by Vivi Andrews
It might be love. If they don’t kill each other first.
Lone Pine Pride, Book 5
Siberian tiger-shifter Dominec Giroux doesn’t play well with others. Horribly scarred by the Organization scientists who killed his family and tried to turn him into their pet assassin, his sanity has been hanging by a thread ever since his escape.
His one reason for living—revenge. But when he snaps during one of the shifters’ strikes against the Organization and goes on a killing spree, it doesn’t go over so well with his pride mates.
As the only female lieutenant in Lone Pine Pride history, Grace Calaveras has a lot to prove, and a lot on her plate. The last thing she needs to deal with is Dominec’s brand of crazy, but until she can get him under control, she’s his babysitter.
It would take a miracle for these two to find common ground, but when they’re sent on a mission that could impact the future of every shifter in the world, lioness and tiger form an uneasy alliance…and unleash an attraction that could be their salvation. If it doesn’t destroy them both.
Warning: This book contains a scarred, brooding tiger with an unconventional approach to romance, a feisty, flirty lioness who doesn’t know how to quit, love triangles, secret missions, and rooftop kisses hot enough to melt the Montana snow.
Tangling with the Tiger
Vivi Andrews
Dedication
In loving memory of my extraordinary brother.
Chapter One
There was blood on her hands. Literally.
She’d washed off the worst of it, quick and businesslike, as soon as she got back to the pride, but she hadn’t had the time to be thorough. It lingered under her nails, clinging to her cuticles and in the creases of her knuckles. The traces were small. She couldn’t even really see them, but the smell—that distinctive, metallic, sweet thick smell—made her nose itch.
“You were supposed to keep him from killing anyone.”
Grace looked up at the low growl of her Alpha’s voice. Well, yes. There was that. The figurative blood on her hands as well. She met Roman’s gaze, keeping her own steady, not in a show of defiance, but letting him see in her eyes that she owned what had happened. The blood. The scent of fear. She wouldn’t make excuses.
“She couldn’t have predicted it,” Kye, the soft-spoken snow leopard who had led the Op, said in her defense. “The basement labs weren’t on any of the schematics. They were marked as maintenance and the schematics had never been wrong before. We thought the worst he would do was scare a janitor. It was my call to send him down to check out the lowest level. If it’s anyone’s fault—”
“You weren’t assigned to babysit him,” Roman said, still frowning down at her. “Grace was.”
“He’s been a model citizen the last few weeks.” Kye surprised her by continuing to argue with the Alpha. He rarely stirred himself to conflict—outside of the military incursions he led. “We had no way of knowing he would…”
“Go berserk and slaughter twenty people?”
“More like thirty,” Grace corrected, examining her cuticles for tiny blood particles.
Roman growled.
“They weren’t exactly innocent.” Mateo muttered the words under his breath, but every shifter in the room had hearing sharp enough to catch every syllable. The Alpha’s head snapped around to glare at him, but Mateo didn’t seem to notice. The slim computer guru hadn’t looked up from his tablet since he sat down.
They were in the smallest conference room at the Alpha’s mansion, the one that had become a de facto mission control and debriefing room in the last few weeks as the Task Force began to make deliberate, planned assaults on the Organization facilities where captured shifters were being held.
The table sat eight, but only five of those chairs were occupied. Kye, Mateo and Grace on one side, and two of the lieutenants who hadn’t been on this strike—Hugo and Xander—on the other. The Alpha prowled the room, occasionally bending down to grip the back of a chair. Roman’s mate, Patch, leaned against the wall near the door.
Since she and Roman had officially mated, Patch had begun sitting in on some of the lieutenant meetings, primarily those that had to do with the Organization. Grace didn’t know all the details, but she’d heard enough to gather that Patch’s mother was one of the shifters believed to be held in the Organization facilities. The slim, dark cougar shifter’s presence usually soothed the Alpha, but didn’t seem to be doing much good tonight. Not that she could blame him. Part of her wanted to pace and claw the walls too.
Her feet slipping, throwing out a hand to catch herself on the wall. Her hand coming away sticky and red as she half-ran, half-slid down the hall on a slick of blood, like the world’s goriest Slip ’N Slide. The carnage so gratuitous even the predator inside her balked at the sight.
Grace blinked away the memory. “Innocent or not, they’re dead now. And we’ll never learn what they could have told us. That’s on me.”
The Organization scientists were Satan in human form as far as most shifters were concerned, but they may have had information Lone Pine couldn’t afford to waste. And Roman had specifically told her to keep Dominec on a leash.
Roman growled and tossed his big body into a chair, as if annoyed with her for agreeing to shoulder the blame. “He’s a menace.”
“He’s a psychopath,” Xander added, his first contribution to the conversation—surprising considering how much the jackass loved the sound of his own voice.
“You want to be the one who gets to tell him he’s off the incursion team?” Grace asked Xander sweetly.
Her question landed in the room like a stone in a pond, casting out ripples of horrified silence.
“Fuck,” Roman groaned.
