by Celia Kyle
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
About Celia Kyle
Copyright Page
Chapter One
Van wondered if killing a wolf would start a blood war. Just one. Not the whole pack. Not even the Alpha. Nope, he had his sights set on the Redby Beta, Morgan.
He leaned against the brick wall, cell phone pressed to his ear, as he focused on the cars entering and leaving the gas station parking lot. He’d stopped for a cup of coffee. Five minutes, in and out. Except his quick break turned into a fifteen minute phone argument with the wolf.
“They’re twenty-five days over the limit,” Morgan growled and Van’s inner bear responded to the low threat.
His beast took orders from one man—Ty—his older brother and Itan of the Grayslake bear clan.
“And as the Grayslake Enforcer, I’m telling you to give them additional time,” he snarled in return, keeping the sound low.
Humans strode past him left and right and it was illegal to expose themselves to non-shifters. Sure, a handful of older humans knew of them, but it was important to keep a low profile.
“The order was twenty-four hours for singles and forty-eight for families. It was issued by your Itan over three weeks ago.”
Fuck. Van wondered if Ty realized the cluster fuck he started by agreeing to work with the wolves. It wasn’t the Itan dealing with logistics, organization, and finally punishment, if his orders weren’t followed. No, that fell to him and the hardheaded asshole on the phone.
It’d been hell since Ty swept into a nearby town, Boyne Falls, and ordered the hyena Alpha and ruling circle killed while also demanding all hyenas leave the area. The Alpha had been involved in the kidnapping of Ty’s adopted son and, as a result of the hyena participation, Ty’s mate Mia had been injured and nearly murdered.
Van didn’t disagree with the punishment—hyenas in general were a nasty breed. The werewolf alliance, however, caused his bear to bristle and balk at following Ty’s directives.
“I’m aware of the order. As you said, it came from my Itan. That doesn’t change the fact that leniency is necessary for those in the hospital who need assistance vacating the town. Helicopters capable of life-flighting someone to another hospital don’t materialize out of thin air and some patients have specific medical needs.” Van’s fingers tingled and warmed, a sure sign his bear was annoyed by the wolf.
One on one, the beast could take the smaller male and his animal was ready to prove it.
“The order is—”
“Oh, fuck the order. I’m telling you they get enough time to ensure they don’t fucking die on the helipad.” He held onto his control by a thread, his whole body trembling with the effort. “Leave them the fuck alone.”
“The order—”
Van closed his eyes and banged his head against the brick wall. “Seriously? I don’t know how it is with wolves, but bears have common sense with a lot less hardheadedness.”
Not a sound came over the line for several seconds and Van wondered if Morgan had hung up.
Unfortunately, the man spoke. “Are you challenging me?”
“Fuck me,” he grumbled and ran a hand over his face in frustration. “No, I’m telling you to leave the patients in the hospital—along with their families—until arrangements can be made. Go be an asshole to everyone else, but quit messing with the injured and ill.”
Another moment of silence.
“I will speak with your Itan.” On Morgan’s lips, his brother’s title sounded like a curse rather than a position of respect.
Van’s bear bristled at the insult. He opened his mouth to ask when he wanted to meet in the pit, but the rapid beep of his phone indicated the call had ended.
“Son of a bitch,” he growled through clenched teeth and a low crack sounded in his ear. He pulled the phone away and glared at the hunk of plastic, metal, and glass. The damned screen splintered, lines marring the surface, making the damn thing useless. “Fuck.”
Screw it. Van finished the job by crushing the device. Taking a little help from his bear, he squeezed until the phone was nothing but jagged bits of its former self.
A soft throat clearing pierced his focus, but it wasn’t until the newcomer spoke that he pulled his attention away from the phone.
“Um, Officer Abrams?” Van recognized the speaker. One of the clan guards, but he was also a Grayslake police officer like himself. “Everything okay?”
He reached for a nearby trashcan and uncurled his hand, letting the pieces tumble into the receptacle. “Just fine.” Van turned toward the other cop and didn’t miss the cautious step the man took in retreat. “Just fine.”
“Sure, sure.”
Damn it. He took a breath and released it in slow increments. It wasn’t the man’s fault the wolf pissed him off. “Sorry. Everything’s fine. How are patrols this morning?”
Van wasn’t just another cop, he was the clan’s Enforcer. If bad things, illegal things, happened within the clan or affecting the clan, he was the one who carried out justice. He did the heavy, bloody lifting. Which was why he was saddled with handling the issue in Boyne Falls.
And normally, Isaac would be around, waiting to patch up their asses when they needed a Healer. But Isaac… he wasn’t going to think about Isaac. Not at the moment, at least.
“Good, good. Pretty quiet, considering.”
Considering the clan had lost four men due to the machinations of Ty’s mate’s family and hyena interference. “How’s everyone feeling? We got any hotheads?”
That was the last thing he needed. The clan was already hurting. He didn’t want to make it worse by punishing someone for letting their beast free and going after the hyenas themselves.
