by Kate Rudolph
"Chip's hungry, major," Andre Gordon told Gibson, as if the major couldn't hear Owen's stomach.
Owen kept quiet and clamped a hand over his stomach as if that would do something to quiet it down. Then his stomach growled again and he couldn't hold in his laugh. "What can I say? I wanted venison!"
Gibson rolled his eyes. "Too fucking chipper is right. Hunter, go up and order a few pizzas. The usual place should still be open." It was getting close to midnight, but they were on the edge of a college town and plenty of places were open until the wee hours.
Willa Hunter had managed to pull actual clothes on while the others were teasing him. She gave the major a nod before hurrying up the stairs without a word. Owen tried to wave, but she was already out of sight. Oh well. At least she knew the pizza order.
Owen went to find his clothes before anyone else could rib him for his grumbling tummy. He checked his phone and wasn't surprised to see no new messages. He'd called his mother earlier in the day so she had no reason to call, and if something had gone wrong with Vega or Rowe they would have called Gibson or Gordon. Owen wasn't anyone's first call.
The cabin was big enough that he and the others weren't stepping all over each other to store their clothes or move around. Since it was already past midnight, they'd probably be staying the night. It was more than an hour's drive back into the city, and it wouldn't be the first night they'd all slept over. Owen suspected that Gibson came from money, but he'd never asked. He was pretty sure the major could still majorly fuck with his life even though they'd all been retired from the army for two years. He wasn't about to test the man.
The cabin had two large bedrooms in the basement and another two upstairs. The major took the master; no one questioned it. Hunter and Jackson both managed to snag their own rooms, which left Owen and Andre to share. He didn't mind. It wasn't like Andre snored.
Owen considered taking a quick shower, but his skin felt all fresh and new from the shift so there was no need. Some of the tiredness from running around on all fours all night was starting to catch up to him, and he wanted to crawl into his bed, but Gibson would want a check in.
And Owen wanted pizza.
He went upstairs and found everyone dressed and sitting around the large kitchen island, devouring the first of four pepperoni and mushroom pizzas. Owen cracked into the next pizza and took four pieces. That was another thing about being a werewolf. They had to eat all the time. Their bodies devoured calories like it was going out of style. And Owen ate the first slices so fast that he barely tasted them.
"Any update on the Bradley job?" Jackson asked. She took dainty bites of her pizza and dabbed at her lips with a napkin to wipe away the grease after every bite.
Gibson nodded to the cell phone sitting beside his plate. "Rowe texted. Job's wrapping up. They'll be home in a couple of days."
Some of the tension—tension Owen hadn't quite realized he was feeling—leeched out of the unit. It was good to know they'd all be together again. "Any issues?" he asked, mouth full of pizza.
Gibson glared at him and Owen grinned wider. "All was well. The ex did not show up to the wedding and the happy couple are on their way to Aruba."
The news wasn't exactly momentous and no one cheered. "Anything more interesting that babysitting a couple of brides come up?" asked Andre. He was slouched in the corner and somehow managed to be half cloaked in shadow despite the brightly lit kitchen. There was just a hint of menace in his voice and Owen wanted to roll his eyes. The guy was all drama and needed to learn to chill. They'd just gone for a run. They had pizza. What was there to complain about?
Two years before, after they'd been unceremoniously dumped out of the army in an attempt to keep what had happened to them hush hush, Gibson had gathered them all together with an idea: protection. They could provide it to those in need all while figuring out what it meant to be impossible creatures in an ordinary world. Their bodyguarding outfit had gotten off the ground eighteen months ago, but they were still making a name for themselves. That involved taking small jobs and networking. Owen didn't mind it. He was pretty sure that Andre would rather jump off a building than make nice with potential clients.
"You'll be the first to know," Gibson promised, voice dripping with sarcasm.
Andre glared from his dark corner.
Just as Gibson was ready to stuff another piece of pizza in his mouth, his phone rang. He looked at the screen for a moment, eyes narrowed, then put the pizza down, picked up the phone, and walked outside.
He shot Andre a look and then glanced at Jackson and Hunter, then they all looked out at Gibson. He was standing on the balcony and had closed the sliding glass door. Owen wished being a werewolf had given him super hearing. His research—if watching Teen Wolf counted as research—had suggested he should be able to do a lot more than he could. He was a bit stronger, a bit faster, his senses were a bit more acute, but nothing inhuman. Nothing that would allow any of them to actually hear what the major was saying.
"He's being secretive," Hunter muttered.
Owen had to bite his lip from saying something. Hunter wouldn't even tell them her birthday or hometown. "The major's allowed to have a private call."
"No, that was weird," Jackson agreed. She glanced at each of their plates as if counting the number of pieces they'd had and then reached for the next pizza box.
The four of them stared at Gibson through the glass as they chomped on their pizza. Only once he hung up the phone did they swing around to pretend they hadn't been shamelessly snooping.
"You're all very subtle," Gibson said once he slid the door shut. "Myers, with me." He nodded down the hallway towards his bedroom.
Owen had the strangest sense of being called to the principal's office. He had to remind himself he wasn't in school or the army anymore and no one could hurt him.