Dominec Giroux—the psychopath in question—was a French-Canadian Siberian tiger shifter who had arrived at Lone Pine Pride two years back with vicious scars distorting the entire left side of his face and a barely leashed rage in his eyes that said the scars to his psyche were unimaginably worse.
For reasons she’d never understood, he’d stayed at the Montana compound, but never truly had become part of the pride. No one really knew anything about him—other than the fact that the Organization was responsible for his disfigurement and the deaths of his family. He’d always stayed in the shadows, lurking on the fringes and generally being a dick—in Grace’s humble opinion—until the Hawk had arrived at Lone Pine, carrying data on the Organization that would finally give the shifters the upper hand.
Dominec had insisted on being part of the Lone Pine incursion team, put together to strike at Organization facilities and free as many shifters as they could find. Roman had been hesitant—the tiger had a shit-ton of crazy flowing through his veins—but Grace had persuaded the Alpha to let Dominec come along. In part because the asshole would probably follow them anyway and in part because while he was a psychopath, he was their psychopath, and that could be useful.
She just hadn’t expected him to go quite so spectacularly off the rails. There was no question he couldn’t be allowed to go on another strike.
“I’ll tell him,” Hugo rumbled. “He probably won’t try to kill me.”
Hugo, as a bear, had over hundred pounds on the tiger in both human and animal forms, but Grace wouldn’t put money on that stopping Dominec if he had really lost it. And she wasn’t entirely sure Hugo would win in a fight. No one moved like Dominec, so fast and terrifyingly lethal. He might even be able to take out Roman if his crazy was really running at full steam.
�
�I’ll tell him,” Grace volunteered. “I’m good at telling people to get their heads out of their asses. It’s kind of my thing. Besides, I was the one who was supposed to make sure he didn’t go all Manson.”
“Feeling suicidal, Gracie?” Xander asked.
She kicked him under the table—more satisfying than just flipping him off since he got to carry the bruise. But if she was honest, she’d always kind of wanted to pit herself against Dominec. Crazy, suicidal, call it what you would, there was something about someone so unbelievably wild that made her want to let her own animal side out to play. Just to see if she could take him.
“I’ll do it,” Roman rumbled.
“No. Let Grace tell him.”
Grace could see Patch from where she sat, but the opposite side of the table all twisted around to look at her when the Alpha’s mate spoke.
“He listens to her,” Patch said simply.
Grace was inclined to think Patch was smoking the really good crack if she thought Dominec listened to anyone, but she wasn’t going to argue if the Alpha’s mate wanted to plead her case for her.
“When he isn’t having a psychotic episode, you mean,” Xander said snidely.
Grace picked at the blood under her thumbnail, remembering the scene in graphic detail. It certainly looked like a psychotic rampage, but… “I’m not sure he was.”
Roman turned back to frown at her. “What do you mean?”
“Only three or four of the bodies were mauled by claws. All of the others had been shot. Head. Heart. Quick. Efficient.”
Silence resonated through the room as they all digested that. A shifter would never instinctively use a gun and Dominec couldn’t have fully shifted if he was able to pull the trigger—which indicated a terrifying level of control. She almost wished what happened could be explained by Dominec falling off the back of the crazy train he’d been clinging to by his fingernails for the last two years. The possibility that he had been in complete control during his rampage was somehow much more disturbing.
“If we exile him…” Roman said slowly.
“He could be even more dangerous than he is here,” Grace argued. “A loose cannon.”
“He isn’t exactly under control now,” Hugo rumbled.
“Let me talk to him,” Patch said. “Maybe I can figure out why he—”
“No,” Roman said, flat and final. He couldn’t see his mate glaring daggers at the back of his head. “Grace. You wanted him on the team, you can tell him he’s off it. And if we need to chain his ass up to keep him from interfering with our plans moving forward, that’s what we’ll do.”
“Of course the Alpha is right,” Xander chimed in with his usual sycophantic flair, “but it would be a lot easier if we just kill him. We don’t have space for the prisoners we have, let alone CrazyFuck McCrazyAss.”
“Which brings us to our next order of business.” Roman scrubbed a hand over his face and Grace wondered if he was regretting signing on to be the new Alpha yet. It had only been a few weeks and already the shit was hitting the fan fast and furious.
“What the fuck do we do with the Organization prisoners we captured?” Grace provided helpfully.
“Exactly.”
“The Hawk has claimed ownership of Dr. Russell,” Grace said.
Roman nodded. “We promised him he could have her if we found her.”
“She’s a person, not a trophy,” Patch grumbled from the door—and again Roman missed the glare his mate shot at the back of his head. If that woman had lasers for eyes, her sweetie’s brain would be en flambé.
“Adrian won’t hurt her,” Grace said in an attempt to pacify the cougar—and because it was true. Near as she could tell, the Hawk was ass-over-ears in love with the lovely Dr. Rachel Russell, but they had some shit to work out—what with her sort of responsible for him being captured and experimented on by the Organization while she was working as a double agent inside the belly of the beast, smuggling other shifters out. “We should debrief her, though. And work out some kind of official immunity protective thingy.”
