by Lisa Childs
They didn’t need to endanger anyone else.
And Warrick was so tough that Reagan hadn’t realized that he had hurt him that badly. Even when they’d been kids and Warrick younger and smaller than Reagan, he’d been invincible. It hadn’t mattered then that Reagan was older and bigger than him.
No, Reagan hadn’t hurt him when they were kids. But he’d hurt him plenty as adults. He’d hurt him emotionally. And tonight he’d hurt him physically.
How badly?
Would Warrick be okay? Could he make it out of her apartment before the police arrived? Warrick wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if more people were put at risk.
Warrick wouldn’t forgive him, either. And he doubted that Sylvia would—after how the pack was treating her. Like a criminal…
And she’d done nothing wrong. No, she was paying for the mistakes that Reagan had made. Maybe he should have saved one of those silver bullets. Not for self-defense but for…
No, he had never been a coward. And he wouldn’t be one now. He wouldn’t give up. Not yet…
Not until he had absolutely no hope left.
*
Shivering with cold and fear in that strange, sterile room behind Club Underground, Kate stood over Warrick. And just as he had at midnight, he began to change again right before her eyes. His fur receded to smooth skin over sleek muscle. His jaw turned back into human shape—square and hard and stubborn. Only his eyes remained the same—that eerie topaz as he stared up at her from the metal table on which he lay.
“What time is it?” she asked. She had dozed off sometime during the night but only after Ben had promised that he would be okay.
Of course he would be okay. He wasn’t human. Or he hadn’t been then. He was again now.
“Dawn,” he replied despite having no window or watch to verify that the sun was rising. His watch had fallen off during his struggle with his brother; she remembered seeing it on her bedroom floor among the tatters of his and his brother’s clothes.
“I always change back at dawn,” he explained.
“And into a werewolf at midnight?”
He nodded and reached out. But his handsome face distorted as he flinched in pain. Blood oozed from beneath the bandage Ben had put on his rewounded shoulder. The doctor would probably need to change the bandage now that Warrick had changed. But Ben had gone home, leaving Kate to watch over his patient.
They were alone in that creepy room. Ben had assured her they would be safe there. Maybe safer there than anywhere else…
“Are you okay?” she asked. “Should I call Ben back?”
He shook his head. “I’m fine. What about you?” He eased up and reached out, trailing his fingers along her cheek. “Did he hurt you again?”
She shook her head, and his hand slipped away from her face. She released the shaky breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. At just that slight touch, her pulse quickened and her skin had heated with desire. She forced herself to focus on what he’d asked her and on what she’d learned. “Reagan claims he’s not the one who hurt me last time.”
“Then why was he at your apartment.” Jealousy hardened those topaz eyes. “In your bedroom?”
Now that she was certain he was okay, her anger flashed back. “Don’t act like a jealous fool again,” she snapped at him. That was why she’d gotten angry with him earlier—when he’d been jealous of Dwight. And because he wouldn’t confirm the suspicions she’d already had. “Your brother wasn’t there to seduce me.”
“Don’t trust him,” he warned her. “He’s a master manipulator.”
She had considered that, too—that he’d been manipulating her. But his actions had spoken even louder than his words.
Reagan had told her—by giving her the bullets—what Warrick had refused. But had Warrick changed his mind and decided to share his secrets with her?
“Why did you come back?” she asked. Had he been about to break the rules? For her?
“I caught his scent,” he said. “I followed him back to your apartment.” His voice grew nearly as gruff as his growl when he added again, “To your bedroom.”
“So you didn’t come back for me,” she said, her heart hurting with rejection. Reagan hadn’t hurt her, but Warrick had. “You came back for him.”
“Kate…” He sat up fully, and the sheet Ben had put over him fell down—revealing his muscular chest and the rippling muscles of his abs. “I came back because I was scared he was with you—that he was going to hurt you.”
“He didn’t hurt me,” she repeated.
He reached out and slid his fingertips across her cheek. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. That’s why I wanted to stay away from you—to keep you safe. But I just can’t—” his breath shuddered out, and desire lit up his topaz gaze as he continued “—keep away from you…”
His touch had her skin again tingling in reaction. All he had to do was touch her and her common sense fled, leaving her incapable of thought. Incapable of anything but feeling. And she wanted to feel him—to make sure he was once again the man she knew. The man she loved…
She slid her palms to his chest, careful of the bandage on his shoulder, and leaned into him. Her lips touched his softly. But then passion caught.
He tangled his fingers in her hair and clutched her mouth to his while he made love to it. Sliding lips across lips, tongue across tongue—their breathing mingled into one breath—their chests rising and falling in unison.
His hands were on her waist now, and he lifted her onto the table so that she straddled his lap. The sheet and her jeans were all that separated his erection from the part of her that ached for his possession.
Careful of her bandaged arms, she dropped the sweatshirt she’d unzipped back at her apartment. Then she pulled her tank top over her head, leaving her breasts bare to his gaze. And his mouth. He closed his lips around a nipple, tugging and nipping.
