by Olivia Arran
Defender
Alpha Protectors
Olivia Arran
Arran Publishing
Contents
Copyright
1. Chapter One
2. Chapter Two
3. Chapter Three
4. Chapter Four
5. Chapter Five
6. Chapter Six
7. Chapter Seven
8. Chapter Eight
9. Chapter Nine
10. Chapter Ten
11. Chapter Eleven
12. Chapter Twelve
13. Chapter Thirteen
14. Chapter Fourteen
15. Chapter Fifteen
16. Chapter Sixteen
17. Chapter Seventeen
18. Chapter Eighteen
19. Chapter Nineteen
20. Chapter Twenty
21. Chapter Twenty-One
22. Chapter Twenty-Two
23. Chapter Twenty-Three
24. Chapter Twenty-Four
25. Chapter Twenty-Five
26. Chapter Twenty-Six
27. Chapter Twenty-Seven
Epilogue
From the Author
Copyright © 2016 Olivia Arran
All rights reserved worldwide. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters represented as 18 or over.
Edited by Jersey Devil Editing
Cover Design by Jacqueline Sweet
If you’d like to know when Enforcer, Book 4 in the Alpha Protectors series, releases, please sign up for Olivia’s newsletter!
Chapter One
Vin
Fat droplets of water landed on my head, pasting my hair to my skull and dripping down into my eyes. It was fucking raining. Did it ever stop? It was a rhetorical question, as I damn well knew the answer. I’d grown soft in the time I’d been away from home, and now the cold damp that was a typical English summer irked me.
I hunched my shoulders against the downpour, wishing for the first time in years that I had a coat. Or one of those damn fancy umbrellas everyone seemed to be waving around. The cobbled side streets shone in the last of the waning sunlight that strained through the gray clouds, rough and uneven from hundreds of years of constant pummeling. Buildings rose up around me, a mish-mash of old and new: squat townhouses fighting for square footage with new shiny metal monstrosities.
Lengthening my stride, I skirted around people too self-absorbed to watch where they were going, and too human to scent the predator in their midst.
It was fucking crowded. Too many people, too little space. I’d forgotten what London was like. The smell of food and waste, and the bitterness of the Thames river that even this far away was sticking at the back of my throat.
What the hell was I doing coming back?
The rain started to ease as dusk lengthened the shadows, the crowd thinning out as I headed farther away from the hustle and bustle of Knightsbridge. Turning, I slipped down a side street, letting a sigh of relief escape as I could breathe again.
A body slammed into me, a muffled cry of surprise echoing through the air.
Reaching out, I automatically steadied the person—a woman from the brief feel I’d gotten—all curves and softness hidden under volumes of fabric.
She tilted her head back, allowing me a glimpse inside the oversized hood. Big brown eyes blinked up at me, with long, coal-black lashes spiked from the earlier rain.
My breath caught in my throat as her scent perfumed the air, wrapping around me and squeezing tight. My cock twitched to life, the tug of her an intoxicating, relentless pounding through my veins.
She blinked again, swaying in my arms, her lips parting in what looked to be a silent question.
“What?” I murmured, my voice husky with the need that rode me. Owned me.
She swayed away from me, then shook her head. Lips that had been perfectly parted, as though waiting for my kiss, twisted into a grimace. “Excuse me,” she muttered, twisting out of my grip.
Sweet fucking hell. That voice. My fingers twitched with the need to yank her to me and wipe that grimace from her lips. “No, excuse me,” I murmured, immediately annoyed with myself. Damn British manners. I’d only been back a couple of hours and I was already apologizing for everything. Then I did a mental double take. “American?”
“And?” It was a challenge.
I held my hands up, forcing my mouth into an easygoing smile. “Hey, I have nothing but love for Americans!”
“Not this American.” Then she stepped around me, dismissing me.
What the—? I went to grab her, but quickly thought better of it. I didn’t have time for this, but I jogged after her. The woman was walking like she was on a mission. “Have I offended you?”
“I don’t know you.” She said it like it was final. Like that couldn’t change.
“Exactly. You don’t.” The ridiculously large hood hid her face and it was starting to piss me off. I tried to peer around it, but she turned away.
She stayed silent, as if by ignoring me I’d go away. Vanish. She turned onto another side street, her boots clicking on the cobbles.
I was stumped. I wasn’t big-headed enough to think I was a handsome fucker, but I was pretty sure I wasn’t mirror-shattering material either. Most of the women I’d previously dated hadn’t complained, and not many had turned me down. I frowned, trying to think of the last time something like this had happened. I drew a blank. When I’d first left the military, and before I’d run off to America, I’d let loose a little, had a little fun. But since joining F.U.R, the Freelance Undercover Resolutions company run by the Sunclaw pack, I hadn’t had the time. Or the inclination. The assignments had kept me busy enough, and any downtime I had I spent with the team, grabbing a beer and shooting some pool. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d looked at a woman, let alone tried to smooth talk one into my bed.
