”

“Not yet, you haven’t.” Mrs. Calhoun helped Shannon to sit up. “Get your feet under you, girl. We have to get you out of here.”

“What? I can’t do that. What about Aiden?”

“Yes, Aiden,” said Mrs. Calhoun, her voice kind and her gaze revealing both anxiety and fear. “That’s exactly why we must leave. If you want the answers you seek, Shannon, you must help me save the dragon king.”

“The dragon king.” Shannon swung her legs out from the bed. Dizziness assailed her. “You’re telling me that Aiden is the man in the Clonakilty legend?”

“And you are the maiden reborn.” Mrs. Calhoun grabbed her hands and pressed the necklace into her palms. “I created the spell that allowed you to return to Áillen. The future will be bleak for dragons if you and the king die this eve. Put this on. Keep it hidden.”

Mrs. Calhoun put the heavy medallion around Shannon’s neck and tucked the jeweled disc into her shirt. “Will you do anything to save him?”

“Yes,” said Shannon. I’m crazy. But there was no other answer to give.

“Then I will give my gifts to you when the time is right. You must drink my blood—”

“Ew!”

“Be strong, girl. You must drink my blood and hold the medallion. I’ll give you the spell that will transfer my power to you.”

“So, I’ll be a … erm, dragon?”

“Even better,” said Mrs. Calhoun. “You’ll be a dragonwitch.”

AIDEN POURED TWO glasses of wine for his sister, Bridget, and her mate, Daniel. He made himself a scotch on the rocks. “I didn’t expect you to arrive until tomorrow.”

“We wanted to meet your American,” said Bridget, fluffing her red hair with its flattering pageboy cut.

“You wanted to talk me out of the ritual.” He stared at his sister. “Shannon is Clíona.”

Bridget shared a look with Daniel, one that Aiden interpreted as “here we go again.” Then his sister smiled, her voice gentle as she asked, “Are you sure, Aiden?”

“Yes.” He looked at his watch again. “I’m afraid I’ll have to leave you two here. I promised Shannon I would take her into town. We won’t be gone long. Back in time for dinner.”

“That’s all right,” said Bridget. “We’ve been here a while already.”

Aiden paused. Foreboding rippled through him though he had no obvious cause to worry. “Why didn’t you announce yourselves?”

“Technically, dear brother, the castle belongs to all of us. Daniel and I wanted some private time.” She looked around, her gaze bright. “We shouldn’t wait so long between visits.”

“You know how it is in dragon time,” said Daniel, flashing a toothy smile. “A decade is a mere blink of our eye.”

Bridget laughed, raised her glass, and drank. Aiden turned, attempting to hide his impatience and anxiety creeping coldly through him. Damn it all, the early arrival of his sister and her mate had thrown him off. He hadn’t expected to entertain guests this evening. Of course, Bridget and Daniel had never thought to call ahead. It was their natures to do as they pleased.

“How you do you plan to call forth Clíona’s soul without a dragonwitch?” asked Daniel.

“That’s what I asked him,” said Jessica as she sashayed into the library wearing a low-cut, hip-hugging black dress and stiletto pumps. Her lips were as red as blood and her blonde hair gleamed like trapped sunshine. “Bridget! Daniel! I haven’t seen you since … that thing in London, or was it Paris?”

“Amsterdam, darling. Although I do see why you wouldn’t remember. Everything’s a haze from that pleasure trip.” Bridget rose from the chair and air-kissed Jessica’s cheeks. Daniel did the same.

“Who is that standing in your shadow, m’dear?” asked Bridget

“Oh!” Jessica stepped aside and allowed her companion to move forward. “C’mon Kenny, join the fun.”

Aiden put down his wine glass and shook Ken’s hand, hiding his surprise. Kenneth Roth was in his late forties and one of the wealthiest humans in this part of Ireland. A few years ago, the man had lost his wife to cancer. He sold his businesses and house in Dublin, and moved to Clonakilty for peace and quiet, or so he said. Town gossip had it that the poor bastard had cancer himself.

Aiden eyed Jessica whose expression was far too innocent. What was his little sister up to now? Wooing yet another husband?

“Is dinner soon?” asked Jessica. “I’m starving.”

“We’re having a late meal tonight,” said Aiden. “I promised Shannon a trip into town.”

“You’ll make your family wait for your company so you can entertain that woman?” Jessica sounded petulant, and her childish attitude grated on his nerves.

“You’re right. I’ll tell Cook to serve dinner at the regular time.”

Jessica’s blue eyes glowed in triumph. He patted her on the head because he knew it would annoy her. “Shannon and I shall dine in town.”

Bridget burst out laughing. “Oh well done, brother dear.”

Jessica narrowed her gaze, but Bridget easily shrugged off her sister’s ire. “You deserved that, Jess. So long as you act like a child, you will be treated like one.” Bridget looked over Jessica’s head. “Isn’t that right, Kenny?”

“I find Jessica quite charming,” he said.

Jessica slipped her hand around Ken’s arm. “See? I have someone who appreciates me.” She beamed up at her paramour. “Would you like to see the gardens? We’ll return in plenty of time for dinner.”

“Of course, dear.” He patted the slim fingers curled around his jacket and smiled. He nodded to the remaining siblings and allowed Jessica to lead him out of the library.

“Another one hooked,” said Daniel, shaking his head.

“How long until she’s bored with him?” Bridget finished off her glass of wine. “She goes through men like I do chocolate.”

“Eight-hundred years and she still acts like a hatchling.” Aiden sighed.

“Jessica will always be Jessica,” said Bridget. “You worry too much.” She turned to her mate. “We have some time before dinner, darling. Shall we go sit in the arboretum and make out?”

Daniel laughed. “I can think of nothing better to do.”

11

AIDEN STOOD AT the foot of the stairs. He looked at his watch and frowned. It was fifteen minutes past the time Shannon had agreed to meet him. Trepidation filled him as he jogged up the staircase.

His heart beat faster as he hurried down the hall to Shannon’s room.

The door was open, and the bed was empty. He searched the whole place and found nothing.

Where the hell was she?

He stepped out of the room, panic rising. Daniel and Bridget walked leisurely down the hall, arm and arm.

“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” Bridget said.

“Shannon. She’s gone.”

“Surely not,” denied Daniel. “She’s probably somewhere in the castle. Maybe she got lost.”

“Let’s go downstairs.” Bridget looped her arm around Aiden’s. “She might be in the library or study or dining room.”

Aiden knew she was not, but he allowed his sister and her mate to lead him down the wide stone staircase. They split up and searched the rooms.

They met in the foyer.

“It seems your American has disappeared.” Bridget looked remarkably unconcerned. “Maybe my crazy brother ranting about past life loves drove her away.”

If his sister meant her comment to be funny, it was far from comedic. Aiden bared his teeth at her. “If you don’t want to help me, then leave,” he said.

Bridget brought a hand to her throat, a shocked expression on her face. “What’s wrong with you? I am your sister. Your blood. Damn it, Aiden. Clíona is gone. Forever.”

“She is my heart, Bridget. If I have no hope of reuniting with my wife, then I have nothing.” Aiden felt as though he’d been dealt a mortal blow. His guts churned with hate, with hurt, with betrayal. Shannon! Violence swirled through him, the taut strings of anger pulling at his control. Vengeance covered him like a cloak, and he pulled it close, savoring the impulses of a warrior long dead.

“Maybe she took a walk,” said Daniel. “Let’s go round the castle and check the exterior. She could be in the gardens—or gone to the glen.”

“Yes, of course,” Bridget agreed in a stricken voice.

Aiden found three flashlights in the kitchen pantry. Jessica and Kenny had disappeared, and his younger sibling wasn’t answering her cell. Aiden doubted Jessica had any desire to find Shannon, but despite her coy attempts to capture his attention, he couldn’t believe she’d wish him or his beloved any harm.

“We’ll take the old path to the woods and check out the glen first,” said Aiden. “Follow me.”

They left out the back kitchen door and hurried through the well-tended gardens, down the uneven stone path that led to the woods. The three beams of light bounced through the darkness until one beam of light swept across the rocky trail and found Jessica crumpled in a heap, red streaks dripping through the shiny strands of her blonde hair.

“Jessica!” Aiden hurried to her side.

Daniel and Bridget followed, shining their lights on her still, pale form.

“Is she—?” asked Bridget.

Aiden pressed two fingers against her throat and sighed with relief at the strong pulse that beat there. “She’s alive.”

Daniel crouched down, gingerly turned the girl’s head, and lifted her hair. “Got a knot and gash on her skull.” He looked at Aiden. “I’ll look after her. You and Bridget find Shannon.”

“She needs a doctor.”

“She’s dragonborn, Aiden. She’ll be fine. I’ll take her back to the castle.” Daniel swung the unconscious woman into his arms and strode back toward the kitchen entrance.

Aiden stood, his heart pounding out of his chest. “Where’s Kenneth?”

He and Bridget shone their torches around, but the human was nowhere to be found.

“Why would Kenny hurt her?” asked Bridget.

“We don’t know that he did.”

“So we have prowlers?” Bridget’s gaze shone red, her inner dragon reacting to the perceived threat. “Who would dare to broach Cloch nag Coillte without permission?”

“Only the suicidal,” said Aiden.

“Look.” Bridget aimed the torch at the ground. The beam hit on something metallic. Aiden leaned down and picked it up. “What the hell is this?”

“A necklace. It looks familiar… Does it belong to Shannon?”

“I don’t know.”

Bridget put a hand on his shoulder. “Do you think she went to the cave?”

Aiden felt the blood drain from his face. “God, no.”

“We’ll split up. You check the cave, and I’ll check the garden. You have your cell?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Go. Whoever finds her first calls the other immediately.”

“WHERE ARE WE GOING?” whispered Shannon as she followed the housekeeper down the darkened path.

“To right a grievous wrong. Quiet now, girl. It’ll get tricky from here.”

Mrs. Calhoun insisted that they not call attention to their presence by using flashlights. She had to trust the older woman’s sense of direction and familiarity with the area. They wound down a steep incline. Shannon pulled her woolen coat tight around her shoulders, glad she’d dressed earlier for a hike. The bitter wind still nipped her nose and battered her hands. She’d forgotten her gloves.

Loose rocks tumbled from the weed-choked path. She slid a time or two, and the loss of balance even for a second put her heart into her throat.

“Nearly there.”

Shannon kept her gaze on her feet, trying to make sure she didn’t fall and take a one-way trip straight down into the roaring ocean.

“No!”

Shannon’s head jerked up as she saw Mrs. Calhoun stop and put her arms up. A shadowy figure raised something—a stick or bat—and smacked the housekeeper so hard the woman fell to the ground.

“Run!” yelled Mrs. Calhoun.

Shannon turned on her heel and scrambled back up the ridge.

12

WHEN SHANNON GOT to the top of the hill, she looked back. Nothing stirred on the path below. She couldn’t see Mrs. Calhoun or the attacker. Fear shook her limbs, stuttered her heart. Hurry, Shannon. Hurry!

Why would anyone hurt an old woman?

Shannon stumbled along the stone path. She had no idea how much time had passed since Mrs. Calhoun had ushered her out of the castle, or where they had walked on the expansive grounds. The purple shadows of dusk had long stretched into evening; stars dotted the velvety black skyline.

Shannon stopped, breathing hard, panic welling, and looked around. Where am I? The path she was on led to a massive thicket of trees. No way would she go in there. Shannon spun around and behind her, the castle rose in the distance, stark against the evening sky, yet as welcoming to her as a fuzzy blanket, hot cocoa, and crackling fire. And Aiden.

Home.

Her legs still felt like wet noodles, and her breath rattled in her chest. Night sounds filtered around her: Hoots of owls, chirping of crickets, and snapping of twigs. Wait. What kind of bird or bug snapped twigs with its movements? Her stomach clenched as fear swirled through her.

The attacker!

She increased her pace despite the pain ricocheting up her spine from semi-jogging. Her sudden need to be away from the forest forced her to move faster, and she broke into an awkward run.

All she had to do was get to the castle.

AIDEN SLID DOWN the steep pathway, his shoes skidding against the loose rocks. He felt sick to his stomach. Had he lost his beloved again?

No. He couldn’t bear the thought.

He wouldn’t live another minute, much less a century, without her.

Cold foreboding settled in his heart. Fear made his temples pound. He felt like ice coated his insides, clinging to his organs, sharp gelid points piercing him.

His foot smacked against something, and he nearly went ass over teakettle down the rest of the hill. Instead, he caught himself and swung around. His flashlight revealed the prone form of his housekeeper. “Mrs. Calhoun?”

He knelt next to the older woman and felt her carotid artery. The strong pulse against his fingertips sent relief skittering through him. He patted her cheek. “Mrs. Calhoun?”

Her eyes popped open, and she sat up. “Where’s the girl?” Her gaze pinned his. “Speak, boy. Where’s Shannon?”

He sat back, startled at her intensity. “We’re looking for her. Are you all right? What happened?”

“Nothing I can’t heal. No, ‘tis more important to find your bride. ‘Tis the only night the reunion magic will work.”

“How do you…” He trailed off, staring at her. “You’re a dragonwitch? Why did you not tell me?”

“Self-preservation,” said Mrs. Calhoun. “Danger lurks among the dragonborn. Find your bride, Aiden and meet me in the cave.”

Aiden felt as though he’d been punched in the stomach.

His shock must’ve shown because Mrs. Calhoun grabbed his arm and squeezed. “We must end the circle where it began—if you hope to save Clíona.”

SHANNON STUMBLED AND fell to her knees. She sucked in deep breaths, but couldn’t seem to get any air into her lungs. She felt dizzy and cold, but her resolve kept her moving. Aiden. Aiden. Aiden. God, she was tired. Her body had never felt so worn-out. Her mind clicked sluggishly, trying to find inspiration to go on. Maybe she could sleep right here on the garden path. Just sleep…

“Shannon?”

She looked over her shoulder and saw an athletic man jogging to her. His expression showed concern, but there was something off about his smile. The hair on her nape rose as he reached her.

“Who are you?” she asked.

He bent to help her, his cold hands curling around her arms. He yanked her up none too gently and smiled. “Don’t you recognize me?”

“No,” she said, her voice trembling. Thick fear coated her throat as chilled tendrils of dread curled through her body.

The man leaned into her face, his blue gaze gleaming with cruelty. “I’m hurt, Shannon.” He bared his teeth, and she watched his eyes blacken with hatred. “Or should I call you Clíona?”

Shannon said nothing, but the truth of his words speared her. The man was obviously crazy. Wasn’t he?

“So bereaved was Áillen at your loss, we thought he would surely follow you in death. But no, our mourning king turned to the dragonwitch—and asked for your return.”

His spittle landed on her cheek, but she was still as a stone. Horrible knowledge rose, battering her brain with images. Running through the forest, blood on her hands, her keening mixing with the wild wind. A storm was coming, and she wanted it. Needed it to escape. The thunder of horses’ hooves, the wicked laughter of a mad woman, the triumphant cries of…

“Gannon,” she whispered.

His eyes widened. “So, ‘tis really you.” He bared his teeth, and she smelled sulfur. His eyes flash deep red, and she reared back, crying out.

“A human for his mate—none could believe it. You made him weak!”

“I made him happy!”

Shannon gasped. What the hell was she saying? Tears fell as memories that were not hers flooded her mind. She sagged forward, struggling to understand.

“I told her that Áillen needed to die, too. But she refused. Better that you die and he lives a broken man. We will not make that mistake again.”

“No!” She struggled against his grip, but it was useless. Her body had been battered and bruised and offered her no help.

As Gannon dragged her away, she screamed, “Where are you taking me?”

“To your death.” He smiled grimly, his grip tightening on her wrists. “And this time, you will not come back.”

AIDEN FOUND BRIDGET walking toward the tree line. “She’s not in the gardens, but I think I heard someone in the forest,” she said, her expression filled with worry.

“Let’s go.” Cold foreboding settled in his heart. He felt like ice coated his insides, clinging to his organs like sharp gelid points piercing him.

“Ouch! Damn it!”

He aimed the flashlight at Bridget. Her high heel had snapped. She leaned down to rub at her ankle. “We are at our weakest in the human form.”

“Can you walk?”

“I think so—” She attempted a couple of steps and grimaced. “So much for being a big, bad dragon.”

“I’ll help you back to the castle.”

“No, I can make it, Aiden. Go find your Shannon. And don’t worry, we’ll have a drink and a laugh about this.” She patted his arm. “All will be well, brother. Have faith.”

Aiden nodded. Bridget smiled and turned, limping toward the castle.

After his sister had departed, Aiden jogged to the edge of the forest. His flashlight barely made a dent in the darkness between the trees. His instincts screamed at him to stop, to turn around, to go back now.

To hell with it.

He spun around and headed toward the cave.

The path down leading to the beach was treacherous, but he managed it without injuring himself. His heart hammered as he hurried toward the dark entrance of the cavern—a place he had not been since the day he’d found his wife drowned.

The deeper he ventured into the darkness, the more his skin crawled. Cold sweat beaded at his temples.

He saw a flickering light and followed it into the secret grotto with its glittering lake. Torchlight danced on the craggy walls, scattering shadows.

Shannon sat near the lake’s edge. Her arms were tied behind her back, and a gag was stuffed into her mouth. She looked exhausted and bloodied, but her attitude was pure rage. Relief flooded through him. No one could tamp down that spirited nature of hers. Not even…

Gannon?

His sister’s mate, the affable Gannon, now named Daniel, jerked Shannon to her feet and held a short sword against her neck. Aiden’s heart demanded that he march straight to Shannon and rescue her, but rusty warrior instincts snapped into place. She was the morsel baiting the trap. He would incapacitate the hunter first then he would release her.

“Well, Áillen, here we are again,” Daniel said, his grin marred by the hatred in his gaze. “This time, we’ll get it right.”

Áillen swung his gaze from Shannon to Daniel. “You? You killed Clíona?”

“Not by myself.”

“What have you done with the dragonwitch?”

Daniel’s grin melted. His expression flashed with surprise. “There are no dragonwitches. I’ve spent the last 800 years ridding the world of all those interfering biddies.”

Aiden swallowed hard. Disbelief crowded the air from his lungs. If the dragonwitch was free, then they still had a chance. “Did you kill Jessica, too?”

Daniel merely shrugged.

“I suppose I have you to thank for the sword through my chest?”

“That was a millennium ago. Why hold a grudge?” He winked; so fucking assured of his own prowess that he didn’t have the sense to be worried about Aiden’s growing rage. “Alas, ‘twasn’t me. I wanted to behead you and burn your body, like a proper dragon. It seems you were worth more to a certain someone.”

Asshole.

Aiden roared and lunged forward. Daniel pressed the blade against Shannon’s neck. Blood pearled against the silver surface and dripped down her pale flesh. He froze and stepped back, fists clenched.

“The only fear you ever shown was for her,” sneered Daniel. “A human. You’re not worthy of being the dragon king.”

“There are no more kings, Gannon. If you seek to rule, you will find yourself without a kingdom.”

“You’re a short-sighted fool.”

“Always has been.”

Aiden looked over his shoulder.

Mrs. Calhoun stepped into the sacred circle, her gaze steady and her expression devoid of emotion.

13

THE DRAGONWITCH STUMBLED forward as if pushed, and Aiden noticed her hands linked in front of her. Silver manacles bound her wrists. Like most shifter species, silver weakened dragons. What he mistook for lack of emotion was the cold fire of the housekeeper’s fury, the deeply banked embers of anger he recognized easily. He’d harbored rage against his betrayers since the eve they drove the sword into his mortal flesh. All these years, he’d thought Clíona had taken her own life out of grief, that his need to keep her from the truth had driven her to her death. And to find out now that she’d been murdered, purposefully torn away from him because of his sister—his own blood—it drove his fury to the brink of recklessness.

“I’m having some serious déjà vu,” said Bridget as she dragged the older woman forward. Aiden noted the gun pointed at Mrs. Calhoun’ head. Dragons were immortal—but not unkillable. Removing a dragon’s head was very nearly the only way to kill one of his kind.

“Bridget.” His heart broke as he stared at her. He’d loved Bridget. Trusted her. And she had been responsible for all his worldly his misery? He couldn’t believe it. Didn’t want to believe it.

She flashed him an unrepentant glance, and in that swift second, he saw the true coldness of her soul. His gaze sought Shannon’s. Her eyes shone with tears of anger and helplessness, and yet, he saw her trying to convey strength to him. He tried to do the same for her, even though the fear he might lose her for another eternity constricted his chest.

Bridget gestured for Mrs. Calhoun to stand next Shannon. The dragonwitch didn’t hesitate to obey, but her actions were unhurried as if she were out for a stroll instead of being threatened with imminent death. He silently cheered her on.

Bridget smashed Mrs. Calhoun’ temple with the butt of the gun. The woman slumped unconscious to the ground.

The moment the dragonwitch hit the dirt Áillen saw a flash of steel. Daniel twisted the short blade and brought it down on the dragonwitch’s neck. Shannon’s muted scream echoed in the cavern as Bridget’s mate cleanly sliced off the dragonwitch’s head. It rolled away from the body, coming to rest at the lake’s edge. Blood drained from the stump, and Shannon dropped to her knees, and keened.

“Shut her up.”

Daniel smashed the sword’s pommel against Shannon’s temple, and she slumped forward, landing face-first in the dragonwitch’s blood.

“Goddamn it!” Aiden shouted. “Don’t touch her!”

“I have to touch her in order to kill her,” said Daniel drolly.

“Don’t worry. The two of you will die together,” said Bridget. “It will be romantic, brother. Just the way you like it when it comes to Clíona.” She removed the manacles from the housekeeper. “Put them on.”

Aiden stared at her, mutely refusing.

Shannon stirred, moaning as she sat up. The dragonwitch’s dark blood covered her face and neck. He could see it dripping down her pale flesh, soaking the front of her shirt.

Bridget raised the gun and shot at his wife. The bullet ripped through her arm. Shannon’s scream of pain was barely silenced by the gag in her mouth. Aiden watched helplessly as blood poured from her wound.

“Stop it!” He lifted his arms and presented his wrists. Bridget snapped the cuffs around his wrists. He immediately felt weaker and swayed on his feet. Cold grief mixed with hot fury. “Why?”

“Because she made you weak. She softened your heart and your brain. If you’d treated her like a toy or a pet—that I would’ve understood. We all have our fun with the inferior species. But you were king, Áillen. King! And you chose a human as a mate. Do you really think the spawn she would have bore you could have been anything but a weakling? It would’ve been only a matter of time before other dragonkind contested for your crown. Our family blood, our royal standing, decimated because you fell in love with her!”

Bridget marched to Shannon and grabbed her hair, yanking her head back to reveal the vulnerable flesh of her throat. He felt his mate’s agony reverberate through his soul. Then Bridget put the muzzle against Shannon’s temple.

“Please, darlin’ Shannon, join the conversation.”

“You suck,” Shannon croaked out.

“How American.”

“You think the crown mattered to me?” he yelled. “I would’ve gladly given it all away if it meant Clíona and I would be left in peace.”

“You see? That’s the problem. You were Father’s legacy. You were supposed to bring us into the great dragon age.”

“What does it matter now?” asked Aiden. “The realm has fallen. Dragons are nearly extinct.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“You want the crown, Bridget? Take it. Just let her go. Let her live.”

Bridget’s expression half-morphed into dragon scales, and she roared. “How disappointing. You still chose her over your duty to us. Nearly a thousand years apart, and you want only her.”

“Yes. I will always choose her.” He swallowed hard. “I’ll give you everything, Bridget. The castle, the money, the crown. Whatever you want. Just spare her. Please.”

Bridget shook her head and her facial scales disappeared. “I don’t need you to give it to me. This time, I will take it. I gave you a chance—a chance at a real mate, strong progeny, and true dragonkind leadership. But all you could do was mourn her loss.” Anger twisted her features. “You will die, brother. You and your human. Then Gannon and I will build a new world for the dragons.”

The pain of watching Bridget and her mate betray him turned his blood to fire. He wanted nothing more than to take their heads and set their bodies ablaze. Bridget and Daniel deserved nothing from him, especially not mercy.

Let them share death roared his dragon.

Aiden’s beast strove for freedom. The silver dampened his shifter abilities, but he was king, damn it. The terror in Shannon’s gaze made his rage blaze bright. His dragon cried, “Free me! Avenge her!”

But even if he managed to do so, his siblings would do the same and Shannon would not live through a dragon battle.

Fear twisted his guts as he watched his betrayers threaten the life of his beloved. It’s not fair, his soul raged, this is not the way it should end. Tears of helplessness gathered in his eyes. No! No! No!

A circular glow began to emanate from Shannon’s neck. The red light grew brighter and brighter. He looked at Shannon and saw the courage in her eyes, the strength of heart and mind he knew so well. She would fight with every breath, and should she die, she would meet it with honor. He could offer no less.

“What the hell?” Bridget looked down. She grabbed Shannon’s shirt and ripped it. Shannon wore a necklace, one he’d only seen used in dragonwitch ceremonies when power was transferred between an elder and an acolyte.

He knew the instant when Bridget recognized it, too. “No!” She lifted the gun once more, and Aiden crossed the short distance and rammed his body into his sister. The gun flew out of her hand and into the lake. Bridget rolled onto the ground and popped up, her shift already beginning.

“Oh, no you don’t,” shouted a new voice.

Aiden barely had time to recognize his younger sister Jessica before she was on Bridget, hissing and scratching. Both women half-morphed as they fought to overcome the other.

Aiden felt a hot swipe on his back, and cried out, whirling around. His blood dripped from Daniel’s blade.

Daniel made the mistake of coming too close to gloat, and Aiden head-butted him. The man flew backward, his shock evident in his expression. He sprawled on the ground. His blade skittered across the dirt to land at Aiden’s feet.

Aiden looked behind him. “Run,” he yelled at Shannon. “Run!”

Mutely, she shook her head. Instead she got to her feet and limped over to him. She removed the manacles. “I’m fine. End this.”

He kissed her hard, putting all his love into that brief meeting of lips, and then grabbed the short sword and ran toward Daniel, who began to shift into his dragon form.

Aiden jumped the last few feet, landing on Daniel’s chest, forcing him to the ground. Scales and claws erupted, but he brought the blade swiftly across Daniel’s neck. His brother-in-law barely had time to gurgle, his animal eyes wide as his head separated from his neck.

