by Gaja J. Kos
I rose again, but didn’t avert my gaze. I only brought my claws to one of the man’s exposed nipples and nicked the tender flesh.
He squirmed, but his voice didn’t waver as he gritted out, “You…you will come to us.”
“Why?” Demyan asked dryly. Oh, he was getting tired of the were’s shit.
“They will wait for you. Tomorrow night. Eleven p.m. The old Russian distillery. No reinforcements. No ICRA. Just you, Diak.”
“Why the fuck would I give myself up?” Demyan asked at the same time as I breathed, “You let yourself get caught.”
Something in the werewolf’s face changed then.
Something almost manic I couldn’t pin down, but didn’t like one bit.
He shot me a look that all but confirmed my suspicion it had been no coincidence he was the only one we’d managed to trap. I glanced at Demyan.
We’d definitely been played.
“You’ll give yourself up, kotik.” He laughed. “Because if you don’t, my alpha’s claws will end up in your brother’s throat.”
Chapter Seventeen
Demyan’s hand shot out.
His claws sank into the werewolf’s taut stomach, blood flowing down his white skin in bright rivulets.
“Ty lzhosh,” he growled.
“I’m not lying and you know it,” the were sparred without missing a beat. Without revealing as much as a hint of the pain that must have been coursing through his body with Demyan’s claws in his guts. “We found your little brother in Australia. Wasn’t even that hard to track down, once Tolya put his mind to it. And he was motivated, Diak Pavlov, very motivated. Aleksei was a test. If he succeeded, good. If not…Yuriy is the treat.”
A thousand curses exploded in my head—we should have seen this coming. Should have known the second it became clear Demyan’s old pack was involved that his brother could be dragged into this. ICRA was resourceful and could give people solid covers, but in this day and age, with so many magics pulsing in the world, it was hard to stay completely under the radar. Especially if you were a supe.
Still, I only stood there, offering my silent support as Demyan, his claws still in the were’s abdomen, wrapped the fingers of his free hand around the man’s throat.
“Where are they?”
The werewolf laughed. “Do you know why I volunteered for this job?”
Demyan didn’t answer, but the werewolf went on regardless. “I don’t break under torture.”
I wished I could say he was exaggerating, wished it was just bravado—a damn game to throw us off. But the game had ended when he’d revealed his true motivations.
Even I’d heard of packs who built their members’ resistance from an early age. A barbaric but highly efficient approach to hone them into pure weapons. Torturing them on a daily basis until there was nothing, absolutely nothing that could make them kneel.
I glanced at the blood flowing down the werewolf’s chest and pooling beneath his head on the dusty floor. Took in how deeply Demyan’s claws were embedded in his abdomen.
Then let the dispassionate, perhaps slightly pleased expression on the werewolf’s face anchor within me.
It didn’t matter how much I yearned to tear into him. Let loose the deepest, darkest side of me that knew no morals, only reveled in pain.
But even if Demyan and I dropped the chains binding our baser nature, we would never be able to break him.
Demyan must have come to the same conclusion.
We were done here.
With two swipes, Demyan sliced his claws across the werewolf’s neck and tore out his guts with a cry wrought of undiluted fury.
Chapter Eighteen
Blood still trickled from the corpse as I caught up with Demyan, who was trying to leave through the back door.
I slammed my hand firmly against the rusty iron and half-blocked him with my body.
“Don’t you dare fucking do this,” I growled.
Demyan looked at me, his stare cold. Colder than I’d ever seen him. Not the man who had an interest in me. Not the boss I’d come to respect.
He’d shut off those parts of him as efficiently as he’d slaughtered the wolf.
“Move,” he commanded.
“Fucking make me, Morozov.”
Danger flared in his eyes, but I held my ground. If he wanted to fight me, he could fight me. I didn’t give a shit as long as he wasn’t pushing me away.
“I’m with you, you fucking asshole,” I snarled. “And I’m not afraid of taking you down if you try to walk out this door.”
That was it.
The last push he needed.
He growled and threw himself at me. I spun out of the way, moving resolutely away from the door just so he wouldn’t get any ideas. Demyan followed as I retreated deeper into the room, prowling after me like a predator on the verge of springing on his prey. Good. The blood-saturated air reigning in this part of the space only aided my cause.
Mindful not to slip on the slick ground, I observed his movements, monitored his scent—the spike in his heartbeat as he undoubtedly ran through a scenario or two on how he’d deal with me. Unfortunately for him, I was probably the single werewolf in his life he couldn’t outsmart quite so fast.
Going for the unexpected, I reversed my supposed tactics in a blink of an eye and rushed at him. Demyan moved to block me, but his reaction was a split-second too slow. I put everything I could into my speed and strength as we connected. My arms snaked around his rock-hard waist as my shoulder rammed into his abdomen, and the force of my sprint sent us both flying across the space.
I let go of him the second before he crashed against the wall.
But Demyan was built like a damn truck, which meant my reprieve didn’t last particularly long.
Just as I widened my stance and readied myself for his counterattack, Demyan rolled into a crouch, his clawed hand scraping against the weathered floor. A growl trickled from his lips, and I matched it, fanning my own fingers to show their sharp tips.