Was I that out of practice? I gave it one last shot. “Like I said, I—”
She spun around, her coat flaring in a cloud of black around her. But the damn hood stayed in place, wreathing her face in shadows. “I don’t have time for this.”
I rocked back on my heels, eyeing her like I’d eye a feral cat. “This?”
She swirled a hand in the air between us, flicking her fingers dismissively. “Whatever it is that you want—I don’t. Leave me alone.” Her voice was a low, determined hiss, but her eyes darted away under my stare, refusing to meet mine.
Then, she stalked off, her back ramrod straight.
I watched her go, fighting back the urge to give chase.
Dammit. I was beginning to question my sanity. Chasing a woman down the street just because she smelled good?
And feels good, my wolf whined inside my head, piping up for the first time. Verbally, that is. He’d been panting since I’d collided with the little spitfire, his low whine a constant buzzing inside my skull.
Yeah, we’re flat out of luck, I sent back, giving him a firm shove. I didn’t have a clue how the other guys dealt with their wolves, but I’d adopted a firm but fair attitude with mine. I was in charge, end of story. Saying that, I always listened to him and let
his instincts guide me, and so far to date he’d never been wrong.
Until now.
Sometimes being an alpha wolf was a pain in the ass. Actually, most of the time. Though the strength and power came in handy in my line of work—covert ops, bodyguard duty, undercover missions—I did it all, and then some. I refused assassinations, though. Well, most of the time I refused them, unless they were really bad guys, like child abusers, slavers, terrorists, or nuclear bomb kind of bad. Then I didn’t mind.
Okay. Then, I liked it.
My train of thought was as good as a four-iron around the side of my head. I wasn’t here to play; I was here to work, and the sooner I finished up the job, the sooner I could go home. To my new home, far, far away from my family.
My mystery woman disappeared around the corner, and ignoring the strange ache in my chest, I retraced my steps back to where we had first collided. I’d only been a couple of streets away from my destination and covered the final distance in minutes, all the while forcing my mind back onto the task ahead.
Finding the building I was looking for, I pushed open the door, ducking my head as I entered. An old-fashioned bell tinkled above my head signaling my arrival. I glanced around, my eyes widening in surprise. The little shop was a treasure trove of old and new, expensive and cheap, all thrown together with what looked like artistic abandonment, or it could be some sort of crazy-ass system. Sheets of silk hung in swathes from the ceiling, brushing against my hair as I moved through the shop.
For the first time in my life I felt too big and too clumsy, the delicately balanced displays of fragile wares making my jaw ache with tension. Or it could have been the whole Aladdin’s Cave thing the owner had going on, with a distinctly feminine edge that had me swallowing back a nervous chuckle. Shit, there was enough sparkle in here to entice the filthy rich crowd. I had a funny feeling they didn’t know about it, that the shop wouldn’t even show up on their radar. Why? I wasn’t sure, but my spidey-senses were tingling.
“Hello?” I called out, wincing as my voice echoed through the silent shop. I knew someone was back there. I could smell them, but I couldn’t place them. I gritted my teeth, resisting the urge to wolf out and shove my power at whomever was hiding back there.
I’d probably break every damn thing in the place and end up with a whopping bill.
“I was told to come here. That someone would have information for me,” I called, trying again.
“You’re the wolf.” The voice was low and melodic. A woman.
I swallowed back the urge to growl. “I am. And you are?”
“I am Astrid.” The curtains shielding the back of the shop rustled, and then a petite woman emerged. Tanned, with long dark hair and emerald green eyes, she met my gaze with one of frank assessment. “Your name?”
Manners got the better of me. Clearing my throat, I replied, “Vin. How do you know about me?” What I really wanted to ask was, What are you?
Her eyes danced with amusement, clearly witnessing the battle on my face as I fought the urge to demand answers. “You’ll do,” she eventually said, moving with a rustle of skirts to stand behind a dainty wooden desk.
“You’re not human.” Fuck it, I’d said it. I’d never claimed to be the perfect gentleman, despite my father’s insistence I try.
A single eyebrow arched in my direction, the ghost of a smile playing on full lips. “No, I’m not.” She reached behind the desk and I tensed.
“Slowly,” I said in a low growl.
She paused, a lock of hair falling forward and brushing against the smooth wood as she peered at me. “I have a letter for you.”
“You’re not my contact?”
She shook her head, pulling a cream envelope out and placing it on the desk. “I’m the liaison.”
“Why—”
“He, or she, has their reasons. You were briefed on your mission?” Her tone was no-nonsense, her eyes hard.
I took a step forward, not reaching for the letter, not yet. I scented the air, trying to figure her out. “You know about the mission?”
She shrugged, a grin breaking out over her face and transforming her from pretty to beautiful in seconds. “Wolf, I know a lot about a lot of things. Let’s not even go there.”
Yeah, I’m fucked up. I admitted it, because even when faced with a beautiful, smiling woman, I’d have given anything to have another minute with the grimacing mysterious woman from earlier.