Yeah, right. The major could make his life hell if he wanted. Owen tried to think if he'd done anything wrong in the past week or so, but nothing came to mind. And then he reminded himself that he was thirty-two goddamn years old and he didn't need to be afraid of Gibson.
He entered Gibson's bedroom and closed the door behind him. They were far enough away from the others not to be overheard as long as they spoke quietly, and this bedroom doubled as Gibson's office when he was at the cabin, so it wasn't strange to have a discussion here.
"What's up?" Owen asked. He leaned back against the door and crossed his arms loosely.
Gibson sat at the small desk he had set up and opened the lid to his laptop. "That was a friend of mine from college. His sister might be in trouble and he wants a guard on her for the next week while his family takes care of it."
"Takes care of it? Is he the mob?" They didn't have a strict moral code about who they would work for, but Owen figured there had to be a line somewhere.
Gibson huffed out a little laugh. "Worse. Money. Big money. You ever hear of the Selbys?"
"Can't say that I have." Owen knew his famous rich people, but not the sneaky ones who stayed out of the limelight.
"The Selby Group has its fingers in every pie. Old money. The daughter isn't involved, but this is the second attempted kidnapping of her in three years."
"Kidnapping? That's a bit more than trouble." Owen had expected to hear about another babysitting gig. Heiresses were needy like that.
"AR sounds sure the private family security could handle it, but he wanted an outsider to watch his sister. Apparently she's not a fan of family security and he thought this would work better. I'm sending you."
"Just me?" Owen didn't mind flying solo, but that wasn’t how missions worked. He couldn't cover 24/7, enhanced werewolf senses or not. He had to sleep sometime.
"To begin with, yes. He wants to convince her to accept a team, but he's going to ease her into it. There will be support monitoring from a distance, but you'll be her only point of contact."
"Our support or their support?" Owen didn't like the idea of going in alone, and he really didn't like the idea
of strange backup. But he went where the major ordered.
"Theirs." Gibson didn't sound too happy about it either.
Owen couldn't see the point in arguing; Gibson wanted him for the job so he would do it. "When do I start?"
Gibson turned back to his computer and typed a few things. A moment later, Owen's phone chimed. "Show up bright and early tomorrow. I've sent you the details."
"Guess I'm heading back to the city tonight." He stood. "Anything else?"
Gibson leveled a glare at him. "Don't fuck this up."
"Yes, sir."
Chapter Three
Owen yawned and stretched his neck from side to side, satisfied to hear the pops and cracks of muscle and bone releasing. Or whatever caused a neck to crack. He wasn't sure. It sounded awful but felt amazing. He took a sip of his gigantic iced coffee and imagined he could feel the caffeine starting to flow through his system. He'd asked for three extra shots of espresso and a buttload of sugar and cream to offset the bitterness.
The barista hadn't batted an eye. He was sure she’d seen much worse.
He didn't know if it was werewolf metabolism or years of resistance, but it took a lot of coffee to wake him up, especially after a run. And the drive to the city in the middle of the night had been annoying. But he was glad he hadn't waited. He could hear the horns of the cars weaving through the streets of Manhattan and was grateful he'd only had to drive across town and not across the state.
Normally he wouldn't be using a car. This was New York. Who had a car? But on a job it was a necessity. It was much easier to keep someone safe in a car as opposed to on the subway. And Gibson had provided everyone in the company with specially outfitted cars. They weren't technically armored, but he'd seen tanks that could take less damage. The car was stored in a parking garage a block away. Unfortunately, the client’s building didn't have a secure parking garage and there was no extra space in their small lot for him to park. As far as challenges went, he could deal with it.
The building was nicer than he expected, but maybe it shouldn't have been. No ER doctor could have afforded the place. It had to cost millions. But his charge, Stasia Nichols, was no normal doctor. The pre-war building was only a few blocks away from the hospital she'd formerly worked at, which would have been convenient. The doorman on the building offered an extra piece of security, and that meant Dr. Nichols was smart enough to know there might be a target on her head.
Or she just liked it when someone in a uniform opened a door for her.
Owen gave the man a smile as he was let in. Selby Group security had arranged everything except giving him a key to Stasia's unit.
He eyed the elevator before opting for the stairs. The elevator looked original to the building—built in 1909—and Owen didn't want to take his chances. Of course, people rich enough to afford digs in this building would insist that the machine functioned. But he didn't like it and he was already running a little late.
Stasia lived in one of the two units on the fifth and sixth floor. The entrance to her unit was on the fifth floor and he wasn't winded by the time he climbed all those steps: army training and werewolf stamina for the win.
He took a bracing sip of his coffee. He didn't know how this was going to go, and he usually had a partner right beside him to smooth over any issues that came up. Owen was good at his job, great, actually, but he could ruffle feathers. Never on purpose, but not everyone reacted well to his default level of optimism.
He mentally went over the file he'd been given. All the data was saved on his phone, but he didn't need to bring it up. There wasn't much to know. Stasia was a pretty princess who'd traveled the world on daddy's money after becoming a doctor. After cutting her international vacation short, she'd set up shop in New York, working in the ER department of a nearby hospital, though she'd recently been fired. No reason in the file, but Owen could guess that spoiled princesses weren't exactly cut out for the ER.