Aiden partially morphed—a dragon’s head with a man’s body and roared out flame. It consumed the corpse of sister’s mate. Then he turned his flame onto Gannon’s head and reduced it to ash.

“Áillen!” Jessica cried.

He whirled and saw Bridget running toward him, her expression filled with grieving vengeance.

Before he had time to engage his sister in combat, a bright red beam encompassed her. He turned his astonished gaze to Shannon, who stood tall and healthy, her body bathed in the same red glow. She lifted her hands, and Bridget sailed upward. Shannon brought her hands down and quickly and Bridget slammed into the ground.

His sister went limp.

“Is she dead?” asked Jessica. Now in her human form, his little sister looked worse for wear. Bruised and scratched, she kneeled and pressed her fingers against Bridget’s carotid pulse. “Damn it. Only unconscious.” Jessica glanced between Shannon and Aiden. “We cannot let her live.”

“She is my blood,” said Aiden. “I will sequester her in the Norway prison. No dragon has ever escaped the underground fortress.”

Jessica blew out a breath. “As you wish, my king.”

Shannon joined them her gaze knowing.

“Clíona?”

Shannon laughed, tossing her hair behind her shoulder in the sassy way Aiden remembered. Her spirit was beautiful, shining and bright and willful. She was as much a warrior as he. And now, she was dragonwitch, too. Her lips curved into a smile.

“You remember, don’t you?” he asked.

“I didn’t need a ritual. I needed only to be near you on this night for my past and present to mend.”

“This night?” asked Jessica.

“The anniversary of my death,” said Shannon. “The anniversary of all that was set into motion when I was murdered.” Her gaze sought Aiden’s, and his heart exploded in gladness at the recognition in her eyes. “I know you, my love.”

“You and Áillen can live this lifetime as you should, with love and longevity.” Jessica patted Shannon’s flat belly. “And strong, fine children.”

“Thank you,” said Aiden. He hugged his sister. “I never expected…”

“I was sent to you as a potential mate, but also as a guardian. You might have lost your way over the years, but our people, including me, believe in you. You will bring on the next dragon age. You and your dragonwitch queen.” There was only the tiniest hint of wistful remorse in her tone.

Aiden shook his head. “I apologize for underestimating you…and your loyalty. I owe you my life.”

“Well, name your first babe after me.”

“We will,” promised Shannon. “Although you’ll have to tell us which name that will be.”

Jessica laughed. “I’ll let you know.”

“What happened to Kenneth?” asked Aiden.

“I sent him home, thank goodness, before all this nonsense started.” She raised a devious brow. “I think he’ll do very well at keeping me in the style I’ve grown accustomed to.” Her expression softened. “Besides, he’s a nice man. I could do worse. And have.” She retrieved the silver manacles and clasped them onto Bridget’s wrists and heaved the woman onto her shoulder in a fireman’s carry. “I’ll put her in the dungeon for now.”

Aiden tugged Shannon into his embrace. Alive. In his arms. Forever.

“You’re squeezing the breath out of me,” murmured Shannon against his chest.

He laughed, unable to stop his tears of joy, and eased the pressure of his hug to look down on her beautiful face. Love shone in her eyes, her cocky smile belied the tender strokes of her fingers as she traced his tears.

“A warrior bawling like a babe,” she teased. “Hardly the way to catch a girl’s fancy.”

“'Tis enough I caught you.”

* * *

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Tales from The Pack Rules Worlds

Taken by the Werewolf Triplets

Winter Pack

“I REFUSE.” ECHO Velmont stood before the Elders, who were the ruling Council of the pack, and stared at them with her back straight and head held high. In the cavern where legend proclaimed the first pack members were born, with torchlight dancing on its craggy walls and incense smoke wafting through the dank air, she’d waited impatiently for these fools to pronounce her punishment.

But she had not expected to be the her pack’s tribute.

No, its sacrifice.

Elder Magnus, the Council’s leader and the most supercilious of the three men passing judgment, smiled indulgently. “You have outlived three husbands in a short amount of time. Worse, you have no children to show for those matings. You are not fulfilling your duties to the pack.”

“Duties given to me for no other reason than I am female.”

He rasped a chuckle. “If men had wombs, we would do the same. Alas, our contribution is far simpler than yours. But you get much in return, Echo.”

Except freedom. She could not choose what she wanted for her own life because the pack needed her to churn out pups. Her own mother had died giving birth to her fifth child -- to Echo. She had never known the softness of a mother, but being raised by warriors had made her tough. She didn’t cry — she handed you your ass. Her upbringing had also made her long for a life she could never have -- unless she wanted to give up the pack, including her family. She wasn’t a wuss by any means. However, werewolves without a pack were vulnerable to things, and to creatures, she didn’t even want to contemplate. She chafed at the constraints of the pack’s expectations, but she wasn’t an impulsive fool, either. Most of the time.

Her father had passed away last year. Her brothers were all married and their mates were either pregnant or raising their young. Despite having shaped her from childhood with their own warrior ways and manly attitudes, they did not understand her refusal to act like every other insipid female that lived within their community.

She stared straight ahead. “I have married as pack law demanded.”

“And purposely avoided pregnancy.” Elder Magnus shook his head. “You knew there would be punishment for this transgression.”

“So honoring the Daughter of Man is punishment?”

Elder Magnus’s face flushed red. The two other council members had the grace to look away. They cleared their throats, and looked down as if studying the paperwork on the table. Bastards.

“Of course the representation of the… the female in our rites is a great honor. This is your opportunity to make up for your failures. You must show the pack you are worthy of its protection.”

“And if I get pregnant?”

“No female has ever gotten pregnant,” he said, “but if you do, you know that it means great blessings upon us.”

Genetic mutations and species evolution offered better explanations for werewolves. But no, the Winter Pack honored the arcane belief that three wolf brothers, River, Stone, and Ash, fucked a random human and managed to impregnate her at the same time. Six months later, she popped out three werewolves: red, black and blonde, which became the three accepted werewolf branches of the Winter Pack. Mostly, the Winter Pack tended to ignore that there were other packs outside of it. It was almost like the Elders refused to believe any other shifters existed, and that belief was easy to justify since the Winter Pack occupied remote areas in Alaska and Canada. They eschewed human contact. Although, she had heard of the River pack taking in werecat shifters who had raised one of their orphaned wolves.

In any case, the ruling three of the Winter Pack branches, who had more authority than even the Elders passing judgment on her now, insisted that the legend be re-enacted every twenty-five years. This time, it was the duty of her pack, the descendants of Stone, to put on the show.

“You will, of course, be generously compensated.”

Surprise fluttered through Echo. The Elders were switching tactics. This was no longer a punishment, but a favor? Uneasiness clamored through her.

“What would this generosity include?” she asked.

“The Alphas have authorized a… a stipend for your time and… er, effort.”

“Stipend?”

“One hundred thousand dollars… so long as you fulfill the entire obligation of the festival rites.”

Echo looked at the floor so she wouldn’t give away her shock. “And how much of that will be tithed to the pack?”

“None,” said Elder Magnus. He sounded as though he were chewing on rocks. “The entire amount is yours to do with as you wish. In addition, you will be granted singulus licentia.”

Her shock deepened. So, the Alphas were offering her money. And the Elders of Stone were offering her what she wanted most -- freedom. Under singulus licentia she would never have to marry or procreate, and she would retain the protection of the pack. It was a rare designation, often given to females who became priestesses or healers.

All she had to do was prostitute herself for a week.

Well, how was that any different than allowing the Elders to arrange her marriages, none of which had lasted a year due to the untimely deaths of her mates?

Her first husband had been nice enough, but rarely took her to bed. He preferred men, and though the pack didn’t forbid gay relationships, he hadn’t wanted it known. She’d kept the secret, even after he drowned trying to save the lover who’d gotten caught in a riptide. Her second husband had been an older man, who enjoyed fellatio more than intercourse. She wasn’t opposed to blowjobs, but he did not like to reciprocate. It had been a very dissatisfying relationship. They’d only been married a couple of months when he died of a heart attack. Her third husband died mere days after their wedding night. He had a terrible temper and liked his drink. A bar brawl ended with him stabbed in the heart with a silver blade.

After three dead husbands and her apparent barrenness, no one wanted to mate with her -- and that suited Echo just fine. Too bad the council found out about her birth control.

“Echo?” asked Elder Magnus.

She realized she’d been peering at the gleaming stone floor too long. Her sex life thus far had been unremarkable. She had dutifully married all the men the Elders deemed. She had never been in love, never hoped to find an equal partner. Maybe the sex would be good. Maybe her lovers would be kind. And then she would be free -- and rich.

“I want it in writing,” she said, lifting her gaze to the Elders. She looked each man in the eye. “If I agree to be the pack’s whore, I want your written promise I shall be free to live as I choose and will always have the protection of the pack.”

“You shall have it, Echo.” He looked at the other members of the Council. “As is dictated by the Alphas, you must spend one evening with each representation of our wolf fathers. In four days’ time, on the night of the full moon, you will mate with the Three Brothers at the pinnacle of our festival.”

She hadn’t realized the festival rites would be enacted so quickly. Either they hadn’t planned ahead, which was ridiculous, or she was a replacement for the previously approved Daughter of Man. Elder Magnus had tried to make her accept the role as punishment, then as reward. And she was probably standing here because she was the only female they had any sway over. Assholes. She stifled the urge to punch all the Elders in their fat, loathsome heads. Argh!

“Prepare what you need,” said Elder Magnus. “You leave tonight.”

* * *

TUCKED INTO THE hillside, the mansion’s entire façade was glass. Echo paused on the landscaped walkway and clutched the handle of her rolling suitcase. Nerves plucked at her stomach.

She’d made the agreement and she’d follow through, but she was nervous as hell. She’d been told to call her werewolf lovers by their ancestor names. She was expected to fuck them, and shut up. She’d never been much good at shutting up. She just wanted this week to be over with… and the sooner it got started, the better.

Determined now, she marched up the steps and raised her hand to knock on the front door.

It swung open before her knuckles touched the expensive mahogany.

Echo dropped her hand and stared up at the man filling the doorway. It took all her control not to scurry backward.

The man was built like a goddamned oak tree. Tall, broad, muscled. He had red hair cut short and crystalline green eyes that gleamed like peridot. He wore loose-fitting pants that tied at the waist and no shirt. He was sweating, too. His chest rose and fell as though he’d been doing something strenuous -- like working out?

She’d grown up with men who were handsome and kept fit. But no one she’d ever met looked so… well… she swallowed the knot clogging her throat. Heat flushed her cheeks, and she licked her lips.

His gaze dropped to her mouth. His nostrils flared as though he were scenting her. Then his eyes went dark as jade, filled with an intensity that made her give in and step back.

While she stared at him like a girl mooning over her high school crush, he latched onto her suitcase and pulled it from her grip. He tossed it into the foyer behind him.

“Clothes?” he asked in a whiskey voice.

She nodded, since she couldn’t quite get her voice to work.

“You won’t need them.”

“I… I have lingerie.”

He shook his head. “Not necessary.”

“The others?”

“We all live here, but only one man will be in the house per evening. We will use the cavern to enact the festival.” He looked at her, and she couldn’t discern the emotion lurking in his gaze. “I’m first. And lucky, lucky me.”

He looped his hand around her wrist and yanked her forward. She smacked against the solid flesh of his chest. His sweat matted her shirt. His musk didn’t bother her; it was almost nostalgic given she’d spent almost every day of her childhood working out alongside her brothers.

“You’re beautiful.” He sounded gruff. His body was tense, and he was sporting a rather sizeable erection, which was pressed against her thigh.

“Bonus, right?”

One corner of his mouth quirked. “Definite bonus.”

He drew her inside, shut the door, then swung her around and pushed her against the solid wood.

His breathing had changed, going harsh and erratic. Her sensitive ears picked up his increased heartbeat. She said nothing. This was what she’d signed up for, and she was a willing fuck toy until the full moon was over.

He reached under her skirt and yanked down her panties.

Her breath caught. He leaned down and breathed in her scent, his tongue flickering up her neck. Her own heart started to pound. She put her hands against his slick chest, resisting the urge to push at that wall of muscle. Push him away and run, run from this… this intensity of need. It vibrated from him and sank into her, until she felt the growing heat of his lust, the thickening of desire in her own belly, the shredding of control. Hers. His.

Holy goddess.

Instead of pushing him away, she scored his tiny brown nipples with her nails.

He growled.

Then he grabbed the silk edge of her blouse and ripped it open. Buttons popped off and danced along the marble floor. His teeth ripped the center of her bra. The fabric fell away, freeing her breasts.

He laved her nipples, making noises in his throat, whimpers and growls. The hand under her skirt stroked her aching clit. She was vaguely grateful he was trying to give her some satisfaction rather than just taking his own.

It was costing him, though. His body shook, and she realized he was barely controlling himself. But hell, she was slick, ready. It was crazy to be so primed… but this whole scenario was crazy.

She fumbled with his sweats and then his cock sprang free. He gripped her thigh and lifted one of her legs. With one shaking hand, she guided him into her pussy.

He buried himself deeply, filling her to the womb. God, he was big. He sucked in breaths as he struggled with his inner animal. She wrapped both legs around his waist, and her arms went around his neck.

“Fuck me,” she whispered.

* * *

HE STARTED PUMPING into Echo, jerky motions that suggested he was still fighting to maintain control. She dug her fingernails into his back and bit his earlobe. “Fuck me,” she demanded again. “Hard!”

He roared, his fingers digging into her thighs, his teeth sinking into her shoulder, his control shattering as he pounded into her. Sweat dripped from them both. Echo held on as pleasure crashed through her. She gulped in breaths as she orgasmed, and still, River didn’t stop. She was strong and fit, but her thighs started to ache and her arms quivered.

Finally, he stiffened, his hot seed jetting into her, as he bit down harder on her shoulder. Pain throbbed dully, joining the other tendrils of pain emanating from the rest of her. After almost a decade seemed to pass, River withdrew and lowered her feet to the floor. She clung to him because her legs were like friggin’ wet noodles.

“Whoa,” she said.

“I like the way you smell.” He looked at her, and she saw the lust still burning in his eyes. He could take her again, right now, and… uh, yeah. His cock was already hard.

And it wasn’t even the full moon yet.

“I’ll show you to your room. It has a master bath. You can shower, and I’ll make dinner.”

“You?” she asked.

“We don’t keep staff,” he said. “And I know how to make a mean T-bone.”

“Rare?”

“Is there any other way to eat one?”

She laughed. He let her go, but held on to her elbow until she felt steady enough to grab her suitcase and walk on her own. She was sore, and she suspected her thighs were already bruising.

Again, she thought about what sex with River might be like during the full moon. He was already ravenous, already walking the tightrope between control and savagery. She’d be a fool not to feel scared. But she felt excitement, too. That quickie was probably the best sex she’d had… and that was a sad fact. Three husbands and not one had made her come like that. Holy God. What would the other two be like?

“This way,” said River.

She followed him up around a winding staircase. The room he showed her was huge. The bed was the biggest she’d ever seen, a four-poster monstrosity laden with red and gold silk pillows and a thick duvet. All the furniture was big and dark -- the dresser, the nightstands, and even the couch that faced the stone fireplace on the right side of the room. The closet was cavernous, all its hooks, racks, and shelves empty. The bathroom offered a glass-enclosed shower and a tub with jets, which seemed big enough for at least eight people.

“The kitchen is downstairs. Down the hallway on the left, past the dining room.”

He turned to go, but Echo put her hand on his arm. “You want to show me how to turn on the shower? Because all those controls look complicated. I might accidentally launch a nuclear weapon or something.”

His gaze flicked to the far wall with its silver-plated buttons and knobs. “It’s not that difficult.” He blew out a breath and rubbed his hair. “I don’t think I should stick around. Your scent is driving me crazy.”

“You sound like you care.”

His gaze snapped to hers. “I’m not an animal.”

“Yes,” she said. “You are.” Echo shed her torn top and dangling bra. Then dropped her panties and her skirt. She put her hands on her hips and watched River’s hungry gaze take in the proud thrust of her breasts and her pussy still seeping with juices.

“I’m a werewolf, not some pansy-assed human.” She didn’t know why she was continuing to rile him. She enjoyed the aggression. She knew how to tweak her brothers, how to get them into a fight. But she didn’t want to fight with River. She wanted him to fuck her. She wanted to come again.

River opened the glass shower door and stepped inside. Echo followed and shut the door behind her. While he fiddled with the knobs, the spouts on the walls showered her with hot water.

“Nice,” she said. She tugged on the waistband of his sweats. “Get naked.”

He turned and yanked off his pants. His gaze was hard. “You like to get burned, don’t you?”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

He grabbed her by the hair. Pain zipped along her scalp. He pushed her against the marble wall. Her breasts mashed against the cold stone. Her heart tripped over in her chest, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of showing her fear, though he surely knew a shadow of terror edged her boldness.

He tugged her hair again, and she moaned.

“You like it.” He sniffed her neck. Then he clamped his teeth on her nape and parted her thighs. He shoved his swollen cock into her well-abused pussy. She pressed her palms against the wall, her nipples beading as he started fucking her. He squished her against the marble, but still managed to squeeze his hand between her body and the wall.

He pinched her clit.

“Oh, gods.” Her thighs were shaking. She wouldn’t fall, though, because she was pinned too securely. Her toes left the tiled flooring as he continued pounding into her. And he kept pinching her clit. Tight. Hard. Painful.

His teeth were embedded in her flesh, and the other hand was still wrapped in her hair. He tugged hard, sending ripples of pain from her scalp to her cunt. It joined the riot of agony in her clit, and then she was, incredibly, falling over the edge into a glorious orgasm. He stopped biting her neck and pressed his forehead against her shoulder.

“Yes,” he groaned. “Yes. I’m coming, baby. Coming in that beautiful cunt.”

He stilled, his body shuddering, as he emptied himself.

After a while, he stirred and released her. He turned her around and kept her within the cradle of his arms. The warm water sprayed them.

She touched the scruff along his square jaw. “You gonna wash my back?”

He grinned.

* * *

“ECHO.”

She awoke at the sound of her name, and rose up to her elbows. After dinner and a few glasses of wine, not to mention the physical release from the great sex, she’d felt exhausted enough to go to bed. She slept naked, figuring River might end up waking her.

As predicted, he stood next to her bed, also naked, his cock already at full mast. Good and mighty gods. He was insatiable. She wondered about the other men. Would they be as virile? At this rate, she might not be able to keep up. The spirit was willing, but her thighs would need a damn break.

What the hell had she gotten herself into?

She scooted to the middle of the bed, flinging open the covers. “C’mon.”

He crawled into bed.

“Can’t stop thinking about you,” he said. “I swear to the gods, I can smell you all the way down the hall.”

“Is that typical?”

“Not like this. The urge to mate has never been so strong.”

“How many festivals have you celebrated?”

“A lot,” he said. “You’ve been the first since…” He sucked in a breath, and looked at her with a shocked expression.

Alarm zipped through her. “Since?”

“Forever,” he muttered. Then he was on her with fingers stroking and mouth devouring. He sucked on her nipples, and stroked her clit. She’d never affected any man this way. It was somewhat gratifying to know she could merit such a response, even if she had the help of the encroaching full moon.

She was tired, but her body responded to his touch. Tingling heat spread through her, and she got instantly wet for him. He slid two fingers inside her and worked her until she was soaked. She grasped his cock and stroked his length.

He rolled her onto her stomach. He knelt over her, planting his knees on either side of her hips. His big palms slid down her back, massaging. Her sensitized nipples rubbed against the soft sheets.

“With you, Echo, I want. I need. I feel crazed.”

“I’m flattered. Except we both know it’s the full moon.” She moaned as he worked the knots loose from her shoulders. “Every werewolf’s pheromones go crazy during this time of month.”

“It’s you,” he said. He stopped rubbing her back. Then he shifted so that he was between her legs. He lifted her by the hips, so that her ass was practically in his face. Then he worked his cock into her swollen heat, and began to thrust.

Her hands fisted in the pillow as he rammed into her. His fingers dug into her thighs. She delighted in the fierceness of his possession.

Then he groaned, filling her to the very brink, and came.

She was still panting, so very close to orgasm, when he flipped her onto her back. He knelt between her thighs and leaned down to suckle her clit.

She came so hard she nearly levitated. As pleasure crashed through her, he slipped inside her again, and rode the bliss with her.

* * *

WHEN ECHO WOKE up, she was alone.

She dragged herself to the shower and stayed under the pulsing jets for a long time. By the time she finished, she felt much better. One of the many wonderful aspects of werewolf physiology was quick healing. The bruises inflicted by her first lover were already fading, as were the aches and twinges incurred by his passion. She looked through her scant clothing, wondering if she should even bother with dressing. Gods knew she hadn’t had an opportunity to wear her clothes for very long. What if the other two had the same appetite as River?

She grinned.

You’re a slut, Echo. No. She’d been an unfulfilled woman chafing at the constraints of pack laws. Werewolves were not feminists. Being an equal sexual partner in a rite as old as their beginnings was the first time she felt the sense of freedom she so often craved.

She drew a simple dress out of her suitcase. It was short and red and flirty. She pulled on a red lace thong and didn’t even bother with a bra.

She followed the scent of coffee to the kitchen. It was huge and rather masculine-looking with its black marble countertops and gleaming silver appliances. A man leaned against the counter near the fridge and sipped from a mug that read: “I Ate Little Red Riding Hood.” One brown eyebrow arched as he took in her red dress.

“I’m not Little Red Riding Hood,” she said.

“Hmm. Too bad. I think I’d enjoy eating you.” He put the mug down and sniffed the air. “River was right. You smell very, very good.”

“Good enough to eat?” she asked, smiling.

He smiled, too. He had shoulder-length black hair that softened his sharp features. His eyes reminded her of dark chocolate, and they had a twinkle of humor she had not found in the gaze of River. He was at least six feet tall, and had the lean build of a runner or a swimmer. He wore a T-shirt, a pair of faded jeans, and Nikes.

“Name’s Stone. You look like a woman who could use some coffee.” He poured her a fragrant cup and handed it to her. “I’m not supposed to be here. Sshh.”

“It’s not your day?”

“Night. We’re only supposed to spend the night with you. Days are spent recovering.” His eyebrow quirked again. “River left early because he said he didn’t think he could leave you alone. He didn’t want to wear you out before I got here.”

“How considerate.” She prowled the area with her coffee. The sink was dish-free, and nothing crowded the counters except the fancy coffee machine that had more dials and levers than seemed necessary. She ended the tour by leaning on the opposite end of the island, her gaze on Guy Number Two.

His eyes took on a gleam and he reached down to adjust himself. Echo’s gaze was drawn to the impressive length trapped in denim. “I’m beginning to understand his issues,” he muttered.

“Full moon and pheromones,” she said with a shrug. Still, awareness pulsed through her -- his smell, his look, his tension. Maybe there was something to what he was saying. She felt it, too.

“We’ve been participating in the festivals for years. We’ve never been wholly compelled to nearly devour the representative of the Daughter of Man.”

“All three of you have participated in the rites before?” she asked. The air seemed to thicken with pure lust. It was almost like she could drink him in, like a glass of champagne, sweet and bubbly.

“Yeah. We’ve been the three brothers… eh, seems like forever.” He stepped toward her then hesitated. “River isn’t the kind of guy who’s ruled by his dick, but I still didn’t believe him about you.”

“Believe what, exactly?”

“Irresistible.” He took another step toward her, and another. “Actually he said he felt like an addict… and you were his drug.”

“Wow.”

Echo hadn’t moved, but Stone certainly had. He stood inches away, studying her face as though he was trying to decipher an ancient mystery. “You’re gorgeous. I have the craziest urge to lick you.”

She put down her cup. “Eat. Devour. Lick. You seem to have mistaken me for an éclair.”

“Let’s see what kind of cream you have.” He knelt at her feet and flipped up her dress. “Nice panties.”

With his werewolf strength he ripped through each side of the delicate lace and the panties fluttered to the slate floor like a wounded butterfly.

“Those were expensive,” she said.

“I’ll buy you another pair.” He pressed his face against her pussy and inhaled. “Better yet, I’ll pay you never to wear underwear again.”

Then he started to lick.

* * *

“MMM. DELICIOUS,” HE murmured.

Echo’s thighs trembled, and she grabbed on to his skull to keep upright. Stone’s very talented, persistent tongue tumbled her into a knee-shaking orgasm. Pleasure undulated like bright ocean waves crashing on a sunlit shore, and before she could catch her breath, he’d unzipped his jeans, lifted her onto the edge of the island, and filled her.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. He nipped her neck, his sharp teeth scraping her flesh. He let her go to claim her mouth, and while his tongue mimicked his cock, she felt another slow building of bliss. She moaned. Could a woman die from pleasure?

“I’m gonna come,” he whispered against her lips. His face went tight, his mouth dropping from hers. “Oh, gods. Yes, baby. Oh, yes!”

He jerked once, twice, and then filled her with his come, his hands squeezing her thighs so hard she knew there’d be bruises from the impact.

He was breathing hard, trying to recover.

“I’m close,” she whispered. “So close. Please.”

“Gods, yes.” He slipped out of her, and leaned down to suckle her aching nipples. His thumb rubbed her clit. “Come for me, baby.”

She clung to him as her body strained toward another peak. Her eyes fluttered open. Over Stone’s shoulder, she saw River in the doorway, staring at her. Lust rolled off him in waves. He lowered his sweats and brought out his swollen length, stroking it for her.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes. Just like that.”

He stroked harder and harder, his breath coming in pants, his eyes glittering with passion. She wanted to taste him. To feel him. To come with River’s cock in her mouth and with Stone’s tongue tasting her.

“Wait, Stone,” she begged. “H-hang on.”

He lifted up, his hands stalled, his eyes glazed. Already his cock was hard again. Whew. Props to the stamina of werewolf males. Feeling like she was sculpted out of Jell-O, she slid off the island and patted it.

“C’mon, big boy.”

Stone and River exchanged a glance, a nod. Then River sat on the island, and she leaned forward, licking the tip of his cock. He shuddered as he slid his fingers into her hair, pulling slightly.

Lightning zapped her.

As Echo bent over to lave River’s shaft, Stone guided his cock into her aching sex. He held on to her hips, and began a rhythm she soon imitated with her mouth.

One of River’s hands trailed to her breast, and he tweaked the nipple.

Her breath went out in a rush, over his engorged cock.

“You’re being very naughty,” he said. “Maybe you should spank her, Stone.”

“Good idea,” agreed Stone.