“You don’t fucking scare me,” I snarled. “And I’m not letting you get rid of me on some bullshit notion.”
Demyan’s teeth lengthened as he growled at me.
And the man lunged.
I blocked him as he hurtled all his damn weight right at me, but he swiped my arm away, four shallow streaks of blood manifesting on my skin. His body barreled into mine, bringing me down. I landed with a hard thud, and Demyan straddled me, then locked his clawed fingers around my throat.
Not squeezing. But applying just enough pressure to let me know that he could.
I bared my teeth, my breath coming out in sharp rasps. One of Demyan’s claws scraped my skin. Fuck.
My nipples hardened, and Demyan’s nostril’s flared, scenting just what he was doing to me. With a menacing growl, he spun me around before I could as much as fight him off.
Not that I wanted to.
Shit, I definitely wouldn’t have wanted to.
He lifted my hips up in the air with a determined yank and tore my pants off.
Another rip as he obliterated my panties, and then I was moaning, clawing at the ground as Demyan buried himself inside me right to the fucking hilt. With one hand on the back of my head, pushing me down against the weathered wood, and the other working on my clit, he pumped his hips, the rhythm rough, cruel, and so fucking arousing I came right then and there.
As his thrusts faltered, Demyan growled, “I want to come in your fucking mouth.”
My muscles clenched around his shaft, but he was already pulling out. The loss hit me like a blow to the gut, but the command in his voice turned me around. Demyan rose, stroking himself as I settled on my knees before him.
Fuck, he looked good. Bloodied and with raw, carnal hunger etched into his face, he was a wet dream made flesh.
I licked my lips and opened my mouth.
Demyan pushed three fingers inside for me to suck, his cock twitching when I dared remove my gaze from his to enjoy the view down below. With
a groan, he pulled the fingers from my mouth and wound them in my hair, claiming control of me. Shit. My every nerve came alive at the sheer demand with which he commanded me, the ache between my thighs becoming almost unbearable.
His cock glistened with my own arousal, drenched in my smell as he brought the tip to my lips. I wanted to lick him, wanted to fucking taste myself on him, but the hand he kept in my hair prevented me from doing anything but wait for his mercy.
A hunter’s smile cupped his lips as I opened my mouth in a silent plea.
A second suspended in time hung between us, my damn essence screaming for him—
He rammed his cock inside me.
I took him whole, moaning at how good it felt as he rolled across my tongue and grazed the back of my throat.
“Fuck,” he rasped, then fucked my face with such ferocity I was dripping wet, my entire body shaking.
His rhythm spiraled out of control, but even as I felt his orgasm building up, he commanded, “Play with your clit.”
I did.
The instant the pressure of my fingertips grazed the bundle of nerves, my climax ripped through me. His cock muffled my moan, but nothing could stop the sheer ecstasy that overcame me as Demyan spilled into my mouth.
I swallowed, then flicked my tongue along his length as he pulled out. Demyan grabbed me by the sides of my face. He lifted me up, then slammed his mouth against mine.
The kiss was rough, hard, but also laced with vulnerability that made my knees buckle.
Still cupping my cheeks, he leaned back. His eyes bore into mine.
“You want me, Greta?” His breath caressed my skin. “All of me?”
“All of you, Demyan.”
A shudder rippled through him, then he claimed my mouth again.
This time, what his kiss held was a promise.
Demyan Morozov was done pushing me away.
Now all we needed was to make sure he and his brother got out of this mess alive.
Chapter Nineteen
We swept the perimeter as best we could without leaving our scents everywhere, but that still left too many blind spots for my liking. Tolya Nikolaev had chosen the old Russian distillery for more than just its link to Demyan’s home country. For someone who had only recently come to Munich, the bastard had sure done his homework well.
I glanced at Hans, who crouched in the shadows beside me, his gaze trained on the patch of rough concrete that would become the meeting point all too soon. It had been a while since I pulled a stunt like this with my eldest brother. If the circumstances were any different, I would have probably enjoyed being on a hunt with him far more than my mind or body allowed me right now.
“It’ll be fine, Greta,” he murmured, more than likely picking up on the tension zinging through my flesh.
Of all my siblings, I’d always been closest to Hans. Which meant there was little I could conceal from him, even if recent years had given us less quality brother and sister time than I would have liked.
I offered him a tense smile. “Just the fact that you’re here makes it a lot better.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He tapped the rifle already assembled by his feet. “And I haven’t taken her out for a spin in a while.”
After I swiped my gaze across our surroundings—again—and noted no change, no preparations taking place within our field of vision, I eased myself into a sitting position, though one that wouldn’t compromise the scope of my sight. Hans watched me in silence, giving me the time to compose my thoughts. Only, oddly enough, what ran through my mind wasn’t the danger approaching with every passing minute.
“I miss the old days sometimes,” I admitted.
His blue eyes filled with surprise. “I thought you liked being ICRA?”
There was no judgment in his voice, nothing but simple curiosity.