Rachel Russell was the reason they finally had the upper hand against the Organization. Not only had she freed dozens of shifters, she’d also managed to smuggle out information on where the Big Bad had their current bases—which was how Lone Pine was able to launch their recent spate of attacks. But not all shifters at Lone Pine were going to see her as more than an Organization doctor—including crazy assholes like Dominec who had almost shot her. They needed to make sure she was publicly acknowledged as a breed apart from the twenty-two Organization prisoners they’d taken in the last raid.
The twenty-two survivors.
A long hallway, slick with blood, heavy with the scent of grown men shitting themselves, bodies thick on the ground.
Grace shook away the image and realized the conversation had moved on while she was drifting. That wasn’t like her. She snapped back to attention, focusing on the discussion at hand—what to do with the prisoners, since Lone Pine was already packed to capacity and not exactly set up for hostage taking.
Xander was in favor of aggressive interrogation—waterboarding may have been mentioned—but all it had taken was Kye’s softly spoken, “We aren’t like them” to shut him up.
From what Mateo had gathered from the tech on site, the facility they’d destroyed was a research hive, populated by scientists who were unlikely to have sensitive data about Organization tactical operations, or any information beyond their own specific research, but they might get lucky.
Hugo was put in charge of gently questioning each scientist. It was agreed that they would be held in an unused barn outside the main pride compound—which, considering it was November in Montana and due to snow any day now, was borderline inhumane, but since there was nothing borderline about the vicious things the Organization had done to shifters, Grace couldn’t find it in her to protest.
She’d have to rework the duty rosters for the soldiers who manned the perimeter wall, adding in rotations guarding the barn, but luckily she enjoyed that kind of work. Schedules and spreadsheets were her crack.
And then she’d have to talk to Dominec about why he decided to play Freddy Kruger. Joy.
But it was her fuck-up that had cost all those lives. Even if they were vile Organization sadists, they were still people. People who may or may not have had valuable information. That was on her.
The meeting broke up not long after that. It was after eight at night, but everyone who worked on the pride security forces was used to long hours. Grace wanted to catch Mateo—who looked like hammered shit these days—but Kye took the place beside him as they made their way out of the Alpha’s mansion, discussing the strategic pros and cons of various Organization targets for the next mission. Hugo and Xander were both striding off with the long, purposeful steps of men with places to go and things to do. Patch had slipped off several minutes before they called it a day and Grace half-expected Roman to follow her, but the Alpha turned toward his office instead.
“Hey, boss, if Patch kills you in your sleep tonight, can I be Alpha?”
Roman paused, frowning his imperious king-of-the-universe frown. “Do you not have enough to do, Grace, that you need to bother me? Because if you’re bored, I could really use a report from Dr. Brandt on the health conditions of the latest batch of incoming shifter refugees.”
“Nah, I’m good. I just figured you’d want to know why your mate is gonna rip you a new one when you get home.”
“Patch and I are fine. Thanks for your concern.”
“Wow. Men are imbeciles.”
“Grace…”
She ignored the warning in his voice. “You went all dictatorial Ruler of the Pride on your mate in that meeting. A couple of times, actually. If looks could kill, you’d be dangling by your entrails right now.”
“Is this about Dominec? He’s unstable. I’
m not going to endanger my mate by having her try to talk him down. I don’t care if they’re friends.”
“One, I don’t think Dominec has friends by the technical definition of the word. And two, it’s not about you wanting to protect Patch—which is really sweet and all—it’s about the caveman, my-word-is-law bullshit you pulled when she suggested it. I agree it was a pretty dumb suggestion, but you didn’t pick a mate who is part of the pride structure and wants to bow down to your every command. If you wanted docile and obedient, you really should have stuck with Lila. But you picked Patch. Who is independent. And might kill you in your sleep tonight. So, if she does, can I be Alpha? ’Cuz I’d be awesome at it. This pride would be lost without me.”
Roman grimaced. “Point taken. I owe her an apology. Now please leave.”
“Right-o, boss.” She tipped an imaginary cap at him. “My work here is done.”
Now if only things with Crazy Ass would prove so easy to fix.
Chapter Two
Dominec shoved another gun into the backpack already bulging with weapons. He’d showered off the worst of the blood, but the rest of the consequences for his actions today weren’t as easily washed down the drain. He figured he had about an eighty percent chance of exile. So he packed.
So far his bags contained only weapons and a couple of changes of clothes, but what more did he need? He didn’t have any mementos from his life before. Even his memories of the time before his capture were fragmented. Maybe it was the drugs they’d shot him with. Maybe it was his own attempts to gouge out the memories. Either way his brain was irreparably fucked. Had been for so long he’d almost forgotten it wasn’t always this way. Like a mirror someone had taken a sledgehammer to, the shards sharp and jagged, tipped with blood.
He tried to keep them in a box, where they couldn’t reopen the old wounds, but then something would happen, the box would open, and the shards would cut.
Perhaps he shouldn’t have killed them.