“No, sir. Upset—angry—but we all know you and the It—” A human walked by and the officer coughed to cover his near slip. Damn humans were everywhere. “We know you and Ty are handling things the way they need to be. The wolves, though…”
Van didn’t care for the wolves either, but he couldn’t bad mouth them to the clan. Not when the peace was so tenuous. Fuck, he was gonna get his ass reamed over how he’d spoken to Morgan.
“I understand. Trust in Ty, though.” He raised his eyebrows, waiting for the man’s agreement and it was quick in coming.
“Yes, En— Officer.”
The cop’s radio, clipped to his shoulder, squawked and their dispatcher’s voice crackled over the speaker.
Van listened, keeping his mouth shut while the woman rattled off the information.
Domestic disturbance. Rich side of town. Humans, no shifters involved.
It paid to have a werebear in the dispatch office.
“Excuse me, Officer Abrams.” The man spun and stepped off the curb, intent on getting to his cruiser.
“Let ’em know I’m right behind you.”
He looked at Van with bewilderment clouding his features. “Sir?”
“I’m coming on the call. I’ll be behind you.” It was what he needed—to help someone, get his mind off the asshole Beta and back onto his town.
“It’s, uh,” he looked around and leaned into Van, “it’s a human call, sir.”
The man’s confusion brought him up
short. He was well aware of the altered incident codes used by their department. He knew it was a human call, no shifters involved. “And?”
Another squawk of the radio and tension vibrated in the male. “Sir, you don’t do human calls. We all understand.” He rushed out the words. “I don’t want you to think we don’t, but… we know how you feel. You’re dedicated to the clan and we appreciate it.”
Van’s mind whirled as he flipped through call after call he’d been assigned over the years. He went on human calls… hadn’t he?
“Tell dispatch I’m coming.” Van headed toward his car. Was he that much of a dick when it came to humans?
He knew he’d given Ty shit about mating Mia. For a while they’d thought she was one-quarter werebear which was as good as human when it came to wanting shifting cubs. When he’d met her, all he could think of was how Ty being with Mia would impact the clan and the line of succession. Everything was always for the clan.
They now knew a human and a bear could have shifting cubs as long as they were meant to be together. Fated mates.
He tugged on the door and just before it thumped closed behind him, he heard four words screamed across Martin’s radio. Words that made him realize he had been a huge dick about humans. “He’s coming as backup?”
* * *
Lauren threw her beat up pickup truck into park before the thing even came to a halt. Metal grinded and squealed in objection while gravel flew through the air. There were more important things to worry about than her transmission or the state of her friend’s driveway.
She didn’t bother tearing the keys from the ignition, leaving it running in case she needed a fast getaway, if it came to that.
The 911 operator kept talking, asking her questions, but Lauren didn’t have time to deal with the woman. She’d given the address and told her what was happening, hadn’t she?
Adrenaline filled her, sending her heart rate soaring while anger warred with worry and fear. Her hand trembled as she tossed aside her cell phone and reached for the bat under her bench seat.
A panicked scream came from the house in front of her. On the outside, it looked like any other mansion in Grayslake. Big. Gaudy. Ugly assed white pillars and wraparound porch.
No one knew about the hell it was for her friend Anna. That the walls were soaked with pain and some places were red with Anna’s blood.
Another scream got her moving. Who knew how long this beating had been going on? The woman next door called her, telling Lauren to hurry. Part of her cursed the old lady for not calling the cops, but people had their reasons. They all had something to lose when it came to ratting out the mayor of Grayslake.
Lucky for Lauren, she didn’t give a damn.
Gripping the bat tightly, she ran across the pale gravel, her boots crunching the white rocks as she raced to the bright-red front door.
Red, like blood.
How much would be covering Anna?
No, she couldn’t worry about that. She had to get her best friend safe first.
Lauren didn’t pause in her approach. Nope, she sped up. She might hate her ass and big thighs any other time, but now it was extra weight to throw against the door. She braced herself for the coming collision, preparing her muscles for the impact.
It took one great crash to bust the panel from its frame, the wood braces and small lock no match for her. If they didn’t want fat chicks breaking in, they should have built the damn thing stronger. Her boots slid across the marble floor, slipping out from under her and she stumbled, rolling until she thumped against the wall. Not the most graceful entrance.
She heaved herself off the ground, knocking over some random, shiny, expensive-as-hell vase. Anna’s pretty prison was filled with glitter and gilt, things meant to salve her bastard husband’s conscience.
Another yell, followed by a sob, had Lauren heading down some fancy hallway, past the formal dining room. She jogged through the sitting area and came to a stop in the kitchen.
Fucker.
Anna’s husband, Bryson, loomed over her, hand raised, ready to strike her again.
“You bitch.” The man’s voice was cold, deadly. “I told you to have—” That arm descended, aimed right for her friend’s face.
She spared a glance for Anna, taking in her swollen black eye, split lip, and dear God… was that a burn?
“You asshole!” Lauren screamed at the man in his perfectly pressed suit with his perfectly styled hair and his fucking perfectly shined leather shoes. “Get the fuck away from her!”