Mine…
My wolf’s growl had my heart dropping into my stomach. Surely he didn’t mean…
“Fuck.” The word slipped out, earning me a confused look. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s fine. I’ve heard worse.”
What was it with everyone cutting me off all of a sudden? “So, you know about the missing women?”
“And the man,” she added.
She’d passed the test. There was no way anyone knew that Luis was missing yet—apart from his twin sister, Lisa, that was—and she only knew because of the twin bond. She’d have been here searching herself if she wasn’t nearly due to drop the twins she was carrying. And there was the little fact that her mate Sean wasn’t about to let her out of his sight.
So, they’d reached out to their ex-packmate Macey, asking her to use her connection with the American Shifter Council—her father—to approve and mobilize a rescue mission overseas.
My boss Macey. Or one of them, anyway. The other being her mate, Jason, a coyote shifter with strange violet eyes and an icy demeanor.
Luis had last been seen in London. Specifically around the Knightsbridge and Mayfair area. Which was why they’d picked me for the job. I’d just been about to leave when a coded message had been forwarded:
“Four women and a man are missing. All shifters. London—Belgravia. There has been no ransom demands.”
My blood had turned to ice. Belgravia. Where my family was from, and where they still lived in thinly veiled extravagance.
And then there had been an address—this shop. A date and a time, but no name. Whoever my contact was, they didn’t want to be found.
I took the envelope from her outstretched hand, the heavy weight comforting in that it might contain pertinent information. I had to find Luis. I’d never met him but he was the first son of the alpha of the Shadowpaw Pride and brother-in-law to the Beta of the Colstone Pack, Sean. It was the pack my teammate, Cole, had been a lieutenant for before leaving to join our motley crew. There was a hell of a lot riding on this mission and people were counting on me to do my job.
“Thank you.” I nodded at Astrid, but she was already walking away. I was dismissed.
Stepping back out into the street, I blinked up at the sky. Night had fallen but the stars were dim, hidden by the smog of the city. Folding the letter, I tucked it into my jeans pocket and started off down the street.
It was time to go to work, to slip undercover and get to the bottom of this. Time to become the old me.
The first son and heir of the Brownstone Pack alpha. The same Brownstone Pack that had a seat on the British Shifter Council, and was considered one of the ruling families.
The stinking rich, socially and morally irresponsible Vincent Charles Brownstone III.
Chapter Two
Grace
I burst into the house and pushed the door closed with a near-silent click. Leaving a trail of water behind me, I sprinted for the stairs, taking them two at a time.
“Grace? Is that you?”
“Just a second, Auntie!” I called behind me, attempting to sound normal.
“Have you been out? You didn’t tell me you were going out…” Her voice faded as I reached my bedroom and closed the door.
I’d given up hope that she’d wake up one morning and realize that I wasn’t a child anymore. I was a fully grown woman in my twenties, capable of voting and drinking and being intimate with a man. Heat shot through me as the man from earlier this evening crowded out all thought.
I sagged back against the door,
shoving back my hood and letting my head knock against the hard wood. I gave it another hard rap for good measure, but nothing changed. He was still there. Just staring at me—his eyes dark and smoldering and promising wicked, naughty things—just like the heroes in the romance novels I devoured at night. I pressed a hand to my stomach, trying to ease the fluttering inside.
It didn’t help. In fact, it made it worse. The slight pressure reminded me of what his body felt like pressed hard against mine. In the fraction of a second we had touched it was like he had left an imprint. A hard, unyielding, hot, male imprint.
I tried to shrug off the strange feeling; it wasn’t like I’d see him again.
Especially not looking so deliciously wet, with his T-shirt clinging to each ridge of muscle and showcasing a ridiculously broad chest. I mean, who has a chest that broad? Or a jaw that square? Or lips that kissable?
I bit back the groan at the track my mind had decided to take, shoving away from the door and dragging my coat off. Giving it a shake, I hid it in the closet away from prying eyes and stripped down to my bra and panties. Grabbing a towel, I rubbed off the worst of the rain, then threw on the first dress I had on hand.
Fastening diamond studs to my ears and sliding on the watch that had been a gift for my last birthday—and could have fed a family of four for at least a year—I slid my poor, aching feet into a pair of four-inch heels.
We didn’t do dressing down for dinner in this family.
“Grace, are you decent?”
My Aunt Caroline had a kind heart. She’d agreed to take me when my mom and dad had died in a car crash. I was sixteen at the time, and I’d been here since. Little had I known I’d be going to live in a world filled with shifters, and alpha shifters at that. My auntie was human like me, like my parents had been, so she’d helped me to adjust, lavishing me with all the love and attention she couldn’t give her own son.
How my cousin, Sid, had died I didn’t know. Nobody spoke about it and every time I’d tried to bring it up Auntie had broken down in floods of tears, her heart-wrenching sobs bringing my uncle running to her side and sending me packing.