She nearly came—sensations rushing through her from her breasts to the very core of her and even lower so that her toes curled in her shoes. She kicked them off then unsnapped and pushed down her jeans. Leaning on him, she managed to wriggle out of the denim.
The room was cool, the air lifting goose bumps on her skin. But he covered her. With his hands, with his lips—caressing and kissing her until she was so hot perspiration beaded on her upper lip.
Tension built inside her, and she shifted her hips, thrusting against his erection. He shoved down the sheet so nothing separated skin from skin. Then he lifted her again—his lips closed over the tip of her breast as his shaft nudged between her legs.
She reached between them and guided him inside her. On top, she was the one in control of the depth. Sliding down, she took only the tip of him before rising up again.
He groaned and gently bit her breast.
She clutched his long hair in her fingers, pulling him closer. And she slid farther down, taking him deeper and then deeper still until he filled her. She rocked against him and whimpered at the sensations racing through her. So much pleasure and the promise of so much more.
He caught her hips, lifting her up again and driving her back down—helping her find the rhythm that would free them both from the madness gripping their bodies and their minds.
And their hearts. She was crazy to love a man like him—a man who wasn’t only a man. But her heart was already his. And now so was her body. She gave it up to him, riding the waves of pleasure that shuddered through her.
He thrust deep and groaned as he filled her, his passion spilling inside her. She collapsed onto his slick chest and nearly rested her head on his shoulder before she remembered his injury.
And where they were.
“What did we just do?” she wondered, scrambling off him to grab up her clothes from the floor.
“I can’t resist you,” he said. “And I can’t stay away from you—even when I know I should.”
“Warrick…” She paused in dressing and met his hot gaze. How could she not love him?
/>
“But it doesn’t matter if I’m with you or not,” he said. “You’re still in danger.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “Both times I was attacked, I was alone.”
“Then I shouldn’t leave you alone again.”
Shouldn’t. But he would. They both knew it.
“We don’t know that those attacks were related,” she said. “Anyone could have hit me in the head with that flashlight. It could have even been Bernie the homeless man since it was before I found his body. Or it could have been some suspect I arrested during my years on the force.”
“But the second attack was definitely—”
“I don’t think it was Reagan,” she interrupted, wishing she could end their grudge.
“If he didn’t hurt you, what did my brother want?” he asked.
She reached into her jeans and held up one of the silver bullets she had pocketed. “To give me this. He loaded them into my gun.”
He narrowed his eyes. “That’s how you figured it out.”
“That you’re a werewolf. And so is whoever’s after me.” She nodded. “I already had my suspicions, though. That night I shot you in the alley…” Regret tugged at her. “If only you’d spoken to me then…”
He shook his head. “That would have scared you as much as seeing me for the first time had.”
Her lips lifted into a grim smile. “You’re probably right.” In his changed form, he was intimidating enough—but if he’d spoken to her…
“And then you had the same wound where I’d shot you that night…”
Guilt and regret filled his eyes now. “I should have stayed away from you. I shouldn’t have…”
She had no regrets over what they’d done—over making love with him. “I would have figured it out that night I was attacked outside my apartment,” she said. “There was no way that was a dog or even a regular wolf. I knew for certain then that whoever attacked me was a werewolf.”
“My brother is after you,” he insisted.
“Why?” she asked. “He doesn’t even know me. Why would he want to hurt me?”
“To hurt me,” he said.
She couldn’t argue that Reagan hadn’t hurt him. He had tonight—with his teeth. And months ago when he’d killed their father. But why did she think there was even more bad blood between the brothers? Something that neither had admitted to her yet.
She skimmed her fingers lightly over his bandage. She had inflicted that initial wound; Reagan had only reopened it. “I’m sorry you got hurt again…”
“He gave you the bullets,” Warrick said. “Why didn’t you shoot him?”
She sighed. “I couldn’t.”
“Why not?”
She hadn’t been certain who was who, but she wasn’t about to admit that to Warrick—not with as much as he currently hated his brother. But she knew what she was about to tell him would probably upset him even more.
“I didn’t shoot him because I believe him,” she admitted.
“I told you I witnessed it—”
“He didn’t deny what he’d done to your father,” she said. “But he had a reason. And I really don’t think he was the one who attacked me. I don’t think he’s the threat.”
But there was someone else out there—someone far more dangerous than Reagan because they had no idea who he or she was.
*
That son of a bitch…
Reagan was doing it again, trying to woo away the woman Warrick loved. God, he loved Kate—with all his heart. What he’d felt for Sylvia paled into insignificance in light of his overwhelming feelings for Detective Kate Wever.
“Don’t let him manipulate you,” Warrick warned. “That’s what he does. He’s smart and charming. And a total sociopath.”
“This isn’t just about your father, is it?” she asked, her blue eyes narrowing with familiar suspicion.
“Kate…”
“I saw you change—both into a wolf and back into a man. I know your biggest secret, so you might as well tell me the rest of them.”
He sighed in resignation. He might as well. But telling her would lay him bare and vulnerable. So he couldn’t do it naked. He found the clothes Ben had left out for him, jeans and a sweatshirt, and hurriedly dressed.