Bryson whirled around, giving her a good look at the man she was ready to kill, ready to bludgeon to death if she could. He wasn’t going to hurt Anna ever again.
“You.”
“Fuck yeah, me.” She tightened her grip on the bat, holding it steady, though her arms trembled. She talked a good game, but delivering was going to be interesting. “Why don’t you take on someone your own size, dickhead?”
It didn’t matter that he had eight inches and seventy pounds on her, she was a hell of a lot bigger than Anna’s tiny body.
“Lauren, no.” Anna held out a hand toward her, as if asking her to stop. “Don’t.”
Bryson whirled. “Shut up, you bitch.”
“Hey, fuckhead!” Lauren needed his attention on her, not Anna.
Bryson slowly panned back to her, rage flashing in his eyes. Well, she was pissed too. “Bitch.”
“Can’t complain if it’s the truth.” She brought the bat a little higher, ready to hit a home fucking run. “Now, why don’t you and I have a little talk?”
Bryson advanced on her and Lauren countered his steps, easing back along her path. Faced with an enraged man, she was starting to rethink the whole plan. Who was she kidding? Plan?
She’d been told “he’s doing it again” by the neighbor and got in her truck. No question on the “he” or what he was doing.
A movement behind Bryson caught her attention and she flicked her gaze to a huddled Anna. Her hand cupped her cheek, cradling her bruised face.
Fucker.
Bryson caught her inattention and shifted his weight to turn. Hell no, he couldn’t focus on Anna again.
“Hey, asshole.” She punctuated her yell with a well-placed slam of her bat against drywall. The end smashed through the wall and she yanked it free, leaving a four-inch hole. “What are you waiting for?”
“You bitch.”
Lauren smiled, goading him, and shook her head. “Man, as the mayor, I figured you’d have a better vocabulary. A little less repetition.”
He growled and rushed her, hatred edging every line of his face. Lauren raised the bat again and swung. Wood connected with his left bicep sending a jarring vibration along her arms that had her wincing in pain. Hitting flesh and bone wasn’t like hitting a softball.
Unfortunately, the strike didn’t slow his advance. He kept coming, his right arm cocked back, hand balled into a fist. She lifted the bat, intent on hitting him before he hit her.
Only… shit, he was moving too fast. She didn’t have time to get into swinging position again. That fist came closer and closer, aimed at her face, and it was gonna hurt in the morning.
Lauren twisted sideways, readying herself to take the blow. She curled in on herself, presenting him with her shoulder. She psyched herself up for what was coming. Pain, pain, pain.
She grunted when he struck her, the weight and strength of the blow sending her sliding over the polished marble. A split-second after her mind registered the hit, it recognized the following agony.
Distantly, she realized the bat tumbled from her fingers, clattering to the ground and rolling away.
Another blow, knuckles digging into her side. The pain burrowed deep, racing into her muscles and bones.
Air rushed from her lungs, abandoning her, and she fought to breathe. The moment she was able to suck in a breath she wheezed out another taunt. As long as he remained focused on her, he wasn’t hurting Anna.
“Hit like a fucking girl.”
She glanced at him over her left shoulder and saw him gearing up for another strike. “Only pussies hit women.”
Fucking dick.
She spun to her right, away from the next blow. Bryson overshot his hit, taking a step to catch his weight, and Lauren attacked. She kicked, nailing him in the side of his knee, sending him crashing to the floor. He landed on all fours, gasping for breath, and she smiled. He was feeling the pain.
She drew in air, wrapping an arm across her waist to grip her side. She was, too.
While he was down, she’d give him another party favor to take to jail. Lauren pulled her leg back and then let the kick fly. She’d worn her boots for a reason. Steel toed. Hard ass leather. Thick sole. Her foot collided with his ribs and she imagined them cracking, breaking beneath her assault. Maybe she’d get lucky and pierce a lung.
She didn’t want him to die though. Nope, prison would be the perfect hell for a man who abused women.
Bryson grunted, but it didn’t seem painful enough to her. Nope. She reared her leg back, eager to hand more pain to the asshole. She thought of Anna in the other room: black eye, busted lip, burned skin. The dick deserved whatever he got.
With that kick, he rolled to his side, curling into himself with a pained groan.
“How’s it feel asshole?” She wanted to kick him again. Hell, screw that, where was her bat? “Feel like a big man when you hit a woman?” She lifted her leg. “You little dicked—”
“Police! Hands up.”
Damn it.
Lauren lifted her hands, wincing at the loss of pressure on her ribs. Okay, they might be a little more than bruised. Maybe a lot more than cracked, too.
“On your knees.”
She almost joked that she didn’t know him well enough, but then she caught sight of Anna. Sweet Anna curled into a ball in the kitchen, tears streaming from her eyes, and stark fear filling her body. She swallowed her witty retort and lowered to her knees as ordered.
Beside her, Bryson moaned and pushed to his hands and knees.
“Hands up!” Dang, that order, that voice.
If she was anywhere other than kneeling on a hard-ass marble floor and trying to figure out whether to puke or pass out, that voice might make her shiver and heat up all those naughty places.