Slap. The pain radiated to her very core, and Echo moaned.

“She likes it,” said Stone. His voice was hoarse, but she still heard the grin. He smacked her ass again. She gripped the base of River’s shaft, giving short hard strokes that matched the rhythm of her mouth.

He kept a tight grip on her hair, and played with her nipple. Stone pounded into her, panting and groaning. Sensations washed over her. The musk of the men and their passion for her, the pleasure-pain of River’s hands on her hair and her breast, the rhythmic thrusting of Stone inside her tight heat.

It was too much.

River cried out, and she stopped stroking with her hand, relaxing her throat so she could take all of him. His hot seed squirted, and she eagerly swallowed every salty drop. Then Stone was stiffening, shouting her name, and she felt the pulsating of his cock as he emptied inside her.

River slid off the island and knelt at her feet. “We must make our lady come, Stone.”

Stone pressed her backside fully against him. He kissed the side of her neck while he played with her breasts, pulling and twisting her throbbing nipples. River stroked her agonized clit with his tongue.

She grabbed his skull and rubbed against his face. “More,” she begged. “More!”

“Come for us, baby,” said Stone. “You belong to us now.”

“Yes. I’m yours.” Oh, she knew she was owned. Body and soul. Then River gently bit her clit, and she tumbled over the edge into exquisite white-hot pleasure. .

Moments, or eons, later she opened her eyes. “Did I implode?”

“Not yet,” said River and he stood up. “But I promise we’ll try harder next time.”

She laughed. She didn’t want to be without either of them. All they had between them was physical compatibility and an almost unhealthy lust. Was it just the encroaching moon and the annual celebration of werewolf fertility?

Or was it something more? Something mystical?

Wow, Echo. Get a grip. All this awesome sex is rotting your brain.

“I need another shower,” she said. “I don’t suppose either of you would be willing to walk a girl to her room?”

“I think we’d be willing to walk through fire for you,” murmured River.

“On glass shards through a pit of alligators,” agreed Stone cheerfully. “By the way, River, you’re on crack if you think I’m leaving.”

“I’m staying, too,” said River.

“What about the other brother?” asked Echo.

River and Stone looked at each other and then they both grinned. “We’ll share with him later.”

“I’m not a Meaty Bone,” she warned.

“Nope,” said Stone. “You’re an éclair.”

* * *

ECHO SNUCK INTO the library and quietly shut the door. She leaned against it and issued a sigh of relief. She’d spent the night in bed with Stone and River, and dear gods, as much as she loved all that sex, she was freaking tired. Thankfully, they’d let her sleep most of the day. When she’d awakened, she took a quick shower and decided it might be wise to avoid any more men until she could get back her equilibrium.

She was barefoot, dressed in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, with her wet hair pulled back into a ponytail.

Someone had lit a fire in the hearth, and the flickering light threw shadows against the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. She was drawn toward the two oversized leather wingbacks set in front of the marble fireplace. It seemed the perfect place to relax, and if she was honest, to hide.

Just for a little while.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when she rounded the chair she intended to sit in and found it occupied.

The man sitting there closed the book on his lap and waited while she studied him. He wore his blond hair long, cut in jagged lengths that touched his shoulders. His blue eyes were fringed with thick lashes, and his face was that of unholy beauty. A demon disguised as an angel. He wore a silk shirt unbuttoned at the top and a pair of dress slacks. He was barefoot, too, and the incongruity of his lack of shoes with such an elegant outfit made her smile.

His nostrils flared, and she saw his eyes widen slightly.

“I know,” she said. “I smell good.”

“You also smell as though you’ve been devoured by my brothers.” He gestured toward the chair next to him. “Please sit. Obviously you came in here for sanctuary.”

“Yeah,” she admitted. She curled into the other wingback, and turned her gaze to the fire. “Don’t get me wrong. The sex is amazing.”

“But intense. And how you feel is perhaps confusing?”

“Definitely.”

He put the book onto the table between the two chairs. She noticed the crystal decanter and the two glasses sitting there as well. One had amber liquid already in it. He poured another for her. “Sip. Enjoy.”

“Thanks.” She took the heavy glass and sipped. The alcohol warmed her thoroughly, and she sighed contentedly. “This is nice.”

“Do you know what might be even nicer?”

She glanced at him. “Sex?”she asked in trepidation.

He smiled. “Always. But I was going to ask if you wanted to go for a run.”

“You mean shift?”

“Of course. Maybe going wolf and exploring the woods would replenish your spirit.”

“I’m in.” She put down the glass and stood. She looked at him as he rose, with unaccountable grace. “You’re Ash.”

He nodded.

“Well, I’m Echo. You probably already know that.”

“I did figure it out, yes.” He smiled again, and she felt her stomach pitch.

Oh, gods. Not again. Was it boon or bane that she was not only attracted to all these virile wolves, but also that she got to have them? Over and over? Then again, she should enjoy every second of her time with them. Once the ritual was over, she wouldn’t see them again. She was surprised to be so depressed by the thought. Given the choice, she might well stay in this beautiful house and be with her men.

If they were her men.

Which they weren’t.

“There’s a balcony. It has a staircase we can take to the backyard.” He strode toward the doors, and she followed him.

When they got to the edge of the woods, they shed their clothes, and shifted. It wasn’t a comfortable process, but it didn’t take long, either. A few moments later, the smaller dark wolf was following the bigger blond wolf into the lush foliage of the forest.

They spent the next hour exploring, running, playing. Ash led her to a hidden pond, and they swam there together. The water was warm, and Echo enjoyed it.

Later, they climbed a narrow path to the top of a cliff and sat at its edge. The night was speckled with stars, the moon nearly full. Two more days, and Echo would be naked in front of her entire pack, accepting the sexual advances of all three wolf brothers.

It terrified her as much as it excited her.

But for now, she was only wolf. She sat next to the male, and enjoyed the smells of earth and pine, the chittering sounds of small creatures, and the soft dirt underneath her belly.

She didn’t know how much time passed, maybe an hour, maybe a minute. It didn’t seem nearly long enough to commune with nature when Ash rose and retreated down the path. She followed him, figuring they were returning to the house. Instead, he led her into a cave. It was dark, but she could follow him by scent. Eventually he stopped, and she felt the crackle of energy that indicated he was shifting.

She did the same.

“Wait a minute,” he said. She heard the clack of wood being tossed together and the hiss of a match. Then fire flared to life. The pit was lined with sooty stones. She realized Ash must retreat here often, and she felt honored that he’d shared such a private space with her.

Near the fire was a pile of furs. Ash sat on them and patted the spot next to him. “Fake,” he said. “I bought them because I thought they were the perfect addition to a secret cave.”

Echo laughed. She joined him on the furs, and for a moment, they sat in silence and watched the dancing flames of the fire.

“What now?” she asked softly.

He turned toward her, his blue gaze dark. Her stomach quivered at that look, and she felt an answering lust pour through her.

“I take you,” he said simply.

He reclined on the furs and stared at her, his lips curling into that sweet, dangerous smile. Deliciously naked, his long, thick cock nestled in the blond curls between his legs.

She crawled into his arms and he leaned down to nuzzle her breasts. His mouth was warm and wet, his tongue raspy as he suckled her nipple into hardness. He gave the same attention to her other breast with slow licks, tender kisses.

He smelled like earth, like smoke, like rain.

His smooth flesh slid along hers as he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her breathless. His tongue danced with hers, mimicking the movement of his cock as he parted her legs and slid his hard length inside her.

She wound her legs around his waist and matched his thrusts, her hands clutching his hair, her mouth attacking his with fervor.

“Oh yes,” she cried. “Yes!”

He slid his arms under her back then he rolled over. She sat on top of him, his cock embedded inside her, and inhaled a steadying breath. She was so greedy for him. She trembled with need.

With eager anticipation, she planted her hands on his chest and moved, stroking his cock with her inner muscles.

He grabbed her hips and shoved his cock deeply inside her, pushing her closer to the brink of ecstasy. “More, my love, give me more.”

Flesh slapped against flesh.

Moans echoed in the cave.

The shadows of flames danced on their sweaty, nude bodies.

Pleasure spiked in her belly, filling her core with the first tendrils of bliss. He filled his hands with her breasts, kneading the flesh. She pushed her clit against him, rubbing harder and faster, slamming herself onto his cock. His nimble fingers flicked her sensitive nipples then lightly twisted the nubs.

The orgasm bloomed into sparks of heat and joy that took her hostage, and hinted at the pleasure that waited. She panted, taking him with frantic movements, wanting the same glorious end for them both. His hoarse cry of completion sent her flying over the edge. They came together in splendid violence, and then they collapsed against the furs, spent and happy.

* * *

RIVER, STONE, AND Ash were naked, and it was very distracting. Even though each man had a different body type, they were all muscled and gorgeous. Last night, they had practiced innovative ways to perform the ceremony.

Echo flushed just thinking about their time spent in bed, and in the huge jetted tub, and… well. She had never been so sexually replete. Three wonderful lovers, all at once, was a lonely woman’s dream.

She would miss them.

The men stood apart from her, speaking quietly to each other. She’d been bathed by the women of her clan, anointed with perfume, her hair brushed until it gleamed, and then dressed in a diaphanous white robe that left nothing to the imagination. Then she’d been delivered to this small cave, an offshoot of the main cavern.

She heard the swelling music, and the old songs. Soon, Elder Magnus would tell the story of their ancestors, and she’d be expected to walk past him, in front of the blazing fire, where she would wait for the Three Brothers.

Nerves plucked her stomach.

“Don’t be afraid,” said Ash.

Echo looked up to see all three men surrounding her. They embraced her, and she felt better. I can do this. It bothered her to know that her brothers and their mates would witness her sexual domination, but she’d committed fully to this endeavor and she would see it through.

She heard the droning voice of Elder Magnus, and knew it wouldn’t be long before it was time for the Daughter of Man’s entrance.

“You’ll be fine,” said River. He kissed her lightly, then stepped back so that Stone could have his turn.

“Stay focused on us,” he said then he kissed her.

Ash took his brother’s vacated space. “Think only of how we make you feel. Once the scene is complete, you’ll be free.”

She nodded, swallowing the knot in her throat.

Ash’s blue gaze studied her face. “You want your freedom, Echo?”

I want you. And River. And Stone. But she didn’t say the words. How could she admit she’d be quite happy to be their woman? How could she expect three werewolf males to take one mate? Once the ritual was over, they would return to their own clans and pick up their lives.

Just like she would.

“Yes,” she said softly. “I want my freedom.”

“Then you shall have it.”

The pounding rhythm of the drums indicated it was time for her to make an appearance. She offered them a tremulous smile, then turned and walked with head held high and shoulders straight into the main cavern.

Echo’s heart pounded furiously and her stomach squeezed with nausea. She couldn’t believe she’d agreed to get fucked in front of her entire clan. She wasn’t ashamed of her body, or even of her feelings for the Three Brothers.

But the reality of what she was about to do hit her full force, and her knees nearly buckled.

Instead, she took her spot, standing in front of the fire where she cast her gaze demurely at the ground. Not a single werewolf on the other side of the flames made a sound. Only the crackling of burning wood interrupted the eerie silence.

Then a werewolf howled.

And another.

And one more.

Together the howls blended together in a sensual music that made her womb clench. Anticipation rolled through her, but she didn’t move, waiting for the Three Brothers to make their conquest.

The wolves bounded into the cavern: red, black, blond. They surrounded her, and howled again. She turned to the left and faced the big, ginger-haired wolf, and bowed before him. River shifted, going from four feet to two, from fur to smooth skin, from wolf to man.

She turned right, and bowed toward the black wolf. Once Stone completed his shift, she turned around and offered her submissive stance to the blond wolf. He, too, shifted.

She spun in a circle until she once again faced the flames.

She was no longer Echo.

She was the Daughter of Man.

River and Stone pushed open her robe, revealing her lush body to the eager eyes of those crowding the cavern. It pooled at her feet, and she stepped out of it.

Behind her, Ash moved forward and wrapped his arms around her waist. On either side, River and Stone cupped one breast each and laved her nipples. One of Ash’s hands dropped to her core and he played with her clit.

“Accept us,” he whispered.

“Yes.”

They warmed her up -- touching, stroking, kissing, rubbing. Her flesh was on fire, her heart ready to beat out of her chest, and her body aching for the penetration of her men.

She was lost in the sensations. She forgot everything, everyone, except her lovers, and she happily gave herself to them.

In a haze of sensual overload, she found herself astride River. His gaze was dark, more animal than man, and she couldn’t look away, not even when Stone crouched behind her.

Where did he get the lube? she wondered vaguely as he worked in slickened fingers and stretched her opening.

She leaned forward, trying to give him as much room as possible as he replaced his fingers with his cock.

Even though she had experienced double penetration last night, she still couldn’t get over how utterly stuffed she felt… how the sensation of two penises within her fulfilled her in unexpected ways.

And then Ash stood over her and River, kneeling so that his cock was within her mouth’s reach.

Yes, oh yes.

Perfection.

She never knew she needed this. Needed them.

River set the rhythm. His strong hands gripped her hips, keeping her steady enough to accept Stone thrusting into her from behind. Ash gripped the base of his shaft while she tongued the top half, sucking and laving.

Pleasure took wing, a song created by the four of them, as they reached for the pinnacle of bliss. The Three Brothers were taking the Daughter of Man, showing her strength and power and beauty.

And she accepted them -- all they had to offer. Not just their lust, though she could certainly handle their voracious sexual appetites, but their hearts as well. They each fulfilled a different need for her, all pieces of a puzzle that made her feel like a whole, beloved woman.

Love, she thought as her orgasm rose into a tingling wave of need, I love them.

“Echo!” they cried together.

River and Stone penetrated her deeply; their cocks jettisoned their seed within her. Ash cried out next, and she accepted the fullness of his trembling cock. Even as she swallowed every salty drop of his come, she went over the edge into her own intense pleasure.

It was as if she’d fallen off the earth and into the sun. She burned, and flew, and felt free, so free.

When she floated back into reality, she was in the arms of River, with Ash on one side and Stone on the other. She blinked. How the hell had that happened? How could she not remember getting freed from her men and picked up like a fragile china doll?

River put her down, keeping his arm around her, and said, “Shift.”

All four took their wolf forms.

She heard the cheers of the pack as they first ran a circle around the fire, and then out of the cavern, into the woods where they truly felt at home.

* * *

ECHO PUT THE last box into her sparkling new Lincoln Navigator. A hundred grand bought a lot of happiness.

After her run in the woods with her men, they’d shifted into humans and spent one last night together. She’d awakened alone in the big, beautiful house, and had known it was time to leave.

If only she could leave her feelings behind as easily as she would the past.

“That everything?”

Her brother Trevor still couldn’t look her in the eye.

“Yes,” she said. She hugged him, and he gave her a quick squeeze before hurrying toward his car. He gave her one last wave before getting into the SUV.

Her other brothers had helped her empty the house, taking the furniture and items she wouldn’t need; their wives had eagerly gone through the knickknacks and other small treasures left from Echo’s previous marriages.

She was free of all that now.

And she couldn’t help but think her brothers and their families would be relieved she wasn’t around. Even though performing in the ritual was supposed to be a great honor, and she didn’t for a minute feel ashamed of her actions, it was difficult for them to be related to the woman who’d sexed up three men in front of the entire pack.

Echo laughed. It was all so silly.

She understood herself so much better. Her new self-awareness was just another gift from the Three Brothers.

She’d packed her clothes and a few sentimental items. She planned to travel. And if a very tiny part of her thought she might be running away, then so be it. She would go wherever she felt like, and she could feel safe. The new tattoo on her shoulder was rare, but known: singulus licentia. If she showed the tattoo to any pack member, they would grant her both protection and shelter, if needed.

Echo climbed into the front seat and gripped the steering wheel. She started the car and heard the quiet roar of the engine. She put the car into gear and turned onto the road that would lead her away from the village.

A week. Seven days of not knowing where they had gone, what their real names were, if she would ever see them again. Her soul ached.

It was selfish to want them all. How could one woman think to satisfy the mating requirements for three men? It was a stupid dream.

But she dreamed it all the same.

She drove automatically, lost in memories and thoughts of all that she’d experienced as the lover of River, Stone, and Ash.

So, she wasn’t too surprised to find herself parking in front of the glass and chrome mansion where some of her happiest memories had been created.

Echo got out of the car. She couldn’t resist going up the landscaped walk, and laying her hand against the door.

No one was there.

It would be absurd to knock. And for all her new feelings of worth and joy, she knew without a doubt she would fall to her knees and beg to be with them.

Her breath caught in her throat, and tears threatened.

While she still had her dignity, she turned…

…and the door opened.

“Echo.” River stood in the doorway dressed in a knit cable sweater and a pair of faded jeans. His feet were bare, and his hair tousled. Gods, he was gorgeous.

“River.” She clenched her fists and commanded her feet to stay planted. She so very much wanted to throw herself in his arms. “I was leaving. So, wanted to say good-bye. Again.”

He cocked one eyebrow. “Good-bye?”

“Oh, stop tormenting her,” said Stone as he pushed his brother to the side. “You missed us, didn’t you?”

Echo nodded.

Stone was yanked backward and Ash appeared. “You came back.”

“I… of course. I wasn’t supposed to, was I?”

“We hoped you would,” said River. “The choice had to be yours.”

“What choice?” Her heart started to pound.

“To be the mate of the Alphas,” said Stone.

“Our mate died many years ago,” said Ash. “And we didn’t believe we would find another.”

“All three of you share a mate?” she asked. She blinked. “Wait. You’re the Alphas?”

Her knees began to buckle, and all three men rushed out to grab her.

“Sweet Echo,” murmured Ash. “Say you’ll be ours.”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes.”

Echo was finally home.

Together, they led her inside the house, and showed her how much and how well three men could love their woman.

The End

Kidnapped by the Werewolf

FROM THE BACK of the speeding car, Bo Brown lay across the seat, attempting to liberate his bound hands. His wrists bled from trying to wiggle out of the sturdy rope threaded with pure silver. The silver had weakened him considerably, which meant shifting into his wolf form was out of the question, but his persistence was about to pay off.

The black sedan zipped along Main Street, taking no heed of stoplights or the slickness of the roads due to an earlier thunderstorm. Bo knew the man driving the car didn’t care about road rules—as a member of the Wellsford’s police force, he had carte blanche to do as he pleased.

“You still conscious back there, buddy boy? Hope ol’ Rufus didn’t break your nose.” He chuckled.

Laugh while you can, moron. The ropes loosened and his hands slipped out. He reached down and unwound the rope binding his ankles. Finally free, Bo smiled, wincing at the pain in his freshly bruised jaw. His wrists and ankles burned. Silver was deadly to all shifters and even a small amount caused considerable discomfort. Luckily, the effects of the silver would fade—but he wouldn’t be at full strength for a few hours. They’d taken his wallet and his cell phone—those items were probably destroyed by now. He had to escape so he could call in his pack. The alpha would be pissed off that he’d gone off by himself on a rescue mission without telling anyone.

Yeah, Ellison was going to kick his ass.

And Bo deserved it.

Wellsford, Oregon only had four main cross streets, and the sedan passed through the last one. Bo knew a small grocery store was the last building on this side of town, and only dense woods and miles of unpopulated roads followed.

“Almost to the hunting ground,” the cop said. “I tell you, it’s going to be a real pleasure. The chase is almost better than the kill.”

Bo popped up and lunged forward, grabbing the .357 Magnum he’d seen the cop carelessly toss onto the passenger seat. He wrapped his left arm around the man’s throat and jabbed the gun into his temple. “Pull over you son-of-a-bitch.” He motioned to the store. “In the parking lot.”

The jolt of the brakes being applied almost sent Bo over the front seat, but he’d been prepared. His feet were tucked under the driver’s side, and he tightened his grip on the jerk’s thick neck. The car skidded across the wet pavement and careened to a stop.

“You won’t live, you know. There’s not a place in Oregon—hell, on this planet—where you can hide from Morgan.”

Bo turned the gun with quick, nimble fingers and slammed the man’s head with the butt. The kidnapping cop slumped forward, unconscious.

Slipping out of the car, Bo hurried toward the store and grabbed the front door. Locked. Even if he could get inside, who’d listen to his story? These people had lived in the same place their whole lives. Who would they believe—a total stranger or their local law enforcement led by their beloved mayor?

The gun felt heavy in his hand. He emptied the bullets and put them in his back jeans pocket. He was tempted to throw the gun into the trash receptacle near the door, but he might need it. God forbid he might have to shoot the damned thing. He understood the predator mentality, but in nature, animals hunted for food or attacked to protect themselves and their young.

He looked at an old blue Mazda parked three feet away. He’d only been in Wellsford for two days, but he’d grown up in a small, isolated community. Small town folks trusted easily and didn’t put much stock in locking doors. His suspicions were confirmed when he tried the back door. It opened. So, he scooted inside and dropped down behind the bucket seats.

Soon, he heard two voices—a man and a woman. He hoped they weren’t together. Convincing one person about the injustices perpetuated by Wellsford’s politicos would be difficult enough.

The voices drew closer. He looked up and saw two shadows standing by the Mazda. The smaller shadow bent, and Bo heard the driver’s side door handle rattle.

“Thanks for special ordering Lolly’s food,” the woman opening the driver side door said to the man with her. “I almost forgot to stop by.”

“You know it’s ’cause you got your head stuck in them books.” The man chuckled, his tone flirtatious. “You’re the absent-minded librarian.”

“Very funny, Billy Joe. Don’t you have an overdue book?”

“Ah now, Ava....”

Laughter tinkled, and Bo liked the sweet sound of it. When she drew open the door, he flattened to the floor, letting his gaze adjust to the darkness underneath the passenger seat. Two small green eyes glowed at him. A solid white kitten emerged and, surprisingly, planted herself firmly on his aching shoulder, licked his cheek, and purred.

* * *

AVALINE SHEPARD BID Billy Joe goodnight and got into her car. She tossed the cans of too-expensive cat food onto the passenger seat, then secured her seatbelt and started the engine.

A country-western song blared from the radio, and she adjusted the volume before shifting into reverse and backing out. Humming, Ava tapped the steering wheel in time with the music. She drove out of the parking lot and onto the highway, driving five miles under the 50-mph speed limit.

“Please don’t freak out,” said a man’s deep voice.

Ava shrieked. It was a carjacker! She knew the drill. Never let a criminal take you to a second location. Oh God, oh God. Hands shaking, she grabbed the emergency brake and pulled. The car fishtailed and screeched to a stop. Her heart pounded as she wrestled with the seatbelt. The damn thing wouldn’t unlatch!

“I won’t hurt you,” he said.

She bet he said that to all his victims.

Finally, the seatbelt came undone, and she grabbed for the door handle. A plaintive “meow” stopped her fumbling.

“Lolly!” Ava twisted around in the seat. A tall broad-shouldered stranger sat in her back seat, his face hidden by shadows. Her precious kitten sat on his leg, white fur gleaming in the darkness.

Then another, more dangerous gleam caught Ava’s attention. A big, silver gun was pointed at her face. Her mouth dried and she swallowed the sudden knot in her throat. “Wh-what do you want?”

“I need your help.”

Help? His entreaty confused her. What kind of person asked for assistance while waving around a huge gun?

“If you get out of the car, then I won’t tell the police.” Hah! That would be the first thing she would do.

His derisive snort of laughter sent terror skittering up her spine. “Sorry, sweetheart. You’re stuck with me.”

Her fingernails dug into the seat. She looked at her helpless cat and mentally begged the small creature to leap down or at least claw the villain’s leg. Green eyes glowed at her, and Ava heard a distinct purr. Oh for heaven’s sake—weren’t animals supposed to sense bad intentions?

“You must live outside of town, otherwise, you would have driven in the other direction.”

She lived ten miles out in a small log cabin that had belonged to her grandfather. “I live in town,” she lied. “Next to the police station. I was just taking Lolly for a ride.”

“Yeah, right. C’mon, let’s go to your house.”

This couldn’t be happening. Not in Wellsford. “I’m not taking you to my home,” she whispered. She shuddered to think what he would do to her in such an isolated location. “Shoot me. I’d rather die than have you touch me.”

Ava closed her eyes. She wondered how badly a bullet hurt—if she’d feel a burning pain or anything at all. She heard the man sigh heavily. Her eyes flicked open.

“Don’t be so melodramatic.” He repositioned himself in the seat, and Ava saw his weapon-free hand stroke the cat.

Lolly was a living miracle, an animal Ava had saved. Now a madman mocked Lolly’s goodness by putting his evil hands on her. “Stop mauling my kitten!”

His hand stilled. The gun hovering near her cheek was turned on Lolly. “Drive,” he said. “Or the cat gets it.”

Ava resumed her seat and clutched the steering wheel. Lolly’s only an animal, she told herself as she released the brake and pulled the car onto the highway. But it wasn’t true. No. Lolly was her baby, her companion, and her friend. When people found out she’d given up her life for a cat, she would be a Wellsford legend. She straightened her shoulders. She wouldn’t let despair overwhelm her. There had to be some way to save Lolly. And herself.

* * *

BO SILENTLY APOLOGIZED to the kitten, who thought the gun made a neat toy. He pulled the barrel out of the feline’s claws and rubbed its tiny head. What was with this lady? One minute, she demanded to be shot to keep her virtue intact. The next, she put her fate into his hands to save a cat.

“I’ll take you as far as the next hill,” she said. “Then you have to get out.”

Her audacity was appalling. She obviously had no real survival instincts. What if a real criminal had been sitting in this car with a gun pointed at her? “I need a place to stay for a while.”

“My house is not the Ramada Inn.”

Was she stupid or just insane? Maybe I should drive and keep her close before she does something really dumb. He leaned forward, pressing the Magnum under her chin and regretted the shuddering breath she inhaled. “Pull over.”

She did so. The road cut into a dense forest that prevented moonlight. No street lights dotted this stretch of desolation. The darkness crept around them, closing them into a thick silence…except for the woman’s quick, jagged inhalations.

Was she panicking or something worse? “What’s wrong with you?”

She didn’t answer. Her breathing worsened, almost disappearing. She gasped and wheezed. Bo withdrew the gun then reached above him and flicked on the dome light. In the rearview mirror, he saw her pale face, her brown eyes wide and dilated. Her lips looked blue.

“Asthma,” she whispered. “Medicine.”

“Where?”

“House.”

