by Chloe Cole
Vengeance would come, though.
Shifters like those two gave all shifters a bad name and, while he wasn’t one to butt into other people’s business, he also wouldn’t have been able to sleep at night if he’d turned the other cheek when he’d heard that terrified scream.
Even now, thinking back on it, so primal and raw and full of fear, he wished he could delete it from his memory. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be human. Especially a human woman or child. Mortal. Fragile. So often they wound up as prey to the monsters in the darkness, both human and otherwise.
Not this one, though. Not this time.
It was a cold comfort as he glanced down at her drawn and battered face.
What kind of animals would attack a girl on the way home from her prom to rape her and possibly worse?
Wolves.
He’d only been in Montana for six months and already he’d had some run-ins with the cocky, brash breed and most of them hadn’t been pleasant. Aside from his friend Drake’s mate, Willa, the whole lot of them could die in a fire and he wouldn’t shed a tear.
The girl in his arms tightened around his neck as she sucked in a shuddering breath and then she froze. The shock was fading and the realization that she might still not be safe must have hit her, because he could smell her renewed fear, sharp and metallic.
“Shh,” he murmured. “It’s okay, ma petit. I would never hurt you. I only want to help you get home.”
His words, or maybe his tone, seemed to soothe her and she stilled in his arms.
“Which way down the path?”
“To the left,” she murmured softly. He could feel her whole body trembling now and it took everything he had to silence his inner dragon. The beast was prowling inside him, a roar at his lips, fire in his belly, thirsty for vengeance. He made a mental note to stop by Willa and Drake’s on his way home to see if he could find out more about these bastard wolves.
He crunched through the forest with ease, slowing to a stop as he reached the edge. “Which way is your house from here?”
This time, she didn’t bother to pick up her head and just pointed. “Fifth one down. The white, picket fence.”
He focused on the little cottage-style house in the distance, and picked up his pace.
“I know this is none of my business, and I’m not suggesting any of this was your fault, but where was your date?” He was telling the straight up truth. He didn’t blame her in any way, but if there was a young man who’d abandoned her in the face of those attackers, then he needed to make a stop on the way home. Boys needed to know how to treat a girl, and letting her walk home alone would have been bad enough. If he’d run at the first sign of trouble? He needed some lessons in chivalry, and Etienne would be only too happy to give them to him.
His companion lifted her head to peer up at him. She wrinkled her brow and reached up to adjust her glasses, which promptly broke in half.
“Crap,” she mumbled, clutching the remaining piece tight in her fist before blowing out a sigh. “Uhm, I didn’t bring a date.”
“You went to your prom solo?” he asked, puzzled at the idea. She was cute in a nerdy sort of way, and a bit plump maybe—at least for high school boys who were too dumb to recognize the upside of all those curves and all that softness—but surely she wasn’t the type that couldn’t find a date at all.
“Staff isn’t allowed to bring a date.”
“Staff?” he asked, slowing to a stop just outside the little, picket fence.
“Yeah. Like, the teachers and the parent chaperones had to go alone. They were worried they’d run out of punch and spinach dip.”
Judging by the mess on his Ferragamo’s, it was a valid concern. He was wearing at least two pints of pink punch, and at least as much green dip. But that thought came and went as the rest of her words hit home.
Chaperones.
Staff.
Which meant she wasn’t a child at all. She was a woman. A soft, plump, sweet woman.
His dragon let out another silent roar as all synapses fired at once but he shut them down on a dime. This was clearly not the time. In fact, whether she was woman or child made no difference to him at all. He was her protector regardless, and would be until this matter was dealt with from top to bottom.
But she really did smell lovely.
He put a pin in that thought as he toed open the gate and stepped through, letting it swing closed behind him. He strode up the path to her front door and set her gently on her feet.
“Do you still have your keys?”
She nodded and fished through the purse she had clutched in one hand. A minute later, she pulled out a set of keys on a purple, stretchy keychain. She stepped up to the door and tried to slip the key into the lock, but her hands were shaking so badly, it wasn’t happening.
He took them gently from her unresisting grasp and unlocked the door before stepping back.
“What’s your name?” he asked, trying to keep his tone as low and comforting as possible.
“Taya. Taya Briarcroft.”
“Well, Taya. My name is Etienne Beauchamp, and you have some decisions to make, all right?”
She nodded slowly and moistened her lips, clearly unnerved at the thought of decision-making right now.
“I can let you go ahead in, and wait while you lock the doors and check your windows and whatnot. Then, you can call the police, and if you get afraid or anything later, you can call me and I will come right back. Or, I can come in, call the police and put on a pot of tea while you clean up.”
He’d hoped that putting her in a position of control would make her feel more secure, and apparently, it worked. She considered his words carefully and looked up at him through dark eyes that seemed much clearer than even a moment before.
“I trust you. I don’t think you would’ve helped me if you planned to hurt me.” She turned, and shoved the door open before turning back and pinning him with a sad little smile. “Plus you have kind eyes. You look…sweet.”