“You’re stalling,” she said. “Why? What else did your brother do?”
“He stole my fiancée,” he replied.
She gasped in surprise. “You were engaged?”
“To a human girl,” he shared. “I met her when I was traveling.”
“You don’t always stay in a pack?”
He shook his head. “Not always. We have lives. Careers.” Especially when they weren’t believed to be strong enough to lead the pack. Reagan was the one who had been groomed to take over for their father.
“What do you do?” she asked. “When you’re not seeking justice?”
“I’m a security consultant,” he replied. “I make sure nothing and no one can get into places like banks and museums. Sylvia was an art curator.”
Concern flashed in her blue eyes, as if she was worried that Sylvia had passed. “Was?”
“She gave up her job to come home with me, to become part of the pack,” he said.
“She must have really loved you—to give up so much,” Kate said. There was something in her voice—something he couldn’t figure out. It wasn’t jealousy. Maybe awe? Surprise?
And he knew that she wouldn’t willingly give up her career or her friends. Which meant she would probably wind up giving her up her life.
Kate…
What was he going to do? How was he going to protect her?
“So what happened?” she asked.
“She met Reagan,” he said, and all his bitterness rushed back. “And he turned on the charm. Then he turned her.”
“Turned her?” Her brow furrowed. “Oh, into a…”
She couldn’t even say it. How could she ever be one?
“Is that how he stole her away?” she asked.
He nodded. “A human is bound for life to whoever turns them into a werewolf. That is their mate.”
“So Reagan is Sylvia’s mate?”
He nodded again.
“Is she here in Zantrax, too?”
“No. After he killed my father, he left her with the pack and fled alone.” Reagan had left her alone with people who didn’t respect her trading in one brother for the other. And so had Warrick…
He hadn’t realized then that she could be in danger, too. But Uncle wouldn’t let anything happen to her whereas their father might have ordered it.
“Reagan told me that he killed your father to protect you,” she said.
“He’s a liar.” His father hadn’t always been pleased with the decisions Warrick had made, but he had never threatened his life.
“I believe him,” she said.
And Warrick’s blood ran cold. It was happening again. Reagan was already manipulating Kate, just as he had manipulated Sylvia. “Don’t make the same mistake I did,” he warned her. “Don’t trust him.”
“It’s not a matter of trust,” she said. “It’s a matter of motive. Why would he kill your father?”
With a manipulator, it was always about power and control. “To take my father’s place in the pack,” he said. “To become the leader.”
“Did he?” she asked.
Usually he was amused when Kate became Detective Wever, but tonight her questions annoyed him. Because she was using them to try to prove the innocence of his enemy. “Did he what?”
“Did he take over the pack?”
Warrick shook his head. “No, he’s been on the run ever since he shot that silver bullet into our father’s heart. He even left Sylvia.”
“So he left behind the woman he took from you and the pack he’d wanted to control?” Kate summarized. “What, exactly, did he gain?”
Warrick had believed it was all about taking away everything from Warrick that mattered to him. But now Reagan had less than he had. He had lost ev
erything that had mattered to him, too. “I don’t know…”
“I think you need to find him,” she said. “But not to kill him. You need to find him and let him talk. You need to figure this all out.”
“It doesn’t matter why he did what he did back home,” Warrick said. And it really didn’t matter to him anymore. Sylvia was no longer the woman he wanted as his mate. He wanted Kate. For life. “It just matters that you stay safe.”
She lifted the silver bullet between her thumb and forefinger. “I have this. I’m in no danger anymore.”
Armed as she was, she would be safe. Even if his brother had just laid an elaborate trap for him and Warrick never made it back to her. He kissed her goodbye and hoped it wasn’t the last time.
*
Despite the fact that it completely creeped her out—even worse than Club Underground, Kate had remained behind in the clinic after Warrick had left through the secret passageway. Finally alone and fed up with secrets, she’d had a chance to thoroughly investigate the place.
“Why are you still here?” Ben asked as he opened the door between the club and the clinic.
Paige followed him inside. “Kate? What are you doing here yet? Are you all right?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Did your wounds get infected?” Ben asked, already reaching for his gloves.
But she shook her head again. “No. Physically I’m fine. Mentally I’m reeling.”
“I understand,” Paige said. “After what happened to you last night—what you saw…”
“I learned that werewolves are real,” she said. “Not just some myth or a character in fiction. They really exist.”
Ben and Paige exchanged a glance. “You really shouldn’t be talking about this,” Ben advised her, his deep voice lowering to a whisper as if he was worried that someone might overhear them.
She shook her head, needing to talk—needing to sort out everything she had seen. “At midnight I watched a man change from a man into a beast and then, at dawn, back into a man.” Into the man that she loved. “I know for a fact that werewolves are real.”
Hell, she had known even before she had watched Warrick and his brother change. That first night Warrick, as a beast, had found her in the alley she’d begun to suspect that he and the beast were the same. And then, when one of them had attacked her, she had known for certain.