Bo didn’t hesitate. Dumping the kitten onto the floor, he got out and opened the driver’s side door. The woman’s face was stricken, and her hands clawed at her throat.

“Please. Don’t. Leave. Me.”

* * *

“I WON’T,” BO said. He put the gun in the back of his jeans then lifted her out of the car. Tears welled in her eyes and guilt sliced through him. He hated that this woman thought he was capable of leaving her to die. He placed her in the back seat and wiped the wetness from her face.

“Can you help me get to your house?”

She nodded. Damn, she looked bad. The terrible rasping scared him. He shut the door, jumped into the driver’s seat and gunned the engine, spinning gravel as he pulled the vehicle onto the road.

“Next left,” she managed to gasp. “Two miles.”

“Okay. Hang on and keep breathing.” Bo almost missed the turn, but he whipped a quick left onto the bumpy dirt road. He pressed the accelerator to the floor.

The cabin’s outside light flared brightly in the dark. Bo pulled up next to the long, flat porch, killed the engine, took the keys, and got out. He gathered the woman into his arms and hurried to the door. “Which key?”

“Gold,” she rasped.

Bo inserted the key and pushed open the door. He barely had time to register the homey surroundings, but he was grateful for the soft glow of lamps. He placed the lady onto the puffy tan couch and bent down. “Where’s the medicine?”

“Kitchen. Drawer.”

“Which one?”

She shook her head, her terrified gaze cutting him to the core. He took her ice-cold hands and squeezed reassuringly. “C’mon, sweetheart. Which drawer?”

“Stove.”

Four long strides to the right put him in the small kitchen. Only one drawer was by the stove. He yanked it out and took it to the couch. He watched her choose a small box, withdraw an inhaler, and greedily suck it in four times.

Eons passed before the wheezing stopped. Her face regained some color, and she straightened on the couch. “Thank you. You could have left me to die.”

“No, I couldn’t.”

He met her surprised gaze, and he knew she’d seen his concern.

“My name is Avalina, but most folks call me Ava.”

“I’m Bo. Bo Brown.” He turned abruptly and checked out the cabin. The large living room took up most of the space. The couch Ava sat on faced a huge stone fireplace. Two wingbacks graced each side of the couch. Bookshelves lined the walls and overflowed with hardcovers, magazines, and papers. The kitchen was on the right, and just off it, was a breakfast nook with enough space for a small table and two chairs.

Opposite the living room was a door. He opened it and flicked on the light. A huge four-poster bed with fluffy pillows and thick quilts occupied the center of the room. Next to the bed, he noted the elegant antique table piled with paperbacks. The only other piece of furniture was an enormous dresser. She’d crowded the top with photos, knick-knacks, and—surprise—books. He figured the door to the right of the bed led to the bathroom.

He returned to the couch and found Ava’s eyes closed as she slowly drew in breaths. His heart skipped a beat. She wore little make-up on her heart-shaped face, and her alabaster skin—smooth as silk—certainly didn’t need any enhancements. Long, chestnut-colored hair swirled around her shoulders. She was a tiny thing, too, with a backbone of steel. She smelled like spring flowers. She was a beauty, this hostage he’d claimed. Under any other circumstances…

He sighed then took the gun from his jeans and placed it on the burnished wood coffee table. It was a gesture of trust. He hoped she understood the message. Then he went to the car, grabbed the cat, and the food. He brought the cat to Ava and put the cans on the kitchen counter.

“Do you have a television?” he asked.

“I don’t own a television. It weakens the mind.” She looked at him. “You must watch a lot of it.”

Bo grinned, relieved she felt well enough to insult him. “How about a land line or a cell phone?”

“No.”

“A computer?”

She shook her head. “I choose to live simply.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head in return. “You’re an asthmatic with no way to reach emergency services?”

She stared at him, a stubborn glint in her eyes. He suspected she had a way to contact someone if necessary, but she wouldn’t tell him. Why should she? He’d kidnapped her. Bo rubbed his chin. No TV, phone, or computer. That left one thing to do while he thought about his options. “I’ll make dinner.”

He went into the kitchen and opened the fridge. He pulled out mushrooms, onions, carrots, broccoli and cauliflower. He found some soy sauce and a decent frying pan that would serve as a wok. He chopped the veggies as the pan heated on the gas stove.

“I was defrosting meat patties for hamburgers,” Ava called from the living room.

“I don’t eat meat,” Bo responded, pouring sauce into the pan. “You want to be a carnivore, you’ll have to cook it yourself.”

“You’re a vegetarian?”

“Vegan.” His sisters loved to teased him about being a vegan werewolf, but he’d made the choice at the age of eight—the night he watched his father die at the hands of human predators. And, of course, all the horror that came afterwards. John Brown hadn’t been a werewolf, but he’d fallen in love with one. Bo had never known his biological mother—she only stuck around long enough to give birth to him. His dad had raised him the best he could, especially given that his son turned out to be more shifter than human. Bo had been taken in by the Winter Pack after his father’s death and adopted by a loving mother with three daughters, two younger than him, and one that had only been a year older. His family. The one now trapped by the mayor and his cronies.

“We kill plants to eat them,” said Ava.

“Plants don’t have eyes,” Bo said, throwing the vegetables into the sizzling hot pan. “Eyes are windows to the souls. And animals have souls.”

Bo found the plates and distributed food to each one. Lolly rubbed against his legs and yowled. “Yes, your highness.” He plated her cat food and put it on the floor.

After they finished their meals, he cleaned up the kitchen, returned to the living room, and started a fire, then settled next to Ava on the couch. Lolly was a ball white fluff in her lap.

“You said you needed help.” Her gaze traveled from the gun on the coffee table to his face. Her direct gaze disconcerted him. Her brown eyes held a shadow of fear, but the main emotion he discerned was confusion. She appeared to be trying to puzzle out how he’d gone from carjacker to dinner guest.

Bo glanced away, trying to quell the prickling awareness of desire he felt for this woman. His attraction to her was unexpected and unwanted. He stared at the dancing flames in the fireplace. “My father loved animals. He worked with rescue organizations his whole life to save the lost ones. The abused ones. My dad taught me to respect all life.”

“You were never going to shoot me.”

He blanched. “No.”

“Why didn’t you just ask for a ride? Or for whatever help you needed. Plenty of folks in Wellsford would hand you the shirt right off their backs.”

“I didn’t know who to trust.”

Ava seemed perplexed by the comment.

“Look, I understand why you think people in Wellsford would be helpful. I live in Wolf Spirit, Alaska. It’s a tiny community with very nice folks. People you can count on.”

As she thought about his answer, her mouth puckered in a way that made Bo’s skin prickle with heat.

“Why did you come to Wellsford?” she asked.

He studied her and knew, on a gut level, he could tell her the truth. He wasn’t sure if she’d help him, but she’d been willing to fight for Lolly’s life. That said something about her character. Or maybe her mental state. A woman who would give up her own life to save that of a kitten might be a little crazy.

But that was the kind of crazy he understood.

And admired.

“What do you think about werewolves?”

Ava lifted an eyebrow. “Depends. What do you think?”

Her voice held disbelief. Most humans didn’t realize shifters lived among them. Werewolves usually created communities outside of human-populated cities, but plenty of shifters lived among their lesser brethren. The key was finding out whether or not Ava was among those who knew shifters existed. If her expression was any indication … well, he didn’t have a lot of hope she’d believe him.

Unless he showed her.

He couldn’t do that until the effects of the silver had worn off. Given his exhaustion at this moment, he didn’t think he’d be able to shift.

“I’m not crazy,” he said. “Werewolves are real. And there are other kinds of shifters out there, too.”

“I know.”

Surprised, Bo looked at her. “You do?”

“A small pack used to live nearby. Around fifty members. The Shepards have lived here practically since Wellsford was founded, and my grandparents said the werewolves had been here long before the humans built the town.”

“The pack left?” Bo frowned. Why would a pack that had been in the area for generations leave its territory? Oregon fell into the general domain of the Winter Pack, but the individual packs didn’t rely on a central command structure—not like the Shadow or Moon Packs used. Winter Pack werewolves tended to stay in small groups and live in forested areas. All the same, he was surprised to learn that werewolves, once part of the Wellsford’s community, had abandoned a long-held site.

“A few years back there was some trouble between the pack and the townsfolk. It was a Romeo and Juliet kind of a situation—a human girl with a werewolf boyfriend. They committed suicide together.” Ava shook her head. “It happened the year I went to college, so I wasn’t here. My grandfather told me the werewolves decided it would be better for everyone if they relocated.”

Bo had a sick feeling in his stomach. “I don’t know if that’s true, Ava.”

“What?” She frowned at him, her eyebrows crinkling in the most adorable way.

Stop admiring her, you idiot.

Bo dragged his thoughts from the charming Ava back to the matter at hand. His mother and sisters had gone to Seattle for a week of fun and relaxation. He honestly hadn’t paid much attention to the talk of spa treatments and shopping plans. He had made sure they knew about the local shifter contacts in case they had an emergency, and he’d used Google Earth to survey the shifter parks—secret locations where shifters could freely and safely roam in their other forms. These parks were considering neutral zones, so anyone using the parks usually behaved.

The third day of their Seattle trip, Bo didn’t get a single phone call. As a freelance website and graphic designer, he’d been at the tail end of an intense project, so it was three o’clock in the morning before he’d come up for air. Only then had he realized he hadn’t gotten the daily safety-check phone call from Mom.

He’d tried to call her right away, figuring he’d rather know she was okay even it meant pissing her off. He’d been sent directly to voicemail. He was very, very protective of his family, and for the umpteenth time since they left for Seattle, he’d regretted not going with them. When he couldn’t contact his mother or his sisters … he got the first flight to Washington.

“My mom and my sisters disappeared from Seattle a couple of days ago. I tracked them here—to Wellsford. I found them at a place north of town. It looks like a military compound.”

“Ryer Benson’s place. Everyone knows Ryer is one taco short of a combo platter. He’s a survivalist. He teaches people how to prep for the end of the world, that kind of thing. He doesn’t bother folks, though. Why on earth would he kidnap shifters from Seattle?”

“That’s not a survivalist camp, Ava. Benson’s place is a hunting ground.”

* * *

AVA WAS QUICK-MINDED. Obviously, she thought about his accusation and tracked it all the way back to when local pack left the area. She paled, bringing her hand up to her throat. “Oh, God. Cranfield Morgan’s daughter was the one who died. He’s the mayor now.”

Yeah. Bo had the displeasure of meeting Mayor Morgan just a couple hours before. After Bo had gone to the police to report that his kidnapped family was imprisoned in a concrete bunker with more security than the Pentagon, he’d been taken to the mayor’s office. Morgan had actually laughed as he explained his sick scheme: recruiting wealthy humans looking for illegal thrills to hunt and kill shifters. The arrogant bastard even admitted that he’d injected an experimental drug into the shifters to keep them in their animal forms.

Luckily for Bo, the assholes kept that poison at the compound. After, they’d knocked him unconscious, tied him up, and tossed him into the car. If he hadn’t awakened in the back seat—no one could’ve helped him or his family.

Now Ava was his only hope to save his mom and sisters—and the other shifters trapped at that shithole compound.

Ava cleared her throat. “Cranfield lost his wife when Missy was two. She was his only child. He took her death pretty hard.”

“He took it further than that,” said Bo. “His grief must’ve turned to hatred. His vengeance is driving him to kill shifters. The money’s probably icing on the cake.”

“Do you think he … he did something to the pack?” asked Ava softly, only mild disbelief in her expression.

God, he hated to shatter her illusions about the mayor and the police of Wellsford. She’d grown up in Wellsford and thought she knew her hometown and its citizens. Breaking her heart was the last thing he ever wanted to do, but he wouldn’t keep the truth from Ava.

“I smelled werewolf blood all over that place. The scent of death is everywhere, too. I found the burial site. It’s a pit filled with bones and decaying shifter bodies.” He swallowed the knot of grief lodged in his throat. “The heads were missing.”

“Oh, God.” She bent her head and sucked in a shaky breath. “This can’t be true. It’s too awful.”

Bo could do nothing but wait for her response, his heart pounding with dread. What if she thought his story was bullshit, and she found a way to contact the police? He glanced at her, tension cording his muscles.

Finally, she nodded and met his stare again. “I could see the violence in Cranfield,” she said reluctantly. “The way anger burned in his eyes even when he was smiling. He used his own money to supplement our tiny police force, but he hired outsiders.” Her mouth turned down at the corners. “The police chief retired, and then Rufus took over.”

“Rufus.” Bo moved toward her, his hands palms up in an open gesture. “That’s the guy that knocked me out and was taking me to the hunting site when I escaped.”

Ava grimaced at his words, but didn’t flinch as he drew closer. “I guess we all knew something was off-kilter, but we figured since Cranfield had lost his wife to cancer and his daughter to suicide, he deserved some slack on his decisions. Grief is a powerful thing.”

“Yes,” said Bo. He remembered too well how hatred for humans had burned inside him like a growing, hungry flame after his father died. But between his adopted mother’s nurturing and the Winter Pack alpha mentoring, he’d eventually found peace. He’d learned to forgive. He sat down on the couch near Ava, but with enough distance to be non-threatening. “But so is love. Love can conquer almost anything.”

“Almost?”

“It’s too late for Cranfield. Trust me when I say he’s a heartless prick.”

She pressed her lips together, as though to stop them from trembling, then she nodded. “We must stop the mayor,” she said decisively. “And we need to rescue the shifters.” She reached over and placed a shaking hand on his. “We need to rescue your family.”

“None of which we can do tonight,” said Bo, frustrated, trying to ignore how much her cool touch heated his blood. “I need to call the alpha. He’ll be able to send reinforcements.”

“We’ll go into town early tomorrow and use the library’s phone.” She withdrew her hand and offered him a sheepish smile. “A cell phone won’t work out here, but I do have a two-way radio to contact my friend Diane. She lives down the road a little ways. We watch each other’s backs.”

When she’d stood earlier to take her plate to the kitchen, he’d noticed she had a really cute butt. So, if she was looking for more volunteers, he’d watch her back anytime. “It’s nice to have someone who looks out for you.”

Ava stared at him for the longest moment. She must have seen something in his expression, because Bo saw desire flicker in her gaze, a sharp need that matched his own. Under any other circumstances, he’d pursue Ava. He couldn’t remember a time he’d been so enamored by a woman. What was it about her that made him want to both ravage and protect her?

“I’ll bring you a blanket.” She rose, carrying Lolly with her. When she returned, she placed a fluffy pillow and a quilt on the couch. She held out a purple dressing robe. “Your clothes are filthy. If you give me your pants and shirt, I’ll put them in the washer.”

He obliged, watching her expression as she studied his naked form from head to toe. He saw her swallow hard, and could practically smell her pheromones ignite. She wanted him with the same desperate longing he felt.

She took his clothes. “Good night, Bo.”

“Good night, Ava.”

He’d tossed and turned most of the night. Between nightmares of not getting to his family in time and wet dreams of a naked Ava, Bo felt groggy as hell when 5 a.m. came around.

After dressing and eating the light breakfast Ava made, they took her Mazda to Wellsford’s small library, which was located downtown across the street from the building that housed the police, court, and mayor’s offices.

Bo used the phone behind the checkout desk to call Ellison and got a very grumpy alpha. He explained where he was and why—and got the reaction he’d expected.

“You’re a fucking moron,” said Ellison. “You should’ve told us that Kendra and the girls were missing before you left for Washington.”

“Eli—”

The alpha cut him off. “Let’s just focus on what you need, kid. I’ll get in touch with the nearest pack to you and have them send enforcers.”

“I can’t wait for them.”

“I know. Just try to stay alive long enough for help to get there.” Eli sighed. “Seriously, man. It’s been twenty years. When will you learn to trust us? We’ll always have your back.”

“I know that,” said Bo.

“Yeah. Sure. I want to know the minute everyone is safe and on their way home. Including you.”

“You will.” Bo hung up, feeling like a stupid teenager, even though he was twenty-eight and knew the hardships of being a man. He looked at Ava. “Help is on the way.”

* * *

AVA SMILED REASSURINGLY, or at least hoped she looked like she was reassured. Bo seemed even more tense than he had last night, but that intensity made him even more attractive. He had the sharp good looks of James Dean with eyes as blue as sapphires. His long, dark blond hair fell in waves around his shoulders. Honestly, he looked more like a California surfer than an Alaskan werewolf. He was lean and muscled, and now that she knew he wasn’t a carjacker, she fully admired the fit of his jeans.

This morning, she’d made him breakfast—toast, fruit, and organic coffee. Tiny gestures, but the only thanks she could offer him for saving her life. Though truthfully, if she hadn’t been so scared by him she probably wouldn’t have had an asthma attack. It had been dumb to leave her inhaler at home, but she’d used up her old one, and hadn’t gotten the new one out of the box yet to put in her purse. Lesson learned. Staring at Bo now, she couldn’t imagine being frightened of more than losing her heart.

“Stay here,” he said, his gaze soft as he smiled back at her.

Her pulse stuttered at that delicious look. Maybe when everything had settled down—

Wait a minute. “What do you mean stay here?”

“I’m prey, remember? So is my family. We’re shifters, Ava. We’re tough.”

Her ire rose at the implication. “But I’m human, so I’m weak?”

He raised his hands. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

She tried not to go weak-kneed at his flexing biceps. Instead, she jumped on the opening he gave her. “Good.” She grabbed her car keys. “Let’s go then.”

“No, Ava.” He grasped her shoulders, and she felt the warmth of his fingers through her T-shirt. “I won’t risk your life.”

He stroked her arms, his fingertips gliding to her collarbone and up her neck. Her heart thumped wildly as the sensations he wrought made her lower parts clench.

“Lolly needs you,” he said.

Guilt flooded as she though about the purring ball of fur she’d left on the couch, but shook her head, and stepped closer to him until their bodies were millimeters apart. She tilted her head back to meet the full weight of his gaze. “You need me more.”

“You have no idea,” he breathed, and then gave in to the same impulse that drove her forward to meet his descending mouth. He dragged her into his embrace and her fingers threaded through his soft hair as he drank from her like she was the last sip of water in a vast desert.

She was glad he held her close because her knees buckled as she sank into him, into the hard planes of his chest, and the growing evidence of his desire. The kiss turned fervent and fire race through her veins. Ava had never wanted anyone more than she wanted Bo.

He broke their kiss, and she was startled at his eyes. They had changed—resembling more a wild wolf. A growl rumbled from him. “We will pick this up later,” he said.

“Damn right,” she agreed.

Reluctantly, he let her go. She had to lean against a nearby bookshelf and inhale while she tried to get her equilibrium back. He chucked her under the chin, and said, “I’ll be back. Promise.”

She followed him resolutely out the library’s back door. Last night when she’d cleaned his jeans, she’d found the bullets in his pocket. She’d taken the gun from her coffee table, loaded it, and stuck it in her purse. She had a shotgun in the cabin for protection, but she hadn’t shot a pistol in years—and certainly not one as large as the .357.

“Ava, damn it. You’re putting yourself in danger.”

“So are you.” She unlocked the driver’s side door and slid behind the wheel. To her relief, Bo got in the car.

“This is a bad idea,” he said.

“A supremely bad idea,” she agreed.

Half an hour later, they reached the edge of Ryer’s property. Hiding the Mazda by a copse of trees, she followed Bo through the woods until they reached the edge of a field. Fifty yards away was a rectangular concrete building. It had no windows, but it did have a huge metal door that looked as though the military had installed it. An eight-foot-tall chain link fence topped with coils of barbed wired surrounded the building. An armed guard stood at the gate entrance. He looked imposing—and so did the submachine gun in his hands.

He looked at her. “My best chance is shifting and taking out the guard. He has a pass card that will open the gate and the compound’s door.”

“That’s your plan?” she whispered furiously. “Did you see the size of his gun?”

“Yes,” said Bo. “Mine’s bigger.”

She blanched, knowing he wasn’t talking about the .357 in her purse. He reached for the edge of his T-shirt, presumably to start disrobing so he could turn into a werewolf. Ava had never seen a werewolf shift before, and had to admit she was very interested in seeing how it happened.

“Don’t bother, pretty boy.”

Ava felt a cold metal barrel press against her cheek. Terrified, she glanced at Bo, and saw his hands go up. She couldn’t see the person shoving the gun into her face, but she knew his voice. Rufus—the chief of police.

“Move.”

Ava was pushed roughly into the field. Bo joined her with his hands still raised. She clutched her purse, covertly unzipping it and sticking her hand inside. It was easy enough to find the gun, considering how big the damned thing was.

“Avalina Shepard, what are you doing with that criminal?”

Mayor Morgan walked toward them. He was dressed in camouflage, his silver hair tucked under a brown knit hat. Rufus forced them to walk to the compound’s guard, who now aimed his gun at Bo. The mayor joined them, his smile less than friendly.

“I kidnapped her,” said Bo. “I made her to help me.”

The mayor’s eyes glittered with suspicion. “That true, Ava?”

She knew that Bo was trying to save her, but she couldn’t let him get hurt. She wouldn’t walk away from him or his family, even it meant risking her own hide.

“What are you doing, Cranfield?” she asked. Pity laced her voice, and the mayor’s gaze narrowed. “Do you think your wife would be proud of the man who kills innocents for money?”

“Shut up, girl. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Ava refused to be cowed by his anger. “What about Missy? She loved a shifter.”

“And look where that got her,” said Cranfield bitterly. “Dead. Killed by that werewolf son-of-a-bitch.”

“She committed suicide,” said Ava. “That’s not your fault. And that’s not the fault of the werewolves, either.”

For a moment, she thought Cranfield might hit her, but he kept his fists at his sides. His furious expression suddenly turned amiable. It scared her how easily he donned that mask. One that had fooled most of the townsfolk. But his true nature was the closest to evil that she’d ever seen.

“You’re a lying, murdering coward,” hissed Ava. “I hope you burn in hell.”

Bo grabbed her arm and yanked her behind him. “She has nothing to do with this, Morgan.”

“I’ve known her since she was knee-high to a grasshopper, and I’ve see that look in her eyes before. That girl is as stubborn as the day is long. It’s a pity she has to die.” He winked at Rufus. “Where we gonna find another librarian as pretty as our little Ava?”

Rufus’ laugh was ugly.

Ava felt sick to her very core. What have I done?

Bo growled then suddenly side-kicked the guard. Ava heard the man’s knee crack as he dropped to the ground screaming. Bo stomped his head. Ava heard another sharp, awful crack—and the guard went utterly still.

Rufus and the mayor froze, unable to comprehend the fast, vicious movements of the pissed-off werewolf. Bo punched the mayor, and he went down like a sack of rocks.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rufus aim his gun at Bo. Ava grabbed the Magnum in her purse and yanked it up. Unfortunately, she hadn’t unzipped it fully, and the gun, unable to fit through the hole, caught inside.

Shit! Ava lifted her purse and pulled the trigger. The gun jerked upward and the bullet blew a hole through the side of her purse before it slammed into Rufus. He yowled as he stumbled back, sinking to his knees as blood spurted from his stomach wound.

“Avalina!”

“I’m fine!” she huffed, trying to find her inhaler in the damaged purse. She waved him on. “Get your family.”

Bo ripped a lanyard off the dead guard’s neck and used it to access the gate. Then he used the same card to open the massive metal door. He ducked inside, and within a minute he was striding back toward her, relief all over his expression. Behind him, wolves began to emerge.

Bo wrapped her in his arms and hugged her hard. He let her go and looked down at her. “Are you all right?”

She laughed shakily, gripping her inhaler with her right hand. “Yeah. I’m—watch out!” She shoved Bo hard as she could just as the mayor squeezed the trigger on the .38 pistol aimed at them.

An explosion of pain stalled the breath in her lungs worse than any asthma attack she’d ever had. She stumbled backward and fell to the ground. Her inhaler knocked loose from her hand, and incomprehensively, she tried to reach for it. Her hands lacked the strength. She lay on her back—the warmth of her own blood flowed across her chest.

Bo’s scream of denial turned into a vicious deep-throated growl. Ava didn’t see his shift, but she knew the golden-furred wolf padding past her was Bo. He was as beautiful as a wolf as he was a man.

Ava tried to get up, but blood loss made her weak, and her shoulder felt like someone had set it on fire. Despite the pain making her vision blur, she saw the four huge felines slinked down toward the mayor. She realized they were lynxes, their ears tipped with tufts of black fur, and their coats white with gray markings. From reading, she knew the species of cats were mainly found in Alaska and Canada.

One of the lynxes broke off from the pack and came to her. Ava stared at the cat with a mixture of awe and trepidation. The lynx put its paw on Ava, a gesture of comfort. It’s golden eyes offered comfort, too. Ava focused on that beautiful gaze even as her mind clouded, and she descended into darkness.

* * *

AVA WOKE UP in a hospital bed. The first thing she noted was that her shoulder was bound up like a mummy. The second thing she noticed was Bo. He stood next to her bed, and next to him were three gorgeous women. They wore shirts that were varying shades of pink and jeans that fit them like second skins. Each had long silvery blonde hair that they pulled into ponytails. Something about them seemed familiar.

“Hi,” she croaked.

“Hey,” said Bo. He stroked her cheek. “How do you feel?”

“Not bad.” Her thoughts were jumbled. “A little confused.”

“That’s the morphine on both counts” said one of the blonde pixies. “I’m Arise.”

“I’m Rinne.”

“Sarlie,” said the third.

“Your Bo’s family.”

“My sisters,” Bo confirmed. “My mom is Kendra. She went to the cafeteria to get everyone sandwiches.” He took her hand. “I can’t thank you enough. You helped me save my family—and about a hundred other shifters, too.”

“That’s great,” she said with a groggy smile. She looked at him. “It was nice of you to visit me.”

“Visit? Are you kidding?” Arise slung an arm around her brother. “He hasn’t left your side for the last three days.”

Ava’s mouth dropped open. “I’ve been out for three days?”

“The doctors kept you doped up so that you would sleep,” said Bo. “You’ll probably need physical therapy for that shoulder.”

“Ah. The patient is awake.” A lithe woman, a little older than the sisters but just as graceful, came to the bedside.

Ava recognized the woman’s eyes...the last ones she’d seen before passing out. “You’re the lynx.”

“Mom, this is Ava.”

“You are lovely and brave. A perfect mate for my son.”

“He’s a wolf,” said Ava. Then she processed Kendra’s words. “Wait. His mate?”

“He’s adopted,” said Rinne. Or maybe it was Sarlie.