The words hit him straight in the gut, and he cleared his throat, suddenly wishing he was anywhere else.
He’d never been told he had kind eyes before and, considering his scandalous lifestyle, he’d sure as hell never thought of himself as sweet. He wondered if she would think the same if she knew the only reason he’d even been flying overhead to hear her screams was because he was on his way back from spending a rousing evening with four of his favorite ladies at The Dungeon, Montana’s only BDSM club. Or that he had a veritable harem waiting for him back at his keep. He’d always been open and unapologetic about his sex life, but now, under the scrutiny of this round-faced innocent, he found himself glad she couldn’t read his thoughts.
“Come on in,” she murmured, scratching at her nose before gesturing for him to follow her into the hallway. Once they were in full light, he wondered how he could possibly have thought she was a child. She was all woman, and lovely in a quiet way that reminded him of a gently rolling stream.
He cleared his throat and shook off that ludicrous thought. “Want me to call the police while you change?”
She looked down at her gaping trench coat and torn gown and then blinked up at him owlishly. “I think I’d like to sit for just a minute first so I can gather my thoughts. I don’t think those guys will be dumb enough to still be out on the prowl, and the one is pretty seriously injured. Did you get a look at them? I think I can describe them both pretty well. Maybe we can get a sketch artist so we can hang pictures up around town?”
He liked that she was thinking ahead and didn’t plan to just let the bastards slide or curl up into a ball of denial. It showed a wealth of strength that he admired deeply. If she wanted to talk to a sketch artist, he’d find her one.
But sketches or no, there would be no police, despite what he’d told her. Whatever detective work happened from here on out would be for his benefit. Because, even on the off chance the cops could catch up with them, prison was too good for these bastards.
<
br /> Someone needed to string them up and make them wish they’d never laid a finger on Taya Briarcroft.
And he knew just the dragon to do it.
Chapter Three
Taya watched Etienne as he moved with sure grace around her quaint, postage stamp-sized kitchen. He moved so fluidly for such a large, muscular man, it was like a dance, and she found herself lulled into a trance as she watched him.
“Do you take sugar?”
She jerked her head up, torn from her reverie and shook her head. “Honey. It’s in the cabinet right above the stove.”
He reached for it and her gaze was instantly drawn to the breadth of his wide shoulders as his thin, cotton sweater pulled tight across his muscles.
After what had almost happened, she should probably find that strength intimidating, but instead, she felt only comforted.
And a little jiggly in the tummy.
Lord, was he fine. The more surreal the night became to her—almost like what had happened before was a nightmare and this part was a dream—the more she realized exactly how extraordinary he was.
His hair wasn’t blond. It was a true, burnished gold that caught the light when he moved. When he’d stood over her earlier by the tree, it had shone like a halo, and even now, her fingers itched to touch it. His face was so beautiful, it would’ve made Michelangelo weep. Square jaw, regal nose, lips that were firm without being hard, and eyes that were brown shot with more of the same gold as his hair.
“Think toast might settle your stomach, cher?”
She didn’t know what cher meant, but it felt nice and warmed her insides when he said it.
“I don’t think I could eat anything right now, but thank you.”
He nodded and made short work of the tea, going so far as to dunk the bag for her and stir in the honey. He set down the fussy little cup with a click and stepped back.
“Drink up.”
She curled her hands around it, letting the heat soak into her bones for a long moment before taking a sip.
“Delicious, thanks.”
He nodded, seemingly satisfied, and folded his big frame into the chair across from her. “I know you’re still very shaken up, but I think the sooner we get your thoughts down about the assailants, the more clear your memory will be. Why don’t you go ahead and change into something that makes you more comfortable, maybe some fuzzy socks and flannel pj’s, and I will call the police? Then we can sit together and jot down any details you might remember while we wait for them to get here.”
She took another sip of tea, trying not to feel glum about the fact that he assumed she would have fuzzy socks and flannel pajamas at the ready and worked up a smile. “Sounds good to me.”
She stood in her tattered prom dress and winced as she realized again how she must look to him. She smoothed a hand over the taffeta and moved to adjust her glasses, wincing as she remembered what had happened. One wire-framed lens sat on the table between them, the last remnant of her ocular solvency.
But at least she wasn’t dead.
As mantras went, she was kind of fond of that new one and decided to work it into the rotation. She snagged her teacup off the table and moved toward the stairs. “If the police ask, tell them the address is fourteen twelve Maplewood. I’ll be back in a jiff.”
She made her way up the stairs, feeling stronger with each step. It had been a brutal, terrifying night, but she’d made it. Now, she had a job to do, and that sense of purpose would carry her through. Thank god for Etienne.
Thank god he’d heard her scream.
Thank god he hadn’t turned away and decided to mind his own business.
And thank god he was here now, ready and willing to make sure these men never put anyone else through what they’d put her through tonight.
She stepped into her bedroom and the relative darkness made her shiver. She all but ran to the bedside lamp and flicked it on with a whimper.