“I do.” I flicked away a pebble. “And I enjoy the fact that we don’t have to hide our existence from anybody. But…”
“The old ways had their charm?” Hans ventured, an easy smile on his lips.
We were both old enough to have experienced the full extent of our previous life. The packs’ ways of keeping other supes in line. The thrill of finding solitude in the wilderness and letting our wolves loose after keeping them contained within the city setting.
But most of all, I enjoyed whenever it was our family, our blood, hunting together. Jens and Jürgen, the raucous twins, had quickly departed for Ljubljana where they joined a pack consisting purely of Black weres, but they returned home every single year. We’d drink beer. We’d hunt. And, in the meantime, when they were away and Ludvig, the third oldest in the family, younger than me by two years, had his hands full trying to break into the comic book market, it was Hans and me who roamed around together. An economist, working as an adviser for one of the largest firms in Germany, and a bartender, enjoying the simple life of bringing food and drinks to the patrons of a cozy biergarten. Two people who couldn’t have been more different on paper, but shared an unparalleled love for hunting down the baddies on our off-time.
When the War hit, I was already thirty, Hans thirty-two. In werewolf terms, that age put us close to retirement. We all led brutal lives, training from an early age and contributing to the supernatural society as soon as our trainers gave the green light. We only had a few more years to go before we could start considering taking up the easy life—working our human jobs, if we so wished, and hunting only in the woods for game, not scum who preyed on innocents.
Yet here we were, seven years later—me an ICRA agent in the Violent Crimes division with no hint of giving up the job anytime soon.
And Hans…
Itching to release the primal side the War had shackled when the need for pack enforcers to supervise the wider community had been eliminated. More than that, actually.
The new regime didn’t tolerate rogue killings. Even if they were justified.
“Why didn’t you join any of the law enforcement agencies?” I asked and flicked another pebble away. “Was it because you planned to retire?”
We were close, Hans and I. But there were still subjects we hadn’t touched over the years. Not because we were avoiding them, but simply because there was always so much shit going on, talking like two regular beings rarely popped up on the itinerary.
A wistful smile cupped his lips, and he ran a hand through his classically short blond hair. “I like being an economist.”
I snorted—which elicited a quiet laugh from Hans. My brother wasn’t shitting around. He really did love his job. Loved it like it wasn’t boring enough to have my brain matter leaking all over the floor.
“I know what you’re thinking and stop it.” He slapped my shoulder. “Not all of us can be the wild child.”
“I think Pablo has me beat on that count.”
Hans had to smack a hand over his mouth to stifle a howling laugh. Yes, I had always carried the wild child mantle in the Freundenberger household. Until my parents adopted Pablo. I didn’t think it took more than a week for him to kick me off my throne.
If not for anything else, I was thankful for the changes the War had brought because of him. Someone as energetic and attuned to their nature as Pablo was would have had a whole lot of trouble flying under the radar. Now, the damn brilliant hellion had a number of possibilities open for him. A bright future.
I glanced at Hans and reached out to grab his arm. “I’ll cover your ass for this. You know that, right?”
“Schwestie, I trust you with my life. You know that, right?”
I blinked back the sting of tears.
Polar opposites save for the thrill of the hunt, Hans and I would always have each other’s backs. That was a bond nothing could take away from us.
“Incoming,” he muttered, the smile on his lips fading into the stark expression I knew all too well.
Following his example, I glanced to where a nondescript black car approached the abandoned district. Three people inside from the looks of it, t
hough from this far away, we couldn’t catch a scent to see if anyone else was hiding. Or if one of the silhouettes in the back truly was Demyan’s brother, Yuriy.
As Hans kept monitoring the new arrivals, I scanned the other side of the area for Demyan. We’d agreed beforehand which path would be the best for us to cover. I wasn’t taking any chances, letting him walk into this meeting alone.
Something eased inside me, if only briefly, when I spotted his powerful form walk towards the now-parked car. I glanced at Hans.
He dipped his chin.
Good.
He had the situation covered.
When two figures climbed out of the car, leaving the third inside, I did an almost involuntary scan of the access trail I’d chosen if I needed to get down from the building. The positioning was perfect. In all honesty, this was the best possible outcome we could hope for.
Which only put me on edge.
If shit seemed easy, life always found a way to fuck me over.
“Demyan Morozov,” a tall, lanky yet muscular werewolf called out. “Or should I call you by your old name, huh? Diak Pavlov? It fits this long-overdue reunion more, don’t you think?”
Chapter Twenty
“You have me,” Demyan growled. “Now let Yuriy go.”
The lanky, dark blond werewolf—Tolya Nikolaev, I assumed, given the power and importance rolling off him—laughed. An unpleasant sound that grated against my ears. “What’s the rush?”
But Demyan showed no inclination of wanting to play his games. I couldn’t see his face clearly from my perch, but his body language spoke plenty. Any more shit and he would probably slaughter the alpha and his enforcer waiting like a good little pup by his master’s side before either of them could as much as blink.
That was, of course, the plan.
Only with Hans and me doing the dirty work while Demyan got his brother out of the line of fire. The car didn’t qualify as safe enough. The semi-tinted windows that made it impossible to ID the person within didn’t help, either.