They looked so much alike, and with the morphine dripping in her veins, Ava couldn’t really figure out who was who. “Sounds like a long story,” said Ava. “I love long stories.”

“I’ll be here to tell you,” said Bo.

Kendra shared a look with her daughters, and they left the room.

“I’m sticking around Wellsford for a while,” said Bo. “You know somewhere I can stay?”

“I might,” said Ava. “As long as you like cats.”

Bo grinned. “As a matter of fact, I do.” He leaned down and kissed her softly. And Ava knew then that her heart had been captured by the werewolf.

The End

Her Billionaire Werewolf

KADE STONEWELL CLUTCHED the Styrofoam cup filled with his too hot Sumatra blend coffee and studied the brown lid with an undeserved intensity.

Then he sneaked another look at the beauty two tables away from his own.

The floral scent of the female’s perfume mixed with her pheromones. He felt a stirring within—dark sensuality, unquiet need. His nostrils flared, and inwardly, his wolf’s snout rose, sniffing the air, breathing her in, growling in approval.

As the alpha of the Moon Pack, he had the right to choose his own mate. However, if he failed to make that choice—or the woman declined the privilege—he would then be subject to pack rule. Accepting a mate chosen by pack vote wasn’t quite as barbaric as the bride lottery favored by some packs, especially those in the Western United States. In fact, his cousin was a current participant in the Choosing ceremony being held in Bleed City, Nevada—a Shadow Pack protectorate. Unfortunately, there was only one eligible female: Nicole Mills.

Plenty of successful alpha unions had come about from arranged marriages. But Kade knew from experience that Nicole would not be a good mate. After all, he’d tried to develop a relationship with her. Last year, when he became alpha of the Moon Pack, he began dating Nicole in the hopes they would bond—and mate.

It took less than a month for his hopes to be dashed.

Nicole was a pampered and spoiled only child of her parents, and she expected the princess treatment from everyone, especially him. She was shallow and self-centered, caring far too much about spa treatments, shopping trips, and expensive jewelry. He realized quickly that Nicole’s self-centeredness would never allow her to put anyone else’s needs above her own. So he’d ended it and immersed himself into running the Pack.

But pack law was clear.

The alpha had a priority to mate and breed, and if he didn’t find a bride on his own—then the pack would find one for him. From the moment he’d gained the honor of becoming alpha, the countdown clock started ticking. One year to find a mate of his own choosing or he forfeited choice to pack vote. And that left only Nicole, who was not only a werewolf, but she was also willing to marry him and have his pups. Her personality flaws were irrelevant so long as she remained loyal to him and to the pack.

And that’s why he was here.

For her.

Lilly Addison.

Fifteen minutes until midnight, on a Friday night no less, so the bookstore coffee shop was mostly empty. Tired clerks enjoined customers to bring their purchases to the front registers, but last-minute browsers still scurried among the shelves.

Kade sipped the coffee, deemed it too hot, and took another longer look at the woman. She wore her blonde hair long. It was obviously dyed, with multi-toned highlights and loose curls that flirted with her shoulders. She was rounder, more fulsome, than so many of the stick-thin human females who tied personal worth to numbers on a scale. For him, beauty did not come in bony packages. Most werewolves preferred women with curves, with substance—women who would not break during mating.

Her concession to summer was a pair of khaki Capri pants, and a filmy patterned shirt with three-quarter sleeves. Yes, she was beautiful, but he recognized camouflage when he saw it. She was tall, too, her long legs stretched out under the table, her ankles crossed, her feet shucked from cork wedge heels. He noticed the pretty red toenails and the little yellow moon tattoo above her ankle. He had the insane image of him flicking his tongue there. What would she taste like? His cock was already half-hard.

It was time.

He got up, taking his coffee with him, and sauntered to her table. “May I sit?”

She flicked her gaze from her laptop to him, and frowned. He was nearly struck dumb by the intense blue of her eyes. He smiled to hide his discombobulation. She was softer in the face, too, but her beauty wasn’t faded and her make-up wasn’t applied in desperation. That’s what he enjoyed so much about older women—they had grown into themselves, comfortable with their bodies and what they could do with them.

He wondered what she could do to him.

Her gaze revealed nothing, and then she smiled. The impact of her curving lips was nearly as devastating as her eyes—especially with the dimple that appeared like an exclamation point on the left side of her mouth. She closed the laptop and gestured for him to take the seat opposite of her. “Kade Stonewell. New alpha of the Moon Pack. It’s been a long time.”

“Too long, Lilly.”

She eyed him, gauging his youth. “You were what the last time I saw you? Nineteen?”

“Twenty. The last time I saw you we were at Saul’s internment ceremony—seven years ago.”

“Seven years.” She shook her head. “I still miss him.”

“I do, too.”

Lilly had once been a member of the Moon Pack—the mate of one of its most respected betas. When Saul had died, Lilly had left and returned to the human world. Kade wondered what kind life she’d had since then, what had shaped her to become the woman she was now. As much as he liked Saul, he didn’t want the memory of her dead husband floating around in her thoughts while they discussed their own mating. Some ghosts needed to be exorcised.

“You’ve considered my offer?” He’d sent Lilly an email at first, and when she’d responded, he’d called her directly and asked the question: Will you be my mate? She’d asked for twenty-four hours to think about it, and made arrangements for them to meet here just before midnight. It had less to do with the howling hour and more to do with Lilly’s schedule as the owner of this bookstore.

“Yes, I’ve considered your offer,” she said. “Why do you want to mate with me?”

“Because you’re still respected in the pack. And Saul is still honored for his contributions. He was a great man.” It was the truth, but not all of it. He could hardly admit he’d crushed on her. No. He couldn’t reveal the secret longings of a college boy who’d lusted after his own mentor’s wife. He still felt ashamed.

“I’ll give you some street cred, huh?”

“Yes.” He hesitated and then added, “It helps that you’re still young enough to have children.”

“That’s the only reason he couldn’t be alpha, you know.”

“I know.” Saul Addison had the mind and the heart of an alpha, but a genetic mutation had robbed him of the ability to have children. An alpha had to breed, had to create the next generation of leaders. Saul formally renounced his claim and became a historian and archivist not only for the Moon Pack, but for the entire werewolf culture. He became a well regarded scholar in both human and werewolf circles, and taught ancient history at a local university. He’d chosen not to mate and spent nearly his entire life alone—at least until he met Lilly.

“I admit that I miss the pack. The life I had there.” She shook her head, bemused. “But I can’t go back to the past.”

“Then come with me into the future.”

* * *

SHE STARED AT him for a long moment. Then she nodded. “Okay, Kade. I’ll be yours.”

“And I’ll be yours,” he said.

She canted her head. “I suppose that’s true as well.” Her mouth lifted into a crooked half-smile. “You need to scent me, right?”

“The sooner, the better.”

“Come with me,” she said, standing up. She held out her hand, and he rose to take it. He flicked his gaze at the laptop, and she said, “It’ll be fine.”

He noticed she’d also forgone her shoes.

She led him across the gleaming marble floor of the coffee shop, past the glass counter with offerings of pastries and chilled drinks, and into the ladies bathroom.

He locked the door behind them.

Now, that she’d obviously committed to his scenting of her by taking him to a private location, she seemed to run out of steam. While she gathered her nerve, or so he suspected, he took stock of the small bathroom. It was painted mauve and had framed pictures of flowers with swooping lines of poetry bleeding over the edge of the petals. There were two stalls; the doors were open and revealed typical white toilets. The counter was a marbled pink and gold with two sinks. It smelled nice for a bathroom, probably due to the air freshener occasionally hissing from the discreet devices placed on the walls.

She placed a hand on her cocked hip and looked him over. “Well?”

He smiled. Then he enchained her wrists and backed her against the only wall without a dryer or paper dispenser. He liked the way her breath hitched and her eyes went wide. She wet her lips and looked at him, those blue, blue eyes sparking with desire.

God, she was sexy.

“Keep your arms above your head pressed against the wall, crossed at the wrists.”

He could see the debate raging behind those blue, blue eyes. How far would she let him push her? The alpha ruled all, including his woman. But if his woman wasn’t strong, if she didn’t chafe a little at the constraints put on her—well, she wasn’t as strong as he needed or as challenging as he wanted.

Another minute crawled by before he saw her capitulation, but knew she’d drawn a boundary. If he crossed it, tried more than the scenting, he’d find her knee in his crotch, her manicured nails in his eyes. The very idea she might well hand him his ass just made him harder, made him want her more. She was tough, and he appreciated that iron core as much as the softness surrounding it.

He let go of her arms, and she left them above her head, lazily crossing the wrists as though she wanted to do it, instead of conceding to obedience. She even looked amused, as if she were indulging him.

Yeah, honey, keeping looking at me like that. He wasn’t blind. He saw the way her chest rose and fell erratically, as if she couldn’t catch her breath. Her eyes were dilated, and her tongue flicked against that plump lower lip. Every fantasy he’d ever had about her came to the forefront, and tested his control. His wolf struggled for dominance. Take her. Take her all.

No.

Scenting her let other werewolves know she belonged to him. They wouldn’t dare make a move on his intended mate, not unless they wanted a full out werewolf battle with the alpha.

He unbuttoned the top of her Capri pants and lowered the zipper. Then he pushed the material off her hips. She watched him through hooded eyes, and he could smell the musk of her arousal. He resisted the urge to play with the nipples poking against her gauzy blouse. He allowed himself a moment to think about her breasts, about their soft weight cupped in his hands. What color were those peaks? Dusky or coral?

He sucked in a breath and tried to induce some calm. He sank to his knees and pressed a kiss against her rounded belly, flicking his tongue along velvet skin. Her hips were round, too, but perfect. Sexy. Here were the curves of a real woman who knew her worth and not an emancipated girl still searching for hers within calorie counts and yogurt containers.

She wore black silk panties—the kind a woman bought for herself because she wanted to feel beautiful.

And she was.

He drew the panties down, his own breathing unsteady as he revealed the treasure underneath. The trimmed, narrow strip of hair was naturally blonde. It looked as soft and fine like peach fuzz, and there … oh, yes, the juicy center of his favorite kind of fruit. His fingers trembled as he peeled back that delectable skin and looked at the glistening pink.

He leaned forward and breathed her in, her womanly musk offered a more glorious scent than any perfume. He kissed those glossy folds and reveled in the moan she graced him with. He would please her, and later, when they mated, they would please each other.

His slid his tongue over her flesh, gently lapping the evidence of her desire. His cock was so hard it felt as though it might burst from the tight confines of his jeans. The urge to take her, to slam her against the wall, and fill her with his cock was damned near overwhelming.

The thought of other opportunities to touch and kiss and explore this amazing woman was the incentive he needed to ignore his more primitive urges. Well, as much as was possible given his face was buried in her sweetness.

He took his time and went as slow as he could. He learned her clitoris was more sensitive on the left side and that she got more excited when he rapidly flicked his tongue over that juicy pearl of flesh than when he suckled it.

He made her pant, made her moan, and still she kept her arms pressed against the wall forming the X he’d commanded from her. Yet, he was her prisoner. Her worshiper. Her mate.

His fingers dug into her hips as he focused his full attention on pleasuring her. Scenting her with his musk. Her orgasm would release her juices, and his pheromones would be drawn into her, mixing her with cells, letting other werewolves know she was taken.

Her body went still, her gasp turning into a long, low moan. He spent delicious seconds licking her, enjoying the pulsations that throbbed against his tongue.

He licked and kissed her very center until he’d memorized the scent of her, the taste of her. It wasn’t enough, and he suspected, it never would be.

I’m in love with her.

The thought snapped him out of his sexual revelry. He’d wanted Lilly since the first time Saul had introduced her into the Moon Pack. He’d made himself believe that she was the perfect solution to his problem. But the truth was, he wanted her, body and soul.

A true mating.

How she felt, however, was another matter entirely.

He pulled up her underwear and pants. He got to his feet, and then zipped the pants and did up the button. She looked shell-shocked, and he loved that he’d made her feel that way, that her satiation was owed to him.

He grasped her arms and pulled them down. He wondered if she’d even remembered they were still there, invisibly pinned like pale butterfly wings against the mauve background.

“Meet me at Donovan’s tomorrow night. Six p.m. Wear a dress, a short one. And no panties.”

“Already doing the alpha thing, are you?” The whiskey sound of her voice made his cock throb.

He licked her bottom lip, giving her a taste of her own essence, and stepped back. He couldn’t resist leaning in to sniff her neck. He wondered, just for a second, if he should visibly mark her. Just a little bite, a little suck, and both human and werewolf would know she belonged to him.

“I’m not Saul. He had enough beta to control his alpha tendencies. But I don’t. I’ll never be a beta—in heart or mind. You understand, don’t you?”

“I understand the alpha mentality. All or nothing.”

“Good.” He turned on his heel, then stopped and looked over his shoulder. “If you’re late, I’m gonna spank you.”

“Is that a threat to be on time or an incentive to be late?” she asked.

Kade grinned. “Up to you now, isn’t it?”

* * *

DONOVAN’S WAS AN upscale steakhouse tucked into one of the nooks and crannies of downtown. At five minutes to six, Nic waited in the elegant lobby with its overstuffed chairs, abstract paintings, and low lighting. He’d dressed for her, for his sweet, delicious Lilly, even though he knew the Armani suit and the tailored Eton shirt with its gold cuff links, not to mention the Italian leather shoes, would be the same as wearing a sandwich board that screamed: I’M WEALTHY.

He realized now that he’d had his own shiny pride dented, just a little. I know the alpha mentality. All or nothing. Why had he chafed at her accurate verbalization of who he was? Though he would never admit this to another living soul, he had inside him a dangerous yearning: He wanted Lilly to ache for him, to desire him. Just him alone. Screw being the alpha. It was wrong-head thinking. Still. He knew now that Lilly’s body was receptive to an experienced lover—that much had been made clear during the scenting. He had to wonder, though, if she felt something, anything, for him. Even the smallest emotional connection could give them something to build on.

Choosing Donovan’s for their first date was a show-off move. He wasn’t some lovesick boy, damn it. He wished now that he’d stuck to the T-shirt and jeans and sneakers that he’d seduced her in, maybe asked her to meet at a burger joint. He wondered if she would’ve enjoyed that more.

“Kade. Well, well.”

Shit. He turned from staring blindly at the wall to face the one person he didn’t want to see tonight, or any other night: Nicole Mills. She’d introduced him to Donovan’s, and it had quickly become one of his favorite places to dine. He should’ve realized the odds of running into her at the dining establishment, especially on a Saturday evening. Nicole was definitely an advocate of “see and be seen” at the right places. He found her vanity useless and stupid. Kade perused Nicole coldly, but she still preened under the attention. She was two years younger than him, beautiful in a plastic sort of way, and the bony side of thin. She wore a red mini with black calf boots. An oversized designer purse dangled off her scarecrow arm. Nicole liked the human standards of beauty.

“Did you miss me?”

He blinked at her. “What?”

“You’re here—at our favorite place. Obviously, you’re waiting for me.” She pouted at him and put a hand on his arm. Her red nails looked like spots of blood against the black of his suit. “I wondered how long it would take for you to come to your senses.”

He was dumbstruck. She knew that he’d refused her as mate. She knew, too, that he’d been searching for someone else. How arrogant did the woman have to be to assume he would have no choice but her? Irritation flared.

“We’re not mating.”

“Don’t play coy. Time’s up, Kade. The pack’s vote is in less than a week. I’m the only one nominated. Why do we have to go through this drama?”

“There’s no drama, Nicole. We’re not mating.” He plucked her hand off him and looked at his watch. One minute past six. Had Lilly changed her mind? He’d never considered that she wouldn’t show up. His heart dove to his toes.

“Am I interrupting?” Lilly’s voice made relief jitter through him.

He turned toward her, smiling, and nearly swallowed his tongue. She wore a flirty black dress with a plunging neckline; its rippling edges ended mid-thigh. Her simple, elegant high heels were as black as her dress and clutch. The only color in her outfit was a gold pendant necklace—its large yellow stone rested at the top of her cleavage. Her hair had been arranged in an up-do with ribbons of hair framing her face and touching those creamy shoulders. She wore a pair of small gold hoop earrings, but no baubles on her fingers. Here was a woman who knew how to let herself shine.

“Lilly,” he said. “You’re late.” He flicked the warning into the last word.

She smiled, flashing that dimple, and said, “I know.”

His balls tightened and blood rushed to his cock. Smacking the flat of his palm against her quivering buttocks was a sexy enough image that he wanted to ditch dinner, and take her to the nearest hotel. His inner wolf scrabbled. Growled. Yearned.

Nicole, who paled in comparison to sweet, gorgeous Lilly, inserted herself between them. She wrapped an arm around his bicep and said, “My goodness, Lilly! It’s been forever. You have grandkids yet?”

Her voice dripped innocence, but the mean curve of her lips bespoke the true intent of her question. Lilly flicked her gaze to Nicole, who was unprepared for the pitying look she received. While she sucked in an affronted breath, Lilly stretched up and cupped Kade’s face with one hand.

Then she kissed him.

It was a full-on assault with her succulent lips pressed against his, and the lazy sweep of her tongue drawing his own into a delicious duel. She took her time, stamped him with her own brand of possession until his body hummed with need. When she pulled away, her eyes as bright as sapphires, he thought he might fall to her feet and kiss those pretty ankles of hers. He felt as though he was a supplicant chosen by a goddess.

She turned to Nicole, who gaped at them in outrage, and said, “Keep your hands off my mate.”

Nicole’s eyes widened and she snatched her hand off Nic’s arm. “Mate! That’s impossible!” Her nostrils flared, and she leaned in, sniffing at Lilly. “You scented her, Kade?”

“That’s what an alpha does when he chooses his mate.”

“Shall we go, Kade?” Lilly arched a brow at Nicole. “By the way, honey, if you touch him again, you’ll need a plastic surgeon.” She looked at the younger, stick-thin girl in a drawn-out, insulting way. “Better than the one you use now.”

Nicole’s mouth dropped open. But Lilly was done with the silly tart. She offered Kade a sultry look and sashayed away. He stared at her backside, his cock as hard as a fucking steel rod and grinned broadly. Damn, she was definitely an alpha’s mate. His mate.

* * *

I’M SUCH AN idiot. Lilly Addison sat in the curved booth thigh to thigh with Kade because he’d insisted on it, and she didn’t back away from a challenge. Being the alpha’s mate was a delicate balance of strength and submissiveness. Alphas weren’t interested in women who would cow down to their every desire. They wanted women who were strong, and strong women pushed back. Even though there was nearly a decade between them, Kade had the surety of a man who knew what he liked and didn’t mind working for it. He was confident, and had settled into the maturity of his own personhood. Of course, she’d known him when he was teenager, and then a college student.

She’d struggled with her own identity as a younger woman. Her parents had died in a car accident not long after she’d graduated high school, and she’d been their only child. Her college fund went toward funeral expenses and the towering amount of debt her parents had left behind. Their house barely sold above market value, and she’d found a studio apartment to hole up in while she figured out what to do next. She took a string of low-paying jobs and went through a host of loser boyfriends. After a while, she lost any thought of a better life because every day had been a struggle to pay bills, to move forward. To survive.

She split her time between waitressing and working part-time in an offbeat bookstore near the university. It was there she’d met Professor Addison, who’d encouraged her to go back to school. She had a mind for business, he said, and she should use it. Then he offered to fund her education, and she accepted his generosity because she was tired, so tired, of not having something of her own.

She graduated summa cum laude, and the day after the ceremonies, Saul asked her to marry him. He was in his fifties, a man comfortable with himself and his own habits. He introduced her to the Moon Pack, to the werewolf world, and she’d been fascinated with his dual nature. He wasn’t particularly handsome and certainly not fit, but he was kind. And she’d so badly needed kindness. He knew how to tease a laugh from her. He didn’t mind her flaws, her impulsiveness, and he also didn’t mind she didn’t love him the way he deserved. He understood that and accepted it. He’d been a good man, and while she adored him, he never once caused her heart to flutter—not the way Kade did.

She’d been thirty-one when Saul died of a heart attack. He’d gone to part-time teaching with the goal of retiring at the end of the semester. The construction on Addison Books, their dream together, had just started. She followed through with their plans and opened the bookstore. He’d left her a wealthy woman, but the bookstore gave her purpose. She didn’t dishonor her husband’s memory by falling into workaholic habits. She pampered herself with visits to the spa, she took off on impromptu road trips, she visited museums and whiled away hours at cafes. Saul had taught her many things, but the most important had been about keeping balance.

Except around Kade she didn’t seem to have any.

She let Kade order for her, let him chose the wine, and let him direct the conversation. This evening wasn’t about food or drink or small talk. It was merely prelude to the final step of werewolf marriage—the mating. Her mating experience with Saul had been sweet. She’d heard stories about other matings—ones that left the room with broken furniture and the new mates bloodied. She enjoyed making love to Saul, but it had never been rough, exciting, or overwhelming.

After the salads arrived and Kade drizzled his with an inordinate amount of ranch dressing, she asked, “Who was the girl sinking her claws into you?”

“Her name is Nicole Mills. She’s the only current mating nominee—the one who would’ve been inevitably chosen by pack vote.”

“So, your year was almost up—that’s all they give you right? Twelve months to find your own bride, and then the pack chooses.”

He nodded.

“Cutting it close to the deadline, Kade.”

“I was busy.”

“What made you think of me?”

He carefully put down the fork. His hazel gaze pinned hers. “I’ve thought of you often, Lilly. Ever since I had the privilege of being Saul’s student. I wanted you then. I want you more now.”

The possessive growl in his voice zapped her right to her toes. If she’d had panties on, they would’ve been wet. Instead, the moisture slicked her inner thighs. Whew. Lilly sipped her wine. She’d been attracted to Kade back then, too. But those desires had made her feel ashamed, disloyal. Saul had noticed, and they’d talked through it. Saul believed in communicating, no matter how difficult the topic. It was one of the ways he was more beta than alpha. Afterwards, she’d seduced him to prove that her body and her heart belonged to him—and to him alone.

Now, she was going to mate with Kade, and she knew their relationship would be different. For one, it would have passion. The kind of broken-furniture-bruised-body passion she wanted oh so badly. It surprised her to realize he might be the only other man since Saul’s passing who could keep her attention—and keep her in line.

“What’s the point of this?” she said, waving her hand over the table. “You don’t have to woo me.”

His eyes went wild for a moment, making her heart stutter. She squeezed her thighs together. God, he was so fucking hot.

“Let’s go,” he said his voice a low growl.

Lilly abandoned all pretense of eating and pretending she wanted the wine when all she really wanted was him. She tucked her clutch under her arm. Kade got out of the booth, and she wiggled out behind him, accepting the crook of his arm. He tossed a couple of $100 bills onto the table.

He didn’t speak to her as they went up the narrow staircase that led to the building’s lobby, and then through the double glass doors. He obviously hadn’t used the valet service because he strolled down the block to a parking garage. He entered the walkway and took her up a set of concrete stairs, and then they strode across the mostly empty lot.

“We can pick up your car tomorrow,” he said.

“I took a cab.”

He stopped and stared at her; she stared serenely back.

“You expected us to mate tonight,” he said, the possessiveness in his voice skimmed along her spine, made her muscles contract.

“Yes.”

“You’re gonna be work, aren’t you?” He sounded exactly like Saul had when she’d done something of which he approved. He’d never asked her to control her impulsiveness, only that she either enjoy it or pay the consequence for it. Usually she did both.

Kade threaded his fingers through hers and tugged her forward. They crossed the lot to a lone silver car parked at angle in the corner. She whistled. “Aston Martin. Nice.”

She curled her fingers under the passenger door handle, but he enchained her wrist and gently pulled her away.

“Bend over the hood and flip up your dress.” He let go of her and stepped back.

His rough command made Lilly’s stomach quiver, but she placed her clutch onto the sleek roof and sauntered to the hood. She grabbed the edge of her dress and hiked it above her hips … leaning over until her breasts grazed the smooth surface of the hood.

Her concession to exercise was thirty minutes of yoga in the mornings and walking around her neighborhood in the evenings. She wasn’t one to curb her appetites. If she felt like a Ben & Jerry’s pint at three a.m., she went for it.

Her ass was being assessed at this very moment by Kade. She could almost felt the heat of his stare caress her buttocks. God, she was in so much trouble. As she quivered under his thorough study of her naked backside, she wondered what kind of price she would pay for choosing him.

The anticipation buzzed through her like she’d mainlined caffeine. She fully expected the slap of his hand against her buttock any second, instead she felt him slide a finger into her pussy.

“You’re so wet,” he said thickly. “Move back. Place your palms on the car and lift up that beautiful ass.”

She did as she was told, her body prickling with awareness. He’d barely touched her, and yet she was dripping for him. The thrill of being out in a public place, the potential to be seen, to get caught, just made her feel even hotter. It appealed to her nature, the spontaneity Kade offered. His domination of her—that was another turn-on.

He smacked her, hard, and the sweet pain of the blow traveled straight to her very core. She wasn’t ashamed of her moan or of the way her thighs quivered. He spanked her again, and she shuddered, her pussy convulsing.

A couple more swats and she would come.

He was breathing hard, his control ragged—she could hear it in his voice, feel it in the trembling fingers her drew across the welts he’d left on her skin.

He reached between her legs and began to rub her clit. His finger worked her as his other hand came down against her quivering ass.

Again.

Again.

Oh, God.

The orgasm burst, a thousand bright sensations overwhelming her. It was as though she’d fallen into the sun. She clutched at the car as she came, moaning as his palm cupped her slick womanhood, soothing her sweetly ravaged flesh.

“Lilly,” he whispered, dropping his head to her spine and shuddering. “Lilly.”

* * *

LILLY WASN’T TOO surprised when he drove them to the nearest hotel, a glass-and-chrome multi-story that catered to the business class. He said nothing, but his impatience crackled around him. The elevator ride was short, and then he was dragging her down the hallway and into a suite. She barely had time to register the sunken living room or gleaming bar.

Kade was a man on a mission.

She let him yank her toward the bedroom.

He snapped on one lamp then turned. “Take off the dress,” he said tightly, “leave the heels and jewelry.”

She dropped her clutch and peeled off the dress, kicking it away. Then she took off the bra and let it go. She didn’t think he was embarrassed by his need for her. Or the way he’d given her pleasure in the garage—without taking any for himself. He was amazing. Beautiful.

Hers.