No. No frigging way was she going to let them steal the comfort and security of her home. They wouldn’t be here. They didn’t even know where she lived. It was a random attack born of opportunity. It wasn’t like they were going to find her so they could finish the job they’d started. And in the event that they planned to regroup and try again with someone else, she was going to make sure they were in jail long before.
She set down her cup and quickly changed out of her dress and into the suggested outfit, complete with oversized slippers, before heading into the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash the dirt, grime, and tear tracks from her face.
She stared in the mirror as she patted her cheeks dry and winced.
Geez. Worse than she thought. Already, an egg was forming over one eye and her chin was turning a mottled blue. How ironic considering, just that afternoon, she’d been staring in this same mirror thinking how plain she was and how she wished she had even one thing that got her noticed.
Looking like she’d taken a header down a flight of stairs hadn’t exactly been what she was wishing for. Being around a guy like Etienne only made her more aware of just how sorely lacking she was in the looks department.
But at least you’re not dead, she reminded herself again.
She raised her chin and tugged the pins out of her hair, letting it fall around her shoulders. She did always have nice, thick hair, at any rate.
More silver linings.
She shoved the silliness aside and flipped off the bathroom light, pausing to take a quick look behind the shower curtain on the way out.
This fear would pass. It was still too fresh to be entirely rational, and until she was able to shake off the eerie feeling that still clung to her, she’d cut herself some slack.
She walked back downstairs gingerly, making allowances for the muscles in her body that were already getting stiff from her struggle. When she reached the living room, she found Etienne there, pacing with a cell phone cupped to his ear.
“That’s right. Maplewood.” He paused and looked exasperated but then nodded. “All right, fine. That will have to work. Thank you for your assistance.”
He disconnected the call and then turned to face her, mouth opened like he’d been planning to speak, but oddly silent for a long moment as he stared at her with a weird expression.
“Everything okay?” she asked, hit with a sudden bout of nerves. Maybe she looked even worse than she thought and she’d scared him.
Humiliation burned her cheeks and the back of her eyelids went hot with unshed tears. Why it would be that—distaste from a cute guy, after the night she’d had—that would throw her over the edge, she couldn’t say. Probably just coincidence and everything was finally starting to sink in, but once the tears started, she couldn’t stop them.
“Ah, cher, no. Please don’t cry,” he murmured, stepping toward her slowly, hands held high in surrender. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just didn’t realize how lovely you were until now. I give you my words as a dr—” He broke off and looked away before continuing, “I give you my word as a man. I would never ever hurt you. You believe that, don’t you?”
Had he called her lovely? The fact that he was sweet enough to come up with that fib on the fly only made her more emo and she struggled to get it together.
She sniffed and swiped a hand over her eyes, wincing when one knuckle connected with her burgeoning lump. “Yes, I know that. It’s just been a long night and I’m kind of losing it.”
He stepped closer and reached out a hand to brush away her tears before lifting up her bangs and frowning at the bump. “Those bastards,” he muttered through gritted teeth before stepping back and giving her a tight smile. “I don’t blame you one bit for crying. And as soon as we write down your memory of the attackers, I promise you can fall apart for as long as you need to and I won’t think even an ounce less of you. But right now, we need to focus, yes?”
She nodded, swallowing past the ache in her throat. “Okay. Are the police sending someone?”
He led her toward the couch before loweri
ng himself into the ottoman across from her.
“Not tonight. They’re short of manpower and the detectives on duty are dealing with a homicide on Center Street, but they are putting out an APB on anyone matching the general description I gave them and canvassing the area as well as local hospitals. Anything else you remember will help. Tomorrow, they’re going to send a sketch artist over to sit with you, as well as a detective to take your statement.”
Strange, she would’ve thought they would’ve wanted to get her statement ASAP. But a homicide clearly took precedence.
She tugged the throw behind her over her lap and settled deeper into the couch cushions. At least she wasn’t alone, though. That was certainly a comfort.
“Is there a family member you want me to call?”
Until then, she hadn’t even thought of the fact that he probably wanted to be done with this whole mess. Total stranger who’d done a good deed and now was stuck with her.
She hesitated, wishing her answer was different. “No. My family is all back in Pittsburgh. It’s just me here.”
How ironic, she’d left the Burgh for big sky, small town life specifically because she was sick of the day to day violence in the big city, and now here she was, battered, bruised and terrified. So much for Mayberry.
“Well I’m here and we’ll get you through this, all right?”
She wet her lips and nodded, wishing she had the strength to tell him to go, but needing him there too badly to say the words.
If he minded, he didn’t show it. In fact, he gave her an encouraging, gorgeous smile, opened the pad and settled it onto his lap before meeting her gaze. “Tell me everything. Start with the first guy. Close your eyes and think of every detail you can and just rattle them off.”
She did as he asked, but it was hard at first. The second she closed her eyes, her hands started to tremble, as if she was actually alone in the dark again, walking home.
“You’re okay, cher. You can do this.”