She'd been raised with bodyguards all around her. Her father was one of the richest men in the city, she knew the drill. The job would be easy. With her father's security team tackling most of the tough stuff—investigating who'd tried to attack her and providing backup surveillance—Owen's job was mostly to sit around and look pretty. Or threatening. He could be a good guard dog. And at the end of the week, the job would be over, he'd have a paycheck, Gibson would have paid off a favor, and hopefully there would be more interesting jobs coming his way.
Hopefully.
But Owen couldn't slack just because he expected a boring job. That was the surest way to get his charge and himself killed.
He took another sip of coffee for good measure and knocked on the door and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Then he knocked again. Didn't the princess know he was coming?
Maybe he needed to be kinder; after all, she had almost been kidnapped right off the street yesterday. That would make him wary of opening the door too.
But he finally heard footsteps and a moment later the door opened.
Owen forgot how to breathe.
His file had a picture of Stasia Nichols, but it didn't do her justice. Her big gray eyes reminded him of the moon and he couldn't look away. She had black hair hanging down and framing her pale face and full lips that he needed to kiss. She was shorter than he expected, but she exuded a presence that made her seem taller than him, even with only the single look they shared.
He wanted to reach out and put his hands on the curve of her hips and run them all over her body. He'd never been overtaken by such instant lust before and he could feel his wolf rustling under his skin, restless and wanting to preen for their…
Their what?
Their?
He didn't normally think of his wolf as something separate from himself. Sometimes he was a man, sometimes he was a wolf, but he was always Owen, no matter how much fur he had. But right now he could feel the presence of something… different. Something primal.
His cock twitched and Owen clenched his jaw. This was not the time. He'd guarded plenty of attractive charges before and had always been able to keep it professional. This was no different.
But none of them were Stasia.
Her scent tickled his nose and there went his wolf again. He could practically feel his tail wagging in excitement. But now was not the time for tail wagging from either of his tails.
"Did you move in across the hall?" she asked. Her expression was severe, like a smile would physically pain her, but somehow it charmed Owen. He knew that when he got her to smile it would be because he earned it.
He didn't understand what she meant at first and looked over his shoulder to the other door. That unit must have been empty. He'd have to update the file to make sure everyone knew. It probably should have been in the file already.
"Well?" she asked when he waited too long to answer.
Owen snapped back to her. "I'm here for your body." The words were all English, but he could have smacked himself for the way they came out.
"Excuse me?" Stasia's dark eyebrows shot up and she looked ready to slap him.
"No, no!" Owen waved his hands, trying to correct himself. "To guard your body. I'm your bodyguard. Owen Myers." He never got tongue-tied. He might never be the smartest in the room, but he always knew what to say. Except, apparently, when his wolf and his cock and his brain all had other ideas.
"Oh." Stasia's eyes flicked up and down, and when she met his eyes again he knew he'd been judged. And he'd failed. "No."
"What?"
"No." She said it slow, elongating the word as if she thought he was too stupid to understand.
Then again, this was not his best first impression. Maybe he should have added a fourth shot of espresso. "I'm sorry for any misunderstanding. The Selby Group hired my firm to watch over you while they investigate the attempted kidnapping. We just want to keep you safe.”
Her dark eyes narrowed and she pursed her lips. "Tell my father I'm safe enough as it is
."
And before he had a chance to say anything else, she slammed the door in his face.
Chapter Four
Stasia kept her hand on the door as if that would keep the stupid, meddling, attractive bodyguard from busting through.
She should have known he was coming. Her father and her brother had let this whole situation drop way too easily last night. After a few hours at the police station where she'd given a report and done her best to guide the detectives toward an explanation for what had happened, she'd been able to go home and pretend that everything was going to be okay. She'd even allowed her father to leave a security detail outside of her building overnight.
Just in case something went wrong.
That had been a mistake. She should have known her father wouldn't stop there.
Owen Myers didn't look like any of the guards that her father normally hired. He wasn't even wearing a suit. And the smile he flashed her—white teeth, laugh lines, kissable lips, and warm, tanned skin—was enough to make her stomach flutter.
Not that she would ever let him know that.
He was too hot for his own good and no doubt he knew it. He was too hot for her own good too. Just looking at him made her think of sultry nights and humid air.
She couldn't remember ever having inappropriate feelings for a bodyguard before, and she wasn't about to start now. She didn't need a bodyguard. Sure, maybe she had almost been snatched off the street in broad daylight. That wasn't ideal. But that was her father's bullshit. It had nothing to do with her, and she wasn't about to start getting involved in whatever nonsense the Selby Group was cooking up.
She didn't work for her father's company.
She didn't live in his house.
She didn't have to deal with his edicts anymore.
A hollow knock echoed right beside her ear. "Ms. Nichols, please let me in." All that was bodyguard voice. Cold and commanding, the kind that was supposed to make her want to jump to attention. Stasia hated that a part of her wanted to shiver and obey.