She stood before him, naked and vulnerable. He studied her thoroughly, his eyes dark, his body radiating tension. She felt as though his control might snap, and he’d devour her on the spot. His gaze captured hers. “You’re magnificent.”

She knew he meant it.

She walked toward him, no longer young, no longer thin, no longer cautious. She had her own confidence, her own pride. She’d earned every wrinkle, every scar, and every softened curve.

She pushed off his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt. She kissed his firm chest, enjoying the ridges of muscles, the smoothness of skin, and the curls of brown hair that coalesced into a point hidden inside those bothersome pants. She unbuckled his belt, and he stepped back so he could divest himself of clothes.

He was gorgeous. He was taller than her by more than six inches, at least. Unlike the Shadow Pack, the Moon Pack didn’t have a thing about hair. The males wore their locks however they wanted, and no one thought a thing about it. Kade wore his on the short side, the top tousled and sexy.

She fanned her fingers over his pectorals, her thumbs brushing his tiny, brown nipples.

“Bed,” he said in a hoarse voice.

She crawled onto the thick, comfortable mattress, and settled onto her backside, her open arms waiting for him.

He crawled on top of her and nuzzled her neck. Then he started his sensual torments on her breasts, plumping her firm C cups before setting to serious work on her nipples. He sucked them until they were hard, aching. While he squeezed one breast and tweaked the nipple, he cupped the other one and suckled the peak.

Then he switched.

Heat coiled between her thighs and soon became throb of need so overwhelming it took her breath away.

She reached between them to stroke his cock, but he demanded, “Hands at your sides. Don’t touch me until I tell you.”

When he talked her like that, she felt like melting into a puddle. No one dared to boss her around, much less someone nine years her junior. But the alpha, oh, he made her tremble.

He drifted down her stomach, kissing the quivering flesh of her soft belly. He lifted her thighs, so they draped his shoulders, and then he gazed at her most intimate feminine part as though he planned to render artwork of it.

Kade proceeded to make her squirm by touching…squeezing…stroking. Her body hummed with need. Desire swept through her, leaving her quaking with expectation, aching for fulfillment. And after he’d made her want him so badly she fucking hurt…

He settled that talented mouth on her sex and brought her to an earth-shattering orgasm.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

The frenetic tone issuing from Kade’s cell phone was a splash of cold reality on her hot desire. What the hell?

“Damn.” Kade rolled over and grabbed the phone from the nightstand. “I’m sorry, Lilly. I set the emergency tone for my beta’s texts. He would never interrupt unless it was urgent.”

“Of course.” Lilly melted into the bed. “I’ll just lay here and recover.”

He offered her a toothy grin. “We’ve barely started.” He turned his attention to the phone and read the text message. Whatever he’d read had him growling and heaving himself off the bed. He punched a button and put the phone to his ear.

“What the fuck is going on, Matt?” He listened, his expression getting fiercer and fiercer. “This is bullshit. No, we haven’t mated—and a good thing, too, or this situation would be worse. Yes. Okay. I’ll be there in twenty.”

He ended the call and tossed the phone onto the nightstand. “Nicole has lodged protest against you as my mate.”

“What?” Lilly scrambled to a sitting position. “Why?”

“Because she hates to fucking lose. And she’s a petty, moronic bitch.”

Lilly’s heart turned over in her chest. “It’s a tribunal then?”

“Yes. It convenes in three days.” He growled low in his throat. “Fire Pack, Winter Pack and Earth Pack are sending their alphas.”

“Does she have a chance?”

“She has something,” said Kade, “or she wouldn’t pull this crap.” He looked at her. “You were married to Saul and you still hold esteem in our pack. There’s nothing she can pin on you, right?”

Lilly cast her eyes down and felt her heart skip a beat. It hadn’t mattered when she married Saul because he was a beta. Betas had a little more leeway in choosing mates, even ones the pack might consider flawed. She’d never kept secrets from Saul—but he had kept one for her. She swallowed heavily. “I got pregnant when I was nineteen. It was about a year after my parents died and I was struggling. The boyfriend was a drug addict, an asshole. I didn’t have the mental capacity or the financial stability to raise a child. A very nice couple adopted the baby. Not long after that, I started working toward getting back on my feet—and I met Saul.”

Kade had gone stock still. His gaze bore into her with the same painful accuracy as a newly sharpened drill bit. “You gave up a child.”

“Yes. I wasn’t part of the Moon Pack. Hell, I didn’t know werewolves existed, much less their arcane laws about family.”

“Saul knew?”

“Of course he knew.”

“Damn it! I’m the alpha. You didn’t think it was important to tell me you committed one of the most grievous pack sins? A werewolf who abandons its child is subject to expulsion. In some cases, it merits a death sentence.”

“In case you missed it the first time: I was not a pack member.”

“The tribunal may not judge you for giving up your child—they will take into consideration that you made that choice from a human perspective in a human world. But they will wonder about your commitment to motherhood, to the pack, to me because you were capable of abandoning your baby.”

“I didn’t abandon him! I chose a better life for him.” Lilly scooted off the bed and started throwing on her clothes. “You werewolves! You think it’s better for a mother and child to stay together, even when that’s the worst option for the child. I was young and stupid and terrified. I didn’t know how to take care of myself, much less the life growing inside me.”

Fury made her hands shake. She was mad at herself for not telling Kade her only secret, and she was mad at him for being such a…a werewolf! “David’s had food, shelter, stability, and love. He has two wonderful parents and a younger adopted sister. He’s in college. He’s dating a beautiful girl. He has a wonderful goddamned life.” She grabbed her clutch. “And I’m not fucking sorry!”

Lilly was startled at the depth of her fury, of her utter disappointment in Kade. She hadn’t expected things to end so abruptly, and she certainly hadn’t expected to feel this sudden bruising of her heart. She stomped across the room, letting her anger propel her away from the alpha.

“Lilly.” Her name sounded like regret.

She paused at the door, and turned to look over her shoulder. Kade’s gaze was filled with pain and longing. It was then she knew that he really wanted her, and he was undone by her secret, what it meant for them. And if, deep down, there was answering cry in her own soul, she pretended not to hear it.

Lilly left as quickly as she could. She kept the tears bottled. No use blubbering when she was the one walking away. When she entered the lobby, she found the concierge waiting for her.

“Your limousine is waiting, Ms. Addison.”

She nodded, as though she had expected it to be so. Well, then. Kade had managed to give her a final kindness.

The limousine driver held the door open for her, and she told him her home address before she slipped into the back seat. She stared sightlessly out the window until she arrived home. The driver declined her tip, and she smiled at him even though her mouth hurt from the effort.

After she shut her own front door behind her, she slid to the floor and sobbed.

* * *

THE NEXT DAY, Lilly threw herself into every activity imaginable. Business tasks she usually put off, she dove into with relish. She scheduled meetings with everyone, from the accountant to her manager. She even threw an impulsive after-hours party for the employees as a thank you for their hard work and loyalty.

When she awoke the next morning, she felt restless. She had nothing mind-numbing left to do, so she got into her Mercedes and drove to Hot Springs, Arkansas. She spent the evening in a lovely hotel. She ordered room service and tried to read one of the books she’d brought with her.

But not even the impromptu trip, or the shopping spree in the antique shops of Hot Springs, soothed her. Everywhere she went, she saw Kade. How many times had she mistaken someone else for him? Even the slightest resemblance made her heart pound outrageously.

She couldn’t take pleasure in food, either, not even a fantastic ice cream sundae served on a waffle. It was enough. She packed up her car and started the drive home. About hour into the journey, listening to As Time Goes By on her favorite streaming radio station, Lilly was gobsmacked by epiphany.

She could love Nic.

Love him in the way she’d never been able to love Saul.

Already the seed of it was there, growing in her heart, wrapping around her doubts. It was inexplicable as hell. In the blink of an eye, in the beat of a heart, in one deep breath. In love. That’s why she couldn’t find any pleasure in her life. She wanted to be the alpha’s mate.

She wanted Kade.

Even if the man was a wrong-headed fool.

But still. Still.

Was this love worth fighting for?

* * *

TODAY WAS THE DAY. Lilly knew the tribunal would decide Kade’s marital fate, and she’d been wallowing in self-pity and doubt instead of taking a stand and fighting. She was ashamed of herself.

It didn’t take but a single phone call to an old friend within the Moon Pack to find out that the tribunal was meeting at the downtown headquarters of Techno Inc, Kade Stonewell’s multi-billion-dollar company. Unfortunately, the proceedings had already started, so she wasted no time getting there.

When Lilly arrived outside the impressive structure, she took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and entered the lobby of Techno Inc. She spied the receptionist at the end of large foyer, and started in that the direction. The elevator to her right dinged just as she stepped in front of it. The doors slid open and out walked two people she never expected to see in this building.

“John? Trent?”

“Lilly!” The men embraced her and both soundly kissed her cheeks.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

They pulled back, both smiling.

“Our Lilly, a candidate for Tulsa’s Humanitarian of the Year!” said Trent, his blue eyes sparkling. He was in his early 40s, fit and healthy with a shock of red hair. “You’ve been keeping secrets.”

“Don’t give her a hard time,” said John, swatting the arm of his husband. He had swimmer’s build, tall and lanky, and the darkest brown eyes. “She couldn’t breathe a word. They told us as much when we were invited to talk about your contributions to the community.”

Trent wrapped his arm around his partner of twenty-five years. “And your contribution to our family. You’re the reason we’re fathers, Lilly.”

“You two were my gift,” protested Lilly. “Your children have wonderful, beautiful lives because they have the best parents in the world.”

It was an old conversation, one they had often—an exchange of love and gratitude. Finding Trent and John to adopt her baby had been a miracle. David had known since he was a toddler that Lilly had brought him into the world so that Trent and John could love and raise him as their own.

“David will be home in a couple of weeks for a visit,” said John. “Come over for dinner. Sarah’s been practicing the piano, and wants to play you the Harry Potter theme song.”

“She learned it by ear,” said Trent proudly. “She’s amazing!”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” said Lilly. “I love you both.”

“Love you more, Silly Lilly.” The men gave her more hugs and more smacking kisses. Then they held hands, chattering as they headed out of the lobby.

“Lilly.”

Kade. She turned and faced the alpha. Right behind him stood three men, and she knew without question they were the alphas of the other packs. The very ones who had judged whether or not she was worthy to be Kade’s mate.

She was too late to make an impassioned plea. Too late to fight for her place in the Moon Pack. Too late to show Kade she wanted him. Damn, damn, damn. She pressed a hand to her stomach and wet her lips. An ache bloomed in her heart. “The decision has been made then?”

He could’ve made her wait. Maybe even punished her with a heavy silence or an inscrutable expression, but he did neither. He swept her into his arms and kissed her until her entire body felt aflame.

“Oh,” she managed when he pulled back just enough to let her breathe. “Does that mean yes?”

“Damn right it does.”

“You were right, Kade. She’s a helluva woman,” said one of the alphas. He sent her a grin and clapped Kade on the back. Then he and the other two men left.

“Will you still be my mate, Lilly?”

“You fought for me,” she said softly. “Yes, I will be yours.”

“And I will be yours, too.”

She laughed, so happy she was giddy. She looked at her husband-to-be and asked, “Tulsa’s Humanitarian of the Year?”

“I had to think of something,” he said. “John and Trent don’t know about werewolves. I needed their testimony.”

“How did you know about them?”

“While you were railing at me—deservedly so—I realized you knew a lot about the baby you gave up for adoption. His name. That he had a sister. That he was in college. I hired a private investigator and he found John and Trent.” He held her tightly. “I should’ve handled that situation better. As your mate, I should be your biggest advocate. Your most loyal supporter. We must have faith in each other. And trust.” He looked her deeply in the eyes. “And love.”

“Yes,” said Lilly. “And we can begin building the foundation for all those wonderful things right now.”

Kade smiled. “In case you’re interested, Nicole’s father was less than thrilled that she created the whole drama and has shipped her off to France. She won’t be seen in the Moon Pack—or in Tulsa, for that matter—for a long time.”

Lilly shrugged. “Who’s Nicole?”

He laughed and gathered her into his arms. “How do you feel about mating say … in the next ten minutes?”

“Well, Kade. I feel just fine about that.”

* * *

THE HOTEL WHERE they’d begun their mating was only a couple blocks away, and Kade had kept the room. She would say any other man was an optimist, but Kade was an alpha on a mission. And alphas went after what they wanted hardcore.

They tore off their clothes before the door had barely shut behind them, and Lilly found herself tossed onto the bed and properly, thoroughly ravished.

Kade worshiped her body as though she was a goddess, and he her prayerful supplicant. Every inch of her flesh experienced the touch of his lips, his hands. She returned the favor, of course, stroking his lightly furred chest, the muscles of his arms, those strong thighs, and of course, the magnificent cock that sprouted from a silky nest of curls.

Kade kissed her deeply, passionately. Their tongues intertwined, dancing, dueling.

He slipped two fingers inside her wet heat, seeking the knot of sensitive flesh. His kiss became even more ravenous as he sought to give her pleasure first…to conquer her thoroughly.

The orgasm burst like a thousand electric jolts. She cried out, clenching, arching, moaning.

As she rode that incredible rush, he sat up between her still quivering thighs and pulled her forward. Her legs were pressed against his chest, which he held in place by wrapping a brawny arm across them. With his other hand he guided his cock inside her still clenching pussy and started to thrust.

“Touch yourself, Lilly,” he demanded hoarsely.

His gaze was hot, and she swore the way he looked at her might burn her to ash. But she was up to the challenge he offered. She kept her gaze on him as she cupped her own breasts, massaging the globes while he watched. Then she pulled on her turgid nipples, gasping at the sweet pleasure-pain wrought by the actions.

“Yes, Lilly. God, yes.” He was panting now—sweat trickling down that gorgeous chest. His cock slammed into her as he strained toward his own completion. He looked so hungry, as if he could never get his fill of her.

She let one hand continue to play with her breasts while the other coasted down her belly. She dipped one finger into the strip of blonde curls, and began to rub her clit.

His gaze swept down her, riveted to the movement of her finger. He shuddered, swallowing hard.

Another orgasm beckoned as the alpha took her in the mating ritual as old as time. Beautiful and dirty and sweaty and primal.

“Come with me, Lilly,” he said. “C’mon, baby.”

He made her hot and needy, damn it. She rubbed her swollen clit and tugged on her nipple, and enjoyed each full, hard thrust of her alpha’s cock. She was oh-so-tantalized … so close … oh!

“I’m coming,” cried Kade.

He shoved deeply inside her, his balls tight against her ass, and that final, sweetly violent movement sent her over the edge into her own bliss. He held onto her legs, his face a mask of tormented pleasure as he emptied his seed into her.

After a long moment, he pulled out and collapsed on the bed next to her. He grinned at her wickedly. “You know the thing about us younger guys is shorter recovery time.”

“And us older women,” she murmured, “love that about younger men.”

He laughed and gathered her close to cuddle.

A cuddler. How lucky could a girl be?

She settled into his embrace, pressing her face against his chest to listen to the strong rhythm of his heart. For all her bluster about having another go, Lilly’s exhaustion claimed her.

Before she realized what had happened, she’d fallen into peaceful sleep.

* * *

WHEN LILLY AWOKE, she was alone.

Then Kade bounded into the room, dressed only in his boxers. He’d taken a shower, his hair still wet and as he drew close to the bed, she could smell his clean scent.

“Please tell me you ordered coffee,” she croaked.

“Two pots,” he said. “Arrived a few minutes ago.”

She rolled over and sat up. The covers fell away as she stretched.

“There are gods,” he murmured. He sat next to her and placed a kiss on the top of each breast. “I’ll bring you a cup of java. You a purist?”

“God, no,” she said. “Don’t hold back on the creamer and sugar.” She grinned. “Or the kisses.”

He laid one on her that made her toes curl, and then left to get her coffee.

Kade was her mate.

Her alpha.

Her very heart.

The End

Her Billionaire Beta

KAMMIE DESMOND EXAMINED the lobby of the Port Royal Inn.

Made to look like the innards of a pirate vessel, the walls were ribbed dark wood, polished to a high shine. Hanging big and bright above them was a chandelier—something not usually found in the bowels of a swashbuckler’s ship. Neither were the white-marble floors, the cozy arrangements of leather sofas and chairs, and the abundance of potted palms. Still, she had to admit the ambience was very pirate-like.

Her temporary assistant and big-assed surprise (thank you, Kevin Desmond, you treacherous twin) Matthew Canton, grinned wolfishly. Seeing as that he was a wolf, he had that look down pat. Every since he was thirteen years old, he’d looked at her like she was a choice bit of steak, which was exactly how other male werewolves looked at her. The difference had been that she wanted him back. Not that it mattered. Her parents had other plans. Plans that ruined her life and made her distance herself from them and the pack and most definitely from Matt.

Her twin brother Kevin had been her assistant since they played secretary-and-famous-writer as kids. He was also a severe disappointment to Mom and Dad since he liked boys instead of girls. Now, their bitter parents had no one but each other to torment. Kevin and Kammie refused to attend family gatherings and they rarely bothered with Moon Pack celebrations. In fact, staying as un-involved with the Moon Pack as possible was one of Kammie’s main life goals—that, and hitting the New York Times bestseller list. And here was the Moon Pack beta, pretty as you please, taking over her brother’s assistant duties. I will kill you, Kev.

Matt was gorgeous. He had wavy blond hair and sky-blue eyes and a jawline that could cut glass. He was smart. Very smart. He and Kade Stonewell, the recently married Moon Pack alpha, owned Techno Inc., a technology company that raked in billions from its inventions and breakthroughs in robotics. So, Matt was handsome and rich and brilliant, and standing in front of her looking yummy in faded jeans and a blue T-shirt. He was also wearing blue Converse sneakers.

Why did he have to be so freaking cute?

“Kevin said you wanted to experience the Golden Age of piracy. This place is as close as you’re going to get.” He heaved his laptop bag over his shoulder, gripping his suitcase in one hand and hers in the other. “Let’s check in.”

Kammie held her own laptop and her make-up case. Following Matt to the counter, she sighed. Finding him standing in the lobby of the Port Royal Inn instead of her brother made her cringe. What had Kevin been thinking? He wasn’t picking up his phone, either, no doubt to avoid listening to her lengthy and well-deserved tirade. But he wasn’t escaping that lecture. In fact, he was getting double the lecture.

Gah!

She depended on her brother absolutely. Kevin made her life as an author bearable, shouldering all the necessary but unpleasant tasks that took away from her writing time. She no longer dreaded book tours because Kevin was there: her support, her friend, and her conscience.

“It’s a two-bedroom suite,” said Matt, breaking into her thoughts. “Top floor, ocean view. Is that okay?”

“Of course,” said Kammie. “Kevin said there’s a real pirate’s cove here.”

“Already rented the schooner,” he said, smiling. “The captain will take us to all the hot spots, including the cove. There’s also a shipwreck in shallow water that we can scuba dive.”

Kammie stared at his lips. He had a wonderful mouth. She remembered, even all these years later, what it felt like to be kissed by Matthew Canton. Just the one kiss, and she’d been a goner. So what if she was fifteen and he’d snuck into the library just to see her? They’d flirted for weeks in math class. But the private school for shifter youth hadn’t been exclusive enough. Not after her parents had caught wind of their daughter’s crush on Matt, and promptly transferred her to an all girls’ school in pastoral France.

Crap.

She wasn’t going to survive being in Matt’s presence for the next hour, much less the next few days. It didn’t help that her libido had been roaring for some action. Werewolf appetites were voracious, and she hadn’t had sex in a very long time. And Matt had always been on the edges of her life—near enough to see, but never close enough to touch.

Until this very moment.

“Kammie?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, that’s great.” Embarrassed, and no longer sure what she was answering, she turned away and stared at some nearby flora.

Matt finished up the transaction, got their key cards, and then led her toward the bank of elevators on the right side of the check-in counter.

They stepped into the elevator. Kammie was grateful they were alone. She turned to Matt. “Okay. Why are you really here? Because the last time I checked, you didn’t need a job.”

“I need you.”

Butterflies took wing in her belly. “Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s true. I’m not sorry you didn’t marry Charles. It sucks that he left you at the altar, but that was the day you claimed your life. The life you really wanted. It’s been a couple of years, sweetheart.”

“I know that.” She picked at the strap of her laptop case.

“Do you love him that much?”

Kammie looked up, her mouth dropping open. “What? No. Hell, no.”

His brows nearly rose to his hairline, and she looked away.

“Kammie.”

Despite feeling unnerved, she met his tender gaze. Her heart flipped over in her chest.

“You’re a beautiful woman with curves I can’t wait to get my hands on. I don’t want you for your bloodline, damn it. I’ve been in love with you since the ninth grade.”

Shock electrified her. She nearly dropped her laptop. She gripped the handle harder. “Holy crap. You have not.”

“I have too. I’m in love you. And I’ll be your very capable assistant, I promise. But I’m here to woo you.”

Panic made her insides tremble. He was serious about this courtship thing. She was in trouble. Big trouble. Matt was her kryptonite. Her weakness. If she weren’t careful she’d end up in his bed. Worse, she’d end up as his wife. “You can’t woo me. There’s no wooing.”

Matt’s expression showed pure determination. “Oh, there’s going to be wooing,” he said. “In fact, I’m going to woo the hell out of you.”

* * *

“LET ME GUESS. You’re suffering from Jack Sparrow syndrome.”

Kammie looked up from her sweating mixed drink. The blonde bartender, whose nametag read Wench Wendy, leaned on the polished wood bar and smiled. It was five o’clock in the evening, too late for afternoon libations and too early for dinner drinks. The hotel bar, called Kidd’s Kavern, was practically empty.

“Jack Sparrow? From Pirates of the Caribbean?” Kammie grinned. That was one of her all-time favorite movies. In fact, she loved any story that put pirates in a romantic light. She knew from her research that pirates were bloodthirsty and ruthless, but they also knew how to have a good time. She finished off her drink.

“We get a lot of ladies who want to get swept off their feet by Johnny Depp.” Wendy laughed.

“Don’t I know it,” she said. Right now, she was avoiding being swept off her feet by a sexy werewolf. Kammie pushed her empty glass to edge of the bar. “Another one, please.”

Wendy got a new glass, poured in Crown Royal and added some cola. After she slid the drink to Kammie, she grabbed a towel and started buffing the bar. “So, what do you do?”

“I write historical romance novels,” said Kammie. “You ever hear of the Pirate Prince series?”

Wendy shook her head. “Sorry. I get all the pirates I can take here. I’m into biographies and true crime books.”

“Oh.” Kammie traced the rim of her glass. “I write about pirates because I like the fantasy of getting captured and seduced by a seafaring rogue.”

“You’re in the right place then.”

A group of four came in and sat down at the far end of the bar. Wendy walked away to tend to the new customers.

After Kammie had submitted her fifth Pirate Prince novel, her editor had suggested Kammie should consider writing a different kind of story. How about a paranormal, she enthused during their last phone conversation, could you put a werewolf in it?

She’d nearly choked on her own tongue. She lived in a real supernatural world. She didn’t want to write about it. She liked the fantasy of times gone by in human history. She was sure shifters had traveled the world, settling it along with the unaware humans. But Kammie wanted to write a paranormal about as much as she’d wanted to endure a double root canal. But she was also a writer who knew which side her bread was buttered on, so she roughed out a few ideas sans shifters. She went for something she knew didn’t exist—vampires.

Luckily, her editor had gone crazy for a vampire pirate pillaging on the high seas. If it meant getting to write another historical and keeping her Pirate Prince series alive, she’d put in as many preternatural creatures as her publisher wanted. Sure, she had a few logistics to figure out. Where did a vampire captain sleep during the day? What kind of crew would tolerate an undead leader? How would the heroine find her way onto the ship?

Kammie drained drink number two. She couldn’t help but wonder if Matt was trying to find her. After that whole wooing speech, she’d locked herself into one of the suite’s bedroom and opened her laptop. Writing wasn’t even a possibility, though, because all she could think about was Matt’s mouth. And hands. And … and other parts.

Damn him.

“You have an admirer. Some hot guy just dropped this off for you.”

She looked up at Wendy. The woman handed her a single white rose and vellum envelope. It had wax seal on it. Her heart climbed into her throat. This was the wooing, wasn’t it? If somewhere, deep inside, Kammie wanted to be courted by Matt, if she wanted to say, “I’m in love with you, too,” that could potentially ruin her plans to be a single, childless, lonely woman. Going down that road with Matt meant returning to the Moon Pack. As the first beta’s wife, she’d be expected to participate fully, and that meant constantly running into her parents, whom she had never forgiven.

Everyone thought they knew the story. Charles left Kammie at the altar, and she’d been so devastated, she moved out of her parent’s shining mansion and went off on her own, eschewing the pack and its males forever. But only she, Kevin, Charles, and her parents knew the truth. The reason her parents left her alone, and the reason a suddenly wealthy Charles jetted off to Europe to marry into an Italian pack, was because her parents didn’t want to anyone to know the truth about their precious bloodline.

Kammie popped off the seal and slid out the single sheet of paper.

A pirate on a quest

To find a maiden true

Honor this humble behest

And let him capture you…

BELOW WERE TWO words: Treasure Trove.

Kammie frowned at the handwriting. She recognized the sweeping, broad strokes. Matt had sent her an invitation to be shanghaied. She shivered at the very idea of being captured and seduced by Matt.

“What do you make of this?” asked Kammie, handing the page to Wendy.

Her gaze flicked over the words and she grinned. “You’ve been invited to the Pirate’s Pursuit. Pirates row onto Buccaneer’s Beach and chase their ladies.”

“What happens if the pirate catches you?”

Wench Wendy laughed. “Whatever you want.”

Kammie looked at the invitation. Yep. Matt the Wooer had sent her the note. What should she do? She didn’t want to give up an opportunity to get chased by a pirate. A werewolf pirate, no less. But encouraging Matt was like dropping a match onto gasoline.

Boom!

Oh, sure. Maybe she could play a little harmless game then return to the suite for room service and 1,000 words on the new manuscript.

Hah.

If Matt caught her … she would be his, and he’d seduce the living hell out of her. She knew his wily ways. Her heart turned over in her chest. They were on a fantasy island of sorts, right? Anything that happened here would stay here.

Kammie plucked her rose and invite from the bar then laid down a twenty. After waving good-bye to Wendy, she left Kidd’s Kavern and crossed the lobby to the concierge’s desk.

“Yes, mi’lady?” asked the thin man with graying hair. He was dressed in a stylish black suit. It was probably too much to ask a concierge to wear an eyepatch and sword and intersperse conversations with “yarr!”

“When is the Pirate’s Pursuit?”

“Tonight’s game begins at seven p.m.”

Kammie glanced at the paper again. “Do you know what the Treasure Trove is?”

“The shop is located in our mall. You go down the hallway until you reach the staircase. Go up the stairs, through the door is the first floor of our shopping center. It’s the third storefront on the left.”

“Thanks.”

Ten minutes later, Kammie entered the Treasure Trove. The small shop had paneled walls, red carpet, and low lighting. The store was filled with racks and racks of clothes and many shelves of hats, shoes, and accessories.

“’Ello, luv,” said a curvaceous woman with brassy red hair and sparkling green eyes. Dressed like a gypsy, in layers of purple and white, her bell-laden belt jangled as she rounded the counter. “What can I do for you?”

“I was invited to the Pirate’s Pursuit.” Kammie’s cheeks heated as she said the words. Oh, for heaven’s sake! Why was she embarrassed about indulging in an innocuous fantasy? She’d consider it research. Yeah. Research. Her editor wanted an authentic paranormal pirate, right?

“What’s your name, luv?” Her cockney accent was thick.

“Kammie Desmond.”

Genessa reached into a rack of plastic-covered clothes and plucked out a dress. “Oh-ho. This here’s a good ‘un. Your pirate likes his girls lusty.”

Kammie accepted the costume. “What do I owe you?”

“It’s been paid for, miss. All you need to do is wear it. Be sure you put on the colored sash—that’s how your pirate will identify you.”

Well, shiver me timbers.

* * *

KAMMIE SAT ON the couch in her and stared at the costume, which was draped next to her. Was she truly thinking about going on the Pirate’s Pursuit? Ha. More like the Werewolf’s Pursuit. Pirate werewolf. She couldn’t help but laugh. The very story she refused to write appeared to be unfolding in her own life.

According to Kammie’s mother, compatibility was the most important relationship quality. Mother had told her numerous times that the first bright passion associated with falling in love faded with time. Find someone you can like for the rest of your life, darling, she said. Intellectual conversation and table manners are worth their weight in gold.

Her mother was a cynic married to skeptic. Her parents didn’t seem to like each other all that much, though they had been united in their efforts to control Kammie and Kevin’s lives. Reputation was important to them—more important that little things like truth and love.

She knew that Matt was the opposite of Charles. At first glance, however, the men appeared to share the same qualities: successful, handsome, ambitious, and charming. Unlike Matt, however, Charles was obsessed with his position in society. He had the genetics of werewolf royalty, but the bank account of a pauper. Her parents were far more interested in his blue blood than the contents of his wallet. Werewolves jostled for rank, it was part of the territory. The ambition of Charles coincided with the ambitions of her parents … at least until they found out about Kammie’s unforgivable flaw.

Kammie understood something about obsession—after all, she was a writer and often immersed herself in the fictional world to the point she eschewed showers, ate cereal for dinner, and lived in the same pair of sweats for a week. But she’d never understood her parents’ obsession with werewolf genetics. Modern-day packs weren’t run by pure-bloods anymore. In fact, the only wolves concerned about who procreated with who were people like her parents. Thank God, that number was only in the dozens.

Besides, Charles needed a woman more interested in him and his career and his goals for moving up werewolf ranks—and Kammie wanted a man who wasn’t a self-absorbed prick.

Why did the past always seem to rear up and bite her on the fanny? Seriously. She needed to stop thinking that life was like a romance novel. People didn’t fall in love in a day and stay madly in love for the rest of their lives. Passion burned bright and quick before it flickered out forever. Right?

Er, right.

She’d stayed away from dating males of any species. In fact, Kevin had been the only steady man in her life. Speaking of her twin betrayer…

She retrieved her cell phone and dialed Kevin. The fiend picked up on the second ring.

“Did you give in yet?” he asked.

“Ugh! Kevin! Why did you send him here?”

“Because love. And you need to move on from The Incident.”

Kammie sighed. “I know. But you’re pushing me off a cliff. A huge cliff. You know that, right?”

“No, I’m pushing you onto a Matt. And if the rumors are true, he is huge.”

“Kevin!”

He laughed. “Fine. We’ll go with cliff. Sis, it’s time to fall—or to fly,” he said. “Love you! Gotta go!”

She listened to the abrupt silence. “Love you, too,” she murmured and then pushed the “end” button.

Kammie stood up and plucked the dress off the couch.

Well, hell.

* * *

KAMMIE WALKED BAREFOOT on the beach dressed as a tavern wench. The knee-length skirt showed off her legs. The red sash cinched her waist; she’d knotted it on the side so that the ends would flow off her hip.

The white shirt puffed at the shoulders, leaving her arms bare. With help from her strapless push-up bra, the low-cut blouse gave new meaning to the word ‘cleavage.’ Bangles clinked on her wrists. On her left ankle she’d put a bell-filled bracelet. She’d taken her time getting ready, soaking in a lavender-scented bath and patting her entire body with a sparkly, scented powder. She kept her make-up light and left her brown hair long and straight.

Rows of bamboo torches offered the only light on the dark beach. Stars glittered like diamonds in the night sky. As Kammie walked toward the water, a warm breeze teased the edge of her skirt and tossed her hair. The low waves licked at her toes and she curled them into the sand, enjoying the sensation of the soft grit tickling her feet.

She scanned the ocean, enjoying its dark, shining beauty. In the distance, she spotted a large row boat headed toward the shore. Loud singing floated toward her:

“Yo-ho, yo-ho, a pirate’s life for me!”

Her heart turned over in her chest and adrenaline hummed up her spine. The boat hit the shore and men tumbled out of the craft, laughing and singing.

“We come for ye, wenches!” cried one.

The pirates swarmed the beach, brandishing swords and whooping loudly. Women giggled and screamed as they ran every which way.

One pirate swaggered toward her. He wore a red handkerchief over his hair and a red mask that covered half his face. His teeth bared in a lascivious grin. Wow. His loose shirt offered tantalizing glimpses of muscled flesh. As he passed by a torch, the flickering light revealed a chiseled profile. Oh, yeah. That was Matt, all right. He could cover his face all he wanted, she had his profile mesmerized due to years of crushing on him.

“Kammie! I’ll show ye a good time!” he crowed in a gravelly voice.

Her heart tripled its frantic beat. Oh, God. The pirate who wanted her! She sucked in a steadying breath. Time to put up or shut up, girl.

His arms opened wide. “Are ye gonna embrace me, ye bonny lass?”

She’d written enough pirate dialogue to know how to respond. “I wouldn’t let a scurvy dog like you anywhere near my goods,” she said saucily, as she tossed her hair over her shoulder.

His eyes flashed with surprise. He paused in the dark space between two torches, so his expression was hidden, but obviously he was calculating the distance between them.

He shot toward her.

Kammie turned and ran. Adrenaline spiked in her belly as he gave chase. She had the stamina needed to make her pirate work for his bounty. Even so, she didn’t want to run too hard or too long.

She didn’t need to worry. In mere moments, she felt him close behind her. She heard his boots dig into the sand and his breath draw in as he lunged for her. His arms snaked around her waist and he pulled her snug against him.

“Hey!” she yelled, flailing her arms and legs.

He laughed. “Scurvy dog, am I?”

She gulped in air and tried to calm down. Her heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest.

“This is your game, sweetheart,” Matt whispered in his normal voice. “You end it whenever you want, just say the word.”

Slowly, the pirate released her. He still held her flush against his body, but her feet sank reassuringly into the sand. He leaned down and whispered, “What’s it to be, lass? Are ye with me?”

Kammie drew in a steadying breath. “You caught me fair and square. I’m yours.”

His low chuckle made her tingle. His fingers drifted up her arms and she shivered. “And I’m yours, lass. Now, I will make off with ye to my secret cave. Ye cannot know the way, so I must blindfold you.”

“Seriously?”

“Aye.”

A red cloth appeared over her shoulder and her pirate drew it across her throat, over her face, and finally, around the top of her head. She closed her eyes as he tied material.

“Are ye ready?”

She nodded. Delicious tension wound through her. Taken to a pirate’s cave for ravishing!

He scooped her up and she yelped, throwing her arms around his shoulders.

“Snuggle in,” he said. “It’s a bit of a walk.”

Getting toted around like a precious treasure was a new experience, and one that she enjoyed. Werewolves admired her curves, she knew, and many human men seemed to like them, too. But no one had ever made her feel the way she felt now in Matt’s strong embrace. God, he smelled good. He was all hard muscle and sinewy strength. As he proceeded toward destination unknown, Kammie smiled.

* * *

KAMMIE’S PIRATE PLACED her gently onto a soft surface.

“Where are we?” she asked as she reached up to undo the band’s knot.

His hands stilled hers. “Leave it for a moment, lass.”

“Okay.” She realized that he was standing in front of her. Her stomach felt as if it were filled with frantic butterflies. She pressed a palm against her belly. “What now?”

“We can talk. Or I can feed you.”

“Feed me?” She licked her lips. “Like that scene in Nine and Half Weeks?”

His low, sexy chuckle made her tummy butterflies do the mambo. “Aye. We have strawberries.”

How brave was she? Could she dive fully into the fantasy of being a pirate’s captive? Being with Matt was a fantasy. She wouldn’t let it go any further, especially since she knew that Matt intended to seduce her into marriage. Still. Just for tonight, she could be a saucy wench.

“I’m nervous,” she admitted.

The bed gave way as he sat next to her. She could feel him very near, but not quite close enough that he was touching her. “It’s a game. When you want to stop, you say so.”

His fingers coasted over her shoulder and grazed her neck. He brushed back her hair, combing his fingers through the strands.

“Ye hair is like silk.” As his fingers sifted her well-brushed tresses, she felt him lean forward. His hot breath ghosted over her neck. “Hmm. Ye smell good, too.”

With each touch, her heart beat faster and her belly squeezed. It had been too long since anyone had made her tingle with anticipation. She found it discombobulating that Matt could so easily stoke her into the kind of sensual heat that she always wrote about, but rarely experienced.

When his lips dropped onto the rapid pulse at the base of her throat, she sucked in a startled breath.

“Do ye want me to stop?” he asked softly.

The words tickled her skin. She couldn’t articulate a response, so she reached for him and dragged her fingers through his soft hair. She pressed his skull lightly to let him know she wanted him to stay. He had taken off the mask and the handkerchief covering his head, too.

His lips traveled up her neck, resting on the spot just below her earlobe. His tongue flicked her skin, snaking up to tease the shell of her ear. Her breath quickened as desire sparked all the way through her.

“Ye are fine morsel. One I would gladly devour.” He lifted away from her. In a regular voice, he whispered, “I have to know how far you want to go, Kammie. Do you want me to kiss you, feed you strawberries, and let you go? Do you want me tie you up and ravage you while you protest? This is your fantasy, lass. I want to indulge your every desire. Tell me what you want.”

Kammie’s heart skipped a beat. “Even if … it stops here? Tonight only, Matt. No talk of wooing or … or other things.”

“I make no promises, Kammie. I want you. Not just in my bed, but in my life.” He sighed. His head dropped to her shoulder. “I want to kiss you,” he admitted in a ragged voice. “Everywhere. I want to kiss you and I don’t want to stop. Not tonight. Not ever.”

Kammie shivered at his confession. “Tonight, Matt. Please.”

“All right, sweetheart. Tonight, I’ll be your pirate prince.”

Her belly quivered at the very idea of being Matt’s captive. She could experience wanton pleasure. For once in her life, she could be the star in her very own romance.

He grasped her arm and pulled her off the bed. “I better make sure you don’t escape, wench.”

He led her to another part of the room. She felt something wide and soft wrapped around each of her wrists. He lifted her arms above her head and hooked them to what she assumed was an attachment hanging from the ceiling.

“You’re mine.”

Kammie trembled at the possessiveness infused into those two words.

“Say it,” demanded her pirate. “Say that you’re mine.”

Her heart trilled as she dove completely into their game. “Never, pirate!”

“I’ll make you say it,” he promised darkly. “I’ll make you beg for me.”

She felt his hand curl into the middle of her bodice. His fingers brushed the tops of her breasts, causing a riot of sensations that danced all the way to her feminine core.

Then he yanked the bodice down.

That was werewolf strength in action. The get-up ripped in half easily and fell open, revealing her breasts clasped in the silky white bra. She heard the sharp intake of his breath and suspected he was studying her boobs. Too bad she was blindfolded. She wanted to see his lusty glances. At least, she hoped his glances were lusty.

He stepped close to her, his body pressed enticingly against hers. His lips brushed her ear.

“If you want to stop playing, then say ‘roses are red.’ If I hear that phrase, I’ll stop everything and let you go. Do you understand?”

She nodded.

His knuckles caressed the side of her neck. “You are beautiful. So very, very beautiful.”

“You are a blaggard!” She nearly giggled. She never thought she’d have the opportunity to call someone a blaggard. She pretended to struggle and the chains above her rattled.

“Don’t forget my promise, wench. You will beg for my touch.” He laughed softly. “And you will tell me that you’re mine.”

He walked away, leaving her to ponder his words and to wonder what he might be doing. She heard paper rattles, cloth whispers and metal clinks.

She felt his return, though he didn’t touch her. It was his presence that surrounded her, that made her heart pound faster.

His lips descended, peppering the tops of her breasts. The tender ravishment made her tremble. Reaching around, he unhooked her bra. Since it was strapless, the undergarment fell away easily.

Whoa. Blindfolded, chained, and bare from the waist down—a girl couldn’t get more vulnerable than this.

She ached to feel his lips again. He cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing her nipples. The light touches felt wonderful, but she didn’t want to appear as if she were caving in to his seduction.

Well, not yet.

He gripped her nipple between his fingers, squeezing lightly. Pleasure weaved through her like light electric pulses. She swallowed her moan. God, it had been so long since she’d felt cherished. Not even her asshole ex-fiancé had sparked the same kind of hunger for touch and connection—of course, she figured out why later. She couldn’t imagine being married to him now. How cold and empty her bed would’ve been. At least she’d been saved that heartbreak.

“Do you relent?” he murmured.

“Never.”

“Then, lass, I must torture you until you beg for mercy.”

Something long and metal slid over her breast, clamping the base of the tight peak. A second clamp claimed her other nipple. Delectable tendrils of pain throbbed.

Kammie shivered.

“This chain is attached to another, longer chain.” He tugged on the fetter.

Sensual agony shot through her breasts, zapping the pit of her stomach before settling heavy and hot in her core. For a moment, her thoughts scattered and all she could process was her body’s enthrallment.

His hands coasted down her stomach and brought her mind back into focus. Oh, hell. Was he going to rip her skirt, too?

Instead of tearing apart another piece of clothing, he inched the material off her hips. After taking off the skirt, he rubbed her thighs, her calves, and even her feet. He jiggled the bell ankle bracelet and chuckled.

Her underwear went next.

Except for the ripped shirt that still hung from her shoulders, she was naked. Doubts crept through her passion. Was this the right thing to do? Was playing a game with Matt really fulfilling a fantasy?

After it was all over, could she walk away for good?

Her pirate stayed in the kneeling position. She knew this because she felt his lips ghost along her left hip. Her lungs stalled and her heart hammered.

As his tongue slid over her wet sex, he pulled on the chain.

The shock of delectable pain stole her breath. A moan warbled from her throat.

“You like it,” he accused with a chuckle. “Don’t you, my captive?”

“Yes. I mean … I’m not your captive, rogue.”

“Rogue, am I?” He pierced her slick entrance with two fingers. He withdrew his fingers and used them to part her moist petals. The chain bounced against her stomach as he lifted the loose end. Then … oh then … he clamped her clitoris. The pressure was intense, but not unbearable. Her whole body tingled.

Matt, her pirate prince, began to lick her tortured clit. He built and stoked a sensual fire that burned brighter and hotter with every sensual flick of his tongue.

Streamers of bliss coiled into a bow of bright pleasure.

Then the bastard abandoned her.

She couldn’t stop the cry of frustration.

He circled around her. She felt the solid warmth of his body—his very, delightful naked body—embrace her. His thick cock pressed against her buttocks. Oh, God.

He lifted her hair and feathered kisses on her neck. Then his hands drifted down to her thighs, trailing up her ribs oh-so-slowly until he cupped her breasts. He squeezed lightly. Kammie drew in sharp breath.

His fingers tangled in the chain looped between her nipples.

He tugged it.

She gasped.

Pleasure cascaded.

Matt released her breasts and slid his palms down to her hips. His fingertips slid inward until he touched the chain and fingered the slim links.

Sweat beaded her skin, her arms were started to ache, and her body felt as though it had been set on fire.

But she wasn’t yet ready to end the game.

He pulled on the chain. The clamp squeezing her clitoris shifted and the shock of pleasure buckled her knees.

He held onto her. His breath was harsh against her neck. “Who do you belong to?”

The words seemed to soak into her skin. She leaned against him, taking in his strength because she had none of her own. Her whole body hummed in sexual expectation.

“You,” she uttered. “I belong to you.”

He reached up and took her wrists off the ceiling hook. Then he scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed. The thick coverlet felt so soft and so comfortable. It was a definite contrast to her sensually tormented body, which still writhed with hot need.

He rolled her onto her side and spooned behind her. For a long moment, all she felt was the stroking of his hands on her sensitized skin. She pressed against him, no longer in control. Hell, had she ever been? His cock pulsed against her ass and she wiggled, causing him to groan.

She craved the relief only Matt could give her. She wanted him. She could feel her wolf, the animal side of her she tried to keep at bay, stir. Shift.

She growled.

Matt instantly responded to her animalistic need. “Get on your hands and knees, wench.”

His voice was gruff and she realized he was on the edge himself. That little tidbit served to make her hotter.

She rolled onto her hands and knees and eagerly lifted her ass. He held onto her hips and worked his cock inside her tight wet heat. She nearly wept at the sense of relief that filled her when he pushed all the way inside.

After a few slow strokes, he gained a glorious rhythm. She cried for more, her words tangling in her moans.

His hand crept around her waist.

She was on fire now, excitement rippling. Ohgodohgodohgod…

He jerked on the chain clamped onto clit.

Her orgasm exploded.

She seemed to fly into the stars and she floated there, soaking in the light and heat until she plummeted to earth.

She felt Matt tense and then he plunged deeply. His fingers dug into her hips as he came, whispering her name like a prayer.

He didn’t move or breathe for what seemed forever.

Kammie collapsed to the bed. He withdrew and pressed a kiss on each of her buttocks. She laughed as he rolled onto his side.

Matt removed the blindfold.

Kammie blinked. Wow. They really were in a cave. The small dark room held the bed, with its red velvet bedspread and heart-shaped pillows, a table laden with fruits, chocolate truffles, hors d'oeuvres and champagne. Lit votive candles in wall sconces and tapers in the chandelier offered low, flicking light.

Kammie pulled at one of the nipple clamps and pain shot through her. “Ow!”

“Let me help,” murmured Matt. He gently unclipped her nipples. Then he released the clamp on her clitoris. He lay beside her, kissing the abused flesh and she let him do it because, well, it felt wonderful.

Had her pirate been anyone other than Matt, she would enjoy a night spent here in his brawny arms. Actually, she’d already let him ravish her. What was the point of denying that they hadn’t had fantastic sex?

Kammie gave in. She wanted Matt. Lust was simple. But he wanted more from her than just sex. If she let herself, she might admit she’d fallen in love with him years ago.

It was so difficult to trust. And go back to the Moon Pack? How could she?

She pushed him onto his back and crawled between his legs. He had given her such exquisite pleasure that she wanted to give him the same.

Now, it was Matt’s turned to be tortured.

Kammie rose onto her side. Leaning forward, she kissed his naked chest. His skin was all muscled curves and ridges. She feasted on his pectorals, kissing every centimeter of flesh. She flicked her tongue across each nipple.

He groaned and the sound rumbled under mouth.

She licked the space between his pecs, tasting the faint musk of his skin. As she explored his body with fingers and lips, his hands were restless on her back, her shoulders, and her buttocks.

Her engine was getting revved all over again. Matt looped his hands under her arms and pulled her forward so his mouth could ravage her breasts.

Zings traveled from her stiffened nipples to her sex as he tugged one peak, then the other, between his teeth and flicked his tongue rapidly against the turgid points. The furious need built; a throbbing ache that bloomed between her thighs.

Amid his protests as she moved away, she scooted down and rubbed her nipples over his chest. She reached between their bodies and grasped his hard-on. She squeezed his cock then caressed it. Yummy. She adored the velvet feel of his shaft against her palm.

“Let me taste you,” she murmured.

She crawled between his legs, her hands coasting up his thighs. She fondled his balls, squeezing them lightly. Kammie wanted to feel that big, thick cock slide inside her again.

Matt’s hands fisted in the bedcovers and his hips thrust, a silent begging for her mouth. She ignored that plea, stroking him rough then soft.

Finally Kammie took his cock into her mouth, working his length into full hardness. She enjoyed the taste his maleness, loved how his shaft slid so smoothly between her willing lips.

She savored his cock, kissing it from base to head before taking the tip into her mouth and sucking it. Torturing him with endless tongue swirls and long licks, she took all of him.

His hands dove into her hair and held her captive. Not content with her gentle worshipping, he fucked her mouth. She held on to his thighs and took his strokes, her tongue teasing the cock pumping between her lips.

With a persecuted groan, Matt released her, gasping and panting. She saw pre-come pearl the tip of his penis and she sucked it away.

Matt looked at her, his eyes glazed. “I want you.”

Smiling wickedly, she rose to her knees then planted herself on either side of his hips. She slid her hand between her legs and pinched her clit. Pre-orgasm shivers wracked her. She rubbed her slick inner folds then spread them apart and showed him her wet heat.

His gaze turned wild, his irises shifting told her Matt’s wolf was near the surface.

Reaching down, Kammie guided Matt’s cock inside her.

Their breathing was harsh, shallow. Their gazes mirrored passion. Matt grasped her hips and thrust upward. His calculated strokes drove her mad. An ache stole across her, made her belly tight with need, made her core spiral with pleasure.

He released her hips and played with her breasts, pulling on her sensitive nipples, bringing her closer and closer to orgasm.

Then she felt his thumb stroking her clit.

The bliss sparked and wham! She shattered into a thousand glittering shards.

“Kammie…”

She lifted off of him and knelt between his legs. She licked her own essence off his cock. She enjoyed the taste of his maleness mixed with her quintessence. His fingers pressed against her skull. His moans were low and harsh as she took his cock again and again. She gripped his thighs and increased her efforts. His cock was so hard, the veins bulged.

She felt that first delicate tremble and sucked him to the base.

His come splashed down her throat. She swallowed every drop as residual spasms caused his cock to pulse in the warm cave of her mouth.

She licked him clean, kissing his softening flesh.

When she sat up, she looked at him.

“That was incredible,” he said. “C’mere.”

Despite her better judgment, Kammie snuggled beside him. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her temple. She felt so relaxed, so happy, so … loved.

What I have done?

* * *

KAMMIE AWOKE AND blinked away the fog of sleep, she found herself nose to nose with Matt. He was awake, looking as cute as ever.

“I want to wake up with you every morning,” he said softly. “I want to make love to you every night.”

“Hmm. That sounds glorious.”

“But—?”

Kammie rolled onto her back and tucked the covers up to her chin. “Kevin and I were brought up to be perfect. We were supposed to go off into the upper echelons of the werewolf world and marry well and have babies.”

“I know your parents,” he said. “I’ve met ice statues that were warmer.”

Kammie snickered. “Then Kevin came out and told my parents he was gay. That left me to be the one who begat little perfect werewolves.”

“Your parents were good at controlling you,” he said.

She nodded. “The right schools. The right friends. The right education.”

“The right fiancé?”

“Yes.” Kammie sighed. “Matt … I need to tell you something.”

“Anything.”

“I can’t have children.”

He stared at her, but all she saw in his gaze was concern—not horror. He took her hand. “Are you okay?” he asked worriedly. “Is it … illness? Cancer?”

“It’s a malformed uterus. I found out before I was supposed to marry Charles. That’s why he walked away. And to keep him quiet about my imperfection, my parents paid him off and bought him a one-way ticket to Italy where he married my mother’s third cousin.”

“Bastard!” Matt clutched her hand, his anger palpable. “Your parents paid him to not tell anyone you can’t have children?”

“Kevin and I are their greatest disappointments. He likes men. I will never have children. They married to preserve their stupid bloodlines—and neither of their children will carry it on. Karma’s a bitch.”

“I should have them removed from the pack,” he said darkly. “Their behavior is insidious.”

“I don’t need that,” she said. “Kev and I stay away from their poison. We’ve made our own way. Life is good, Matt.”

Matt searched her gaze. “This doesn’t change anything for me, Kammie. I love you. If you want kids, we’ll adopt. Or we’ll get a cat.”

“A cat?” She laughed. “A cat in a house with two werewolves. Probably not our best option.”

Matt smiled. “You said ‘our’.”

“It scares me, how I feel about you,” she admitted softly.

“I love you,” said Matt. “Today. Tomorrow. Next week. Fifty years from now. Forever.”

Tears shone in Kammie’s eyes. “I love you, too.”

* * *

“SO WHEN’S THE wedding?” asked Kevin.

“Ha. Ha.” Kammie stood on the balcony of the suite and looked at the topaz ocean. The afternoon sun glittered in a cloudless blue sky. This place truly was paradise. “I’m still getting used to being his girlfriend. One step at a time, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Kevin and Matt had planned the whole dastardly weekend. She was too happy to be really pissed-off about it, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t seek sisterly revenge at some point.

“Well, don’t let me keep you,” said Kevin. “I know you have things … or cute werewolves named Matt … to do.”

“You know, last night, he pulled out this ostrich feather then he—”

“Yuck! I do not want to hear the sexual details of my sister’s sex life.”

“But you don’t have one,” Kammie pointed out. “So I thought I’d share mine.”

“I’m hanging up, you cow. Love you.”

“Love you more.” Kammie laughed as she hung up the cell phone.

Matt came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “How’s Kevin?”

“Delighted.”

He nuzzled her neck. “Wanna go for a run?”

“Yes,” she said. “But don’t you think humans will report two wolves prancing along the beach?”

“Argh! I found us a private spot, lass.”

She kissed him. “Let’s go, my pirate prince.”

“Aye, love.”

* * *

IN THE MOONLIGHT on a sliver of beach, two wolves raced through the glittery white sand. One wolf was big and brawny, the color of mocha sprinkled with white, and the other wolf smaller, more feminine. She was the color of night swirled with foggy gray. They barked at each other, nipping at each other’s tails, and played in the foamy sea that kissed the island.

And here, mateys, ends the tale a werewolf pirate and his true love who found the most important treasure of all: each other.

The End

Her Alpha Mate

Fire Pack

THREE DAYS, FOURTEEN hours. Twenty-nine minutes.

He hadn’t come for her yet. Or maybe he was giving her time. Space. He’d always been good at predicting her needs, her moods.

He shouldn’t have loved her.

He shouldn’t have mated with her.

Alice Mason looked out the picture window at the swirling snow. The dim yellow of the porch light barely penetrated the darkness. Yet she knew that hip-deep snow covered the entire area all the way to the tree line.

The cabin was isolated, one of several rentals near the lake. She couldn’t remember the name of the water. Earlier in the day, she’d been white-knuckle driving in the blizzard, but still managed to see the sign for the cabin rentals. The woman manning the single desk in the tiny office was chatty, friendly. She said only one other cabin had been reserved. She happily relayed that Alice’s closest neighbors were Hubert and Sarah Gilmore, who were celebrating their fiftieth anniversary by staying in the same cabin where they’d honeymooned.

Fifty years. What she wouldn’t give to have five whole decades with her soulmate. Her gaze drifted through the tall pines. She knew with certainty that Jonas would come for her.

But so would the Kunda. The spirit protector of the Fire Pack. The one who would make her pay penance for her body’s betrayal. She would die. Die gladly, so her mate and her pack would survive.

The Kunda would devour her.

Jonas could choose a new mate.

The pack would thrive.

Alice couldn’t help but think about her life. She had been the fifth pup. The only girl. The weakest one born to her family. Some werewolves left weak pups in the woods -- either to die or to prove they had the strength to survive. But even though she was a mewling, tiny thing, her family chose to keep her. She was nurtured by them. Loved, but not coddled. They expected her to pull her weight. To do as well as her bigger and stronger brothers. To take care of herself.

They also prepared Alice to take her expected place in the Fire Pack. Her father was among the wolves that patrolled the borders of their territory. He was an enforcer, and due to the pack hierarchy, he was not a wolf with opportunities for advancement. Yet, her father seemed satisfied with his life. Whether or not that acceptance had been easy—well, she didn’t know. So, as the youngest child of wolves with lesser rank, she was expected to follow in their footsteps. Either she followed her mother into administrative work or she joined her father as an enforcer.

The wolves in the Fire Pack populated the little Californian town of Fuego. All of them were taught to fight at a young age. Alice learned to defend herself, but she wasn’t one to seek violence when cleverness and intelligence could more easily win the day. Her curiosity made her unafraid to ask questions. To dream bigger. To want more.

Is that what Jonas had seen in her the day of the choosing?

When he assumed leadership as the new alpha, custom dictated every single female of age present herself to him. As long as anyone could remember, the alpha choose several bride prospects who would then engage in a series of challenges. The winner became his bride.

It was a stupid tradition.

She’d had no intention of participating. Not that it had mattered. No alpha in his right mind would pick her. She was too small, looked too delicate, and her family was too low in rank. So, she was never a serious contender.

Not being considered competition had its advantages. She wasn’t picked on by the other women. Of course, that may have been because she had four protective older brothers who were handsome and more than willing to satisfy the bedroom urges of willing females. And they did not take kindly to slurs against their little sister. The long-held rule of “I can pick on my sibling, but you can’t,” was very much gospel in their family. Alice had gotten used to being ignored, even looked at with pity. She didn’t care about the opinions of others, anyway. She didn’t need approval.

She had attended the choosing ceremony to please her parents. They knew how she felt about the pack’s archaic traditions and expectations. But still… she hadn’t wanted to disappoint them. They’d always loved and cared for her, even when traditions dictated otherwise, and she figured it would cost her nothing to honor this one small aspect of pack life.

No. She had not been a serious contender.

Is that why she’d answered him so boldly? Looked him steady in the eye? And then dared to question his intelligence when he’d pulled her from the line of women and, to the shock of the pack, proclaimed, “I have chosen.”

Not: I have chosen her. And her. And her. And her, too.

Not: I have chosen. Ha, ha! Just kidding!

He’d said, with complete confidence, “I have chosen.”

No contest. No other choices. No challenges to be met.

Just… I have chosen.

“Are you stupid?” she’d asked.

He’d merely looked down at her and smiled.

That was the moment I fell in love with you, he later told her. My heart was yours.

And she believed him. Because after that look, that smile -- her heart was his, too.

Regret clawed at Alice. She stifled a sob and swept her gaze over the cabin. The place was basically one large room. The front door opened into the living area, which consisted of an overstuffed brown couch and one end table. A single brass lamp with its tan shade looked ready for a garage sale. The couch faced a large, stone fireplace. A cheery fire burned inside the hearth. She didn’t want the fire’s cheer or its warmth, but survival instincts could be strong—even for a woman who had every intention of offering herself as a sacrifice.

Alice walked into the kitchenette with its small stove, narrow refrigerator, and tiny metal sink. There was a little table and two chairs parked to the right.

There was nothing in the fridge, but the rental fees had included stocked dry goods as well as dishes, glasses, silverware, and cookware. The king-sized bed was covered by a thick patchwork quilt. The four blue-checkered pillows were propped against the headboard. It looked welcoming, but she didn’t want the bed’s comfort. The door to the left of the bed led to the bathroom. Like everything else in the cabin, it was small. Almost too small for the sink, toilet, and shower crammed into the space.

Her gaze lingered on the bed. Alice couldn’t curl up in that cozy space… not without thinking about the last time she’d seen Jonas.

Jonas. Now that she’d had time to process what had happened, what she’d done in reaction to her infertility, she was scared. Not that she thought she’d made the wrong choice—she’d done the only thing she could do. Her sacrifice to the Kunda would not only free Jonas, but also grant favors to the pack. The fire spirit didn’t take without giving.

Jonas was too intuitive for a male, especially for an alpha male. In the old days, his choice to think rather than to act would’ve made him appear weak. But anyone who knew him, knew Jonas Mason was every ounce an alpha. He’d proven himself time and time again in physical and mental agility. He broke long-held records for both physical acumen and strategy. His father had been alpha, and Jonas had been the firstborn. Even so, no one could say he hadn’t earned his place.

Alice rubbed her arms, chilled despite the heat emanating from the crackling fire. The waiting was killing her. She’d invoked the spirit of the Kunda after an argument with Jonas, and then left Fuego quickly, because she hadn’t wanted her death to be in pack territory. At least that’s what she told herself. Some small, cowardly part wanted Jonas to find her. To save her.

Which was pointless.

“No, Alice. I will not divorce you. Nor will I take a second wife.”

“You’re stubborn!” she cried.

He stood in the kitchen, calmly preparing tea, ignoring her vibrating anger. The way he moved, graceful and deliberate, simply ratcheted up the anguish clawing her throat.

“Every alpha for the last five generations has been born from your family. Your bloodline… it’s sacred. Important.”

“It’s not more important than you.”

“Yes, it is.”

He stopped pouring the water and turned toward her. In that moment, she’d seen the truth flash in his eyes. His own heartbreak. The knowledge that the wife he loved could not bear him the pups he needed.

Her grief washed over her again. She had failed him. Her body had failed him. She couldn’t have his children. He had chosen the wrong female, because the stupid fool listened to his heart.

He strode forward and gathered her into his arms. He held her tightly until she relented and accepted his comfort. She wrapped her arms around his waist and wept. His grasp tightened, and his chest heaved as he leaned down to press his face against her hair. Together, they grieved for the family they would never have.

The water splashed Alice’s hand, and she looked down. When had she started to fill the teakettle? She shut off the water then put the kettle onto the burner and turned it on. Next, she opened the cabinet looking for a snack she didn’t really want. But such mundane tasks couldn’t take her mind off Jonas.

The night of the argument, in their bedroom, the ghosts of their grief hadn’t tempered their lovemaking. Certainly they’d both been haunted by all the visits to various doctors, obstetricians, and fertility specialists, but it hadn’t stopped Jonas from taking control.

She closed her eyes and remembered their last time together. The last time she lay with him in their marriage bed.

Alice, still fully clothed, sank to her knees. Jonas warned her to not make eye contact unless he gave her permission. He removed a pillowcase and rolled it lengthwise and used it to bind her hands behind her back.

He undressed, removing each piece of clothing casually, as if he had all the time in the world. He ignored her, neither looking at her nor coming near her. His blatant dismissal had been designed to thin her patience while it increased the desperate wanting that pulsed through her.

By the time Jonas stood naked before Alice, she hungered for the slightest look of approval or the merest whisper of recognition. Aching need curled through her, conquering her despair.

Jonas stepped so close his toes brushed the tips of her knees. Then he demanded, “Suck me. I want to feel your mouth on my cock.”

Giving a blow job on her knees without the help of her hands was awkward at first. But she got him hard and made him tremble under the onslaught of her tongue, teeth, and lips.

He pulled away from her, his thighs shaking. However, his expression was placid. He moved behind her and grasped the pillowcase binding her. He led her to their massive dresser and untied her. “Bend over and put your palms flat against the top.”

Without question, she pressed her hands against the solid, beautifully carved wood. He pulled down her jeans and her silk panties. His fingers, slightly trembling as he controlled his lusts, grazed her hips.

He rested the tip of his length at her slick opening for no more than a breath before he slid his thick shaft into her wet heat. She thought the rocketing sensation might kill her.

He fucked her without mercy, telling her unequivocally that she was not allowed to come. Being told not to find pleasure had the opposite effect. Bliss coiled tight and hard, threatening to send her over the edge with every rough stroke of his cock.

Jonas came, his fingertips biting into her hips as his cries of completion filled her ears. For a long moment, there was nothing but the harsh sounds of his panting and her own low, needy whimpers she couldn’t silence.

“Stand up.”

She did as he demanded. She was overwhelmed by the need he inspired. She loved him so much. So. Much. Her body was damp with sweat and quivering with desire. His hands coasted over her belly, down her thighs, and around her ass.

But he denied his touch where she wanted it the most. Her swollen, drenched pussy.

“You are so beautiful, so responsive,” he whispered. “You are my wife, Alice. I will not lose you.”

His thumb brushed her clit and pleasure jackknifed. Two fingers danced along her tender folds then dipped inside her. She felt the erotic press of those digits on her G-spot.

Jonas pushed her to the brink. He was ruthless. His thumb stroked her tortured sex while he worked two fingers inside her. She bit her lower lip, begging her own body not to give in. Not until he told her.

“Come for me, Alice.”

Her orgasm was instantaneous, the pleasure so intense she lost her ability to breathe, to think. Her legs collapsed. Only his arm wound around her waist kept her upright as her body convulsed. His lips pressed against her neck and his hard body cradled hers as she rode the wave to fulfillment.

The whistle of the kettle startled Alice out of the memory. She got out a mug and a tea bag then turned off the burner and poured the hot water.

Werewolves were not like humans. They didn’t just worry about themselves as individuals. She and Jonas were not an ordinary couple who, faced with infertility, might choose to adopt. Other packs had different methods for breeding, but in the Fire Pack, wolf bloodlines were important. For genetics, yes, but also to continue an alpha’s line, which was sacrosanct. For all her thumbing her nose at traditions and the archaic beliefs of her pack, especially in the modern world, she wanted the honor, the duty of carrying the alpha’s pups. But beyond that, she wanted to have Jonas’s baby.

And she could not. So, she’d chosen to call on the fire spirit. The Kunda was a caretaker of the pack, a spiritual being born of fire. It was said the Kunda had been the first Fire Pack werewolf and had sacrificed himself to become the protector spirit. Her pack honored the spirit, but rarely did anyone call on him. Prayers were for the dying. The living were expected to handle their own problems.

The shame of not being able to produce children would undermine Jonas as the alpha. Her barrenness would dishonor her family, too. At the very least, they would be ridiculed, and at the worst, they would endure abuse, maybe even expulsion. Not even Jonas would be able to shield her family. No one would listen to him if they found out he’d put his love for her over the needs of the pack. Her mate would lose everything, because he was too stubborn to do the right thing.

The ache in her chest weighed so heavy on her that she slumped onto the couch. She had no destination when she left. She just drove—randomly taking roads without purpose or direction. She’d only stopped for gas when the tank was empty, for sleep when exhaustion overwhelmed her, and to eat when her stomach became so gnarled with hunger she felt lightheaded and nauseous. She had wandered a confusing path so that finding her would be difficult if not impossible for Jonas. But the Kunda would find her. Of that, Alice had no doubt.

And tonight, she’d finally stopped running.

The Kunda would come soon, and she almost preferred facing the spirit rather than her furious, worried spouse.

Almost.

* * *

JONAS RACED AGAINST time to find Alice. After she fled their home, he’d found the evidence that his mate had summoned Kunda. His wife was the most well-read werewolf in the pack and had studied every archaic text she could find. There was probably no one as versed in Fire Pack lore as Alice. So foolish, so idiotic, and so very brave. One of the many reasons he’d picked her to be his mate.

He’d eschewed the long-held tradition of viewing single women—naked--in the tree-ringed clearing the pack used for rituals. He wanted to do things different than the alphas before him, but he knew bringing the pack into modern times would be a slow process. That’s why he’d chosen the town’s only judicial building, the courthouse, for the day of the choosing, and insisted the women remained dressed. The proceeding took place in the largest courtroom, the judge on standby to perform the human tradition of marriage.

Jonas had noticed Alice first among all the eligible females filing into the room. She was smaller than the other potential candidates. She had dressed well, but not provocatively. Her blouse revealed only the pale column of her throat and her black pants accentuated slim hips. She wore black shoes, flat and comfortable, rather than trying to totter on high heels. She wasn’t trying to be sexy, offering bedroom eyes or knowing smirks, or posturing with wiggling hips and thrust-out breasts. Her long, silky hair was worn straight, shoulder-length, in a very no-nonsense way. She had straight-cut bangs that touched her eyebrows, and she’d eschewed makeup. Later, when he introduced himself, he could smell the light floral scent of her perfume and the faint hint of strawberries of her lip balm.

It was her lack of artifice that made him notice her.

She looked around the room in open curiosity, her gaze cataloging the architecture and the furniture. She didn’t glance at the other women, who sized each other up while they tried to make goo-goo eyes at him.

He worked his way down the line, not really listening to introductions, and ignored the bold touches on his arms and hips as the other females vied for his approval.

When he finally reached her, she looked him in the eye, and held out her hand. She gave a firm handshake, answered his questions point-blank, and he knew, he just knew, that she was the one.

Jonas’s phone beeped, turning his thoughts to the present. As part of the pack’s revamping of security, tracking devices had been placed on the alpha’s cars. He’d heard about the Shadow Pack’s mate being kidnapped, and he’d started taking measures against such a thing happening in his pack. Alice didn’t know about the trackers, or she would’ve never taken the SUV. Despite knowing where she was, he’d been unable to catch up to her. She’d been running non-stop and he couldn’t predict her moves. The red dot on his phone verified that she was only ten miles away. She hadn’t moved for about an hour, and he hoped it wasn’t because she ditched the car. He was so close now. His heart began to race with a mixture of anxiety and anticipation.

Alice was the missing part of his soul.

His other half.

His mate.

And nothing, no rules or traditions, or summoned spirit, would keep them apart.

* * *

ALICE STRETCHED ON the couch, tucked a worn pillow under her head, and drew the quilt over her body. She stared at the flickering flames, watching them dance as the wood crackled. She drowsed there, her eyelids eventually drifting closed.

She slept deeply, dreaming of her husband, of the baby they would never have, when the child started wailing.

The wailing turned into screaming—inhuman sounds she’d never heard before.

Alice jolted awake.

The lamp on the nightstand glowed brightly, but the fire had burned down to embers. Reluctantly slipping out from the warm quilt, she padded to the picture window next to the front door—the only window in the whole cabin. She flipped on the porch light and stared out in the darkness.

All she could make out from the gray mass of falling ice and snow was the spindly shapes of trees. Everything else, including the lake, was lost in the dark and the storm.

Was the Kunda out there?

Would it come for her now?

Her heart jumped into her throat, and she backed away from the window. Coward. She was such a fucking coward. She hadn’t been when she’d first called the deity, but she hadn’t realized how much it would hurt to be without Jonas.

Cords of wood were stacked next to the fireplace along with a pile of newspapers. A box of extra-long matches rested on the mantle. With all the tools at her disposal, Alice had a new fire going in no time.

She wished the window had curtains or blinds for privacy. Most people probably liked the view, but she wanted to feel covered. Protected. Watching the snowstorm encapsulate the cabin was like watching gravediggers bury her coffin.

A loud, fearsome roar echoed.

Alice froze.

Her werewolf instincts kicked in, and she whirled toward the front door, throwing it open to sniff at the wind.

The rusty scent of blood, and the sickening stench of death overwhelmed her.

The Kunda.

Even prepared, she couldn’t hold back a gasp as a tall, gaunt creature emerged from the tree line. Its gray skin hung in tatters off blackened bones. Its eyes were desiccated hollows, and its mouth a ragged gap filled with sharp, gray teeth. The old rusted scent of blood clung to its awful form.

The blood of other sacrifices.

Alice fought to catch her breath.

Shit, shit, shit!

I don’t want to die.

“I changed my mind,” she screamed into the wind and felt shamed by her lack of conviction. She’d called the Kunda with purpose, and now she experienced the spiritual equivalent of “buyer’s remorse.”

The Kunda rose to its full height, lifted its head, and emitted a blood-curdling scream that matched her own cry of denial.

She hurried to the bed where she’d shed her winter clothes earlier. She threw on a sweater, thick socks, and boots, but the heavy thud in her belly told her it was too late. Next, she shoved on her coat and pulled up its hood. Finally, she pushed her trembling hands into fitted gloves.

Why hadn’t it come for her already? Why was it waiting? Why wasn’t it busting down the door or crashing through the window?

Alice hurried back to the door and opened it again.

The Kunda was gone.

She wasn’t ready.

The SUV’s keys were in her pocket. She could drive some more, and try to prepare herself for the inevitable end.

She knew she was stalling.

She wondered how many people had regretted invoking the Kunda when the time came to hand over their lives. Then she remembered that it was very rare for one to call the Kunda for oneself. In most cases, the pack called on the Kunda only when a pack member warranted the spirit’s brand of justice. The Kunda in return granted power to the pack. But those instances were just as rare as suicide by Kunda. Werewolves did not often (as in, ever) choose suicide. Killing yourself was considered a cowardly act. At least if you invoked the Kunda you died for the pack instead of just for yourself.

The biting wind and freezing snow battered her. She shut the door behind her and hurried off the porch. She sank to her knees. Damn. The snow was already a foot deep.

As she slogged her way toward the car, she realized, with a sinking feeling, that her car was buried in snow. The road was buried, too.

She glanced toward the cabin where the honeymooning elderly couple was no doubt resting peacefully. Their cabin was higher on the ridge. Maybe their vehicle wasn’t snowed in. Alice didn’t want to add “car thief” to her growing pile of sins, but she couldn’t stay here.

How the hell was she going to get out of this mess?

She entered the thickest part of the forest that stood between her cabin and the Gilmores’, and trudged onward. She kept her gaze focused on their tiny yellow porch light.

Her jeans got soaked and snow wiggled into her boots and made her socks cold and squishy. Her heart raced and sweat dotted her brow. Vaguely she recalled that sweating in freezing weather was a bad sign. She’d overexerted herself, and she could get hypothermia if she didn’t get into a warm environment and out of her wet things.

She reached the top of the slope and looked down at the cabin. She rested against the nearest tree and tried to even out her breathing. Other than the porch light, the cabin was dark.

No car.

Only pristine white from the forest to the Gilmore’s cabin. No road access there either.

Damn it.

Her human form did not enjoy the cold. She’d been a fool to venture out into the snowstorm. She turned around and headed down the slope toward her cabin. She couldn’t see anything in the cursed whiteout, and it seemed her coat snagged on every tree or bush she passed. The wind howled so fiercely it chilled her to the bones.

The wind… or the Kunda?

As she stumbled out of the tree line, she whirled around and saw the gaunt gray figure stalking her through the trees.

“Stop!” Alice screamed. “I changed my mind.”

You cannot.

The voice, both male and female, was calm. Colder than the snow, it echoed inside her mind.

“I don’t want to die,” she whispered.

You will die anyway. Honor the pack, little werewolf. Die well.

Alice’s tears fell. The Kunda was right. She had invoked the protector spirit. Her death ensured the future of her husband. Of the Fire Pack.

The creature stalked closer, slow and methodical, its eyeless gaze on her.

I love you, Jonas. I love you.

She felt arms on her shoulders, and then she was yanked backwards into the solid chest of a man who wrapped his muscled arms around her waist. He scooped her up and ran into the cabin, his long legs and strong body unimpeded by the snow.

Once inside, he put her down, slamming the door and locking it behind them.

“That’s not going to do much good,” she said soberly. She went to the end of the couch and pushed it toward the door for a barricade.

“It’s all we got, sweetheart.” The white ski mask covering his face muffled his voice, and his eyes were hidden behind goggles.

But she’d known who it was the moment he’d put his arms around her.

Jonas.

He grabbed the other end of the sofa, and together, they pushed it against the door. “That window’s a big problem.”

“Maybe we could rip off the closet and bathroom doors and nail them across.”

“Glass and wood won’t stop him.” He looked out the window. “Where did he go?”

She swallowed heavily. “I… don’t know.”

The Kunda had disappeared before. Was it even real?

Make the alpha leave.

The Kunda’s male-female voice echoed into her head, its demand fierce. Oh, it was real, all right. And it was apparently irritated that Jonas had shown up and run off with its sacrifice.

Have you met my husband? she thought back at the creature. I can’t make him do anything. Why do you think I invoked you?

If he offers himself as sacrifice, I must take him.

I get it. If he’s here, he dies with me.

We have an understanding. I will return, little werewolf.

I will be here.

She felt the Kunda’s approval, and it was a strange sensation, as though he’d rewarded her with a gold star for choosing death. Now, it was courage she needed. That’s what the Kunda expected. For her to act like a werewolf.

“Alice?” Her husband had gripped her shoulders and was lightly shaking her.

She blinked and stared up at him. “The Kunda is gone. It wants to protect you. So it left.” She moved away from his embrace and felt his eyes on her as she took off the gloves and rubbed her ice-cold hands together. God, she was freezing. Her whole body shivered, and her teeth chattered. As she shucked off her coat and boots, she studied Jonas. His entire body was encased in white and gray camouflage—even his snow boots were white. She briefly wondered at the duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

“You talk to it?” He pushed back the hood and removed the goggles. The white ski mask came off, revealing the short black hair, chiseled good looks, and gleaming green eyes of her husband.

“It projects its voice into my head.”

“If the Kunda stays away because I’m here, then you’ll be safe as long as I’m with you.”

Stubborn man. The Kunda would lose patience with her husband. She’d felt the Kunda’s reluctance to kill her mate, but it might decide that Jonas was no longer good for the pack. Especially with his single-minded devotion to her.

Pack before blood. Pack before love. Pack before all.

It was the Fire Pack oath, and Jonas seemed to have forgotten it.

He stared at her. “Why did you do it?”

“You know why.” Alice sat on the couch and tugged off her socks. She couldn’t stop shivering. Not all of it had to do with being cold. How could she get Jonas to leave? How could she make him stop looking as though he couldn’t decide whether to hug her or strangle her?

Her life was forfeit. She knew that. Without the threat of imminent death, she was acutely ashamed of her weakness. If she’d wanted another way, she shouldn’t have invoked the pack’s protector.

He took off his coat and draped it over the back of the couch with a casualness that belied the fury in his eyes. Well, what had she expected? He wasn’t going to thank her for leaving him, even if it was to save their pack and to make sure his line survived intact. He glared at her, arms crossed. He was probably counting all the reasons why he shouldn’t kill her himself. But she knew his anger was rooted in his fear, his love.

“I must honor my pact with the Kunda. I’d prefer it if you weren’t here.”

“Too bad. I won’t live without you, Alice.” He strode to her and yanked her up by the arms. “You’re worth more to me,” he said through gritted teeth. “More than my blood line. More than my own life.”

“You are worth a hundred of me!” she shouted. “You are the alpha. The pack needs you.”

“The pack needs you, too. I need you.” He let go of her arms and stepped back. She saw his vulnerability then. “You are my strength, Alice. My heart. If I cannot have you, I will have no one. There is only one mate for me. You.”

She understood now. Even if she let the Kunda take her, even if she sacrificed herself, he would not take another mate.

“When the pack finds out I’m barren, you’ll be challenged. My family will be tormented, too, for my weakness. My flaw.” She sat down heavily on the couch. “If they had left me in the woods as a pup—”

“You would’ve lived. You are too stubborn, too fierce, Alice. Your soul is like fire. And I need that. I need you.” His voice broke. He sucked in a breath. “I’m a better alpha with you, and the pack knows that. We are the strongest together. You bring balance to the pack—and to me.”

That’s what he’d been telling her, showing her, and she’d been in too much pain, too afraid to understand the words, the actions. She and Jonas were two halves of a whole. He needed her as much as she needed him. Beyond everything—carrying on Jonas’s line, saving the pack—not wanting to be without him had driven her to desperation. To madness. She hadn’t considered that he wouldn’t want to live without her, either.

“You’re shaking so hard I can hear your teeth chattering.”

Alice blinked up at Jonas. Her cold, snow-soaked clothes had chilled her to the bone.

He offered his hand, and she took it. He pulled her to her feet. “C’mon, let’s get you undressed.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.”

“Every time I get near you, I want you naked,” he said, but his tone was so grumpy he seemed more resentful than enamored. But hell, did she blame him? “I’ll run you a hot bath.” He waited until she looked at him again. He held her gaze, and she saw his pain, his fear, his anger. “Then we’ll talk.”

About the Author

Michele Bardsley is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of paranormal romance. When she’s not writing sexy tales of otherworldly love, she watches “Supernatural,” consumes chocolate, crochets hats, reads books, and spends time with her husband and their fur babies.

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Copyright © 2016 by Michele Bardsley

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No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatever to anyone bearing the same name or names. All incidents are pure invention. This story is meant for mature audiences who are eighteen years and older.

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