Dire Desires ewc-3

by Stephanie Tyler

  His wolf liked the idea so much that he found himself walking toward her, to help her. When she tore the outlaw Were’s throat out and stepped back, he realized she didn’t need help at all.

  She still bore bruises from their fight and it didn’t seem to bother her. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Fighting. I’ll prove my worth to you if it kills me,” she told him. He hadn’t seen her since she’d watched over him that night, but apparently, she’d been working with Cyd.

  You gave your approval. “Today, it might kill you.”

  “Better to die on your feet, right, king?” she asked, but there wasn’t a trace of sarcasm in her tone. She jumped then and he went for her, but she was over his head in seconds.

  When he turned, he saw she’d taken out an outlaw Were with her hands on its neck before wheeling around to defend Liam again.

  No way was he letting a female fucking save him.

  But you just did.

  * * *

  It couldn’t be put off any longer. Vice escorted Cain inside to see Rifter and Liam, filling the role that would normally be Jinx’s.

  Vice also carried the baby strapped to his chest in some kind of papoose thing, but Cain didn’t say a word. Because Vice actually seemed calmer. Happier.

  Just then, Jinx walked through the living room. “Sorry I’m late—I didn’t miss it, did I?”

  Cain looked at Vice, who shrugged. “Figured you need all the support you can get.”

  “Silent support, in my case,” Jinx said. “Safer for all of us.”

  Cain nodded and took a few steps farther to where Rifter and Liam waited in the kitchen for him. Cain had asked both wolves for this face-to-face meeting and now, he almost chickened out. Vice pushed him forward gently and Cain was grateful for that, more so when he saw the look of concern on both Liam’s and Rifter’s faces.

  “Thank you both for seeing me,” Cain started. “I have something of great importance to share with you both.”

  “Report,” Liam said and Cain nodded in deference to both kings.

  “Angus Black is . . . back.”

  “Back in black,” Vice sang. “Come on, you’re telling me you could resist that?”

  Rifter ignored him, Liam bit back a grin at his mentor and Cain’s heart beat so loudly he knew the entire room could hear it.

  “Wolf, sit,” Rifter ordered and Cain did so as the dizziness swept him.

  “Cain, what’s wrong?” Liam—friend, protector, king—looked so concerned that Cain felt even more guilty.

  “He’s . . . he saved Gillian. He’s a hunter,” Cain said.

  “We know that,” Rifter said.

  “And he’s my brother’s mate,” Cyd added. Cain cursed under his breath, hadn’t heard his twin enter. “I’m expecting that not to be a problem.”

  There was dead silence as both wolves blinked at Cain.

  “It’s true. I didn’t know it until a few days ago. I had to be sure.”

  “And it’s not a problem, right?” Cyd pushed. Rifter growled and stood, the chair slamming back behind him.

  “It’s not,” Liam said without further hesitation as he also stood, seemingly to calm Rifter from Cyd’s prodding.

  “Cyd is protective of his twin,” Laim said to Rifter. “He doesn’t mean any disrespect.”

  “It’s the only reason he’s not flattened under my boot,” Rifter said.

  “Cain, I know your mate’s chosen for you,” Liam continued.

  “The attraction’s been there from before I knew,” Cain admitted.

  “The fates know what they’re doing,” Rifter said. “An omega’s never mated without love. Omegas die without true fate.”

  Cain was grateful for the understanding. But there was more to his mating with Angus before it became complete and he didn’t know how the hunter would react.

  “I’d like Cain to stay here, with us,” Jinx said. “Safer for him and his mate, although I know he’ll be missed in New York.”

  Jinx, coming through in the clutch. “That’s what I was thinking, Liam. I’d still be honored to be your omega, if you’ll have me.”

  “It’s an excellent plan, for the good of the pack,” Liam said. “I’d like to take Cyd.”

  “You need him,” Cain agreed.

  “You have to tell Angus everything,” Jinx told him and Vice broke in with, “I’ll tell him.”

  A chorus of No’s in unison answered him.

  “Explaining mating to Gillian was enough,” Jinx growled.

  “And you’re welcome,” Vice said with a smile.

  Chapter 34

  That next night after Jinx and Gillian’s mating, he and Rogue needed to go hunting. Gillian stayed home reluctantly, because pictures of her were circulating and there was even more interest in the case because of a rumored press conference being held the next day by the Blackwells.

  The newscasters speculated they were going to up the reward. The whole thing made her sick to her stomach.

  Jez was here with her, but for the last half an hour, he seemed . . . distracted. More than that, actually—he seemed downright out of it. He was on the phone, pacing. Whispering. And then he went into his bedroom and closed the door and she decided there was no time like the present.

  She’d gotten herself into this mess—she’d have to be the one to get herself out. She wasn’t hiding forever, wasn’t getting shipped off to some strange pack. And she wasn’t going to get cut out of Jinx’s life that easily.

  She didn’t exactly sneak out—Jez was yelling now and no one stopped her as she walked out the door and went down the stairs. She took one of the two Harleys she found in their parking spaces, using a helmet only because of the risk of being seen.

  The Harley she’d grabbed the keys for was Jez’s—it was sleek and smooth, not at all like Jinx’s noisy one. She felt like a predator on Jez’s bike, had to make sure not to go over the speed limit. But oh, it was tempting. She promised herself a ride on this tonight, when the risks were smaller.

  Already, she felt freer, even though her heart was beating wildly from nerves. She parked the Harley at the edge of the property, in the woods, before the security camera line, left the helmet behind. Hopped the fence and walked up the driveway, knowing there were silent alarms going on all around her.

  She was still wearing Gwen’s clothing, but it fit her well. All black, a cute T-shirt and jeans, flip-flops, all things the Blackwells did not like. They still dressed for dinner nightly, while she stripped and shifted under a full moon. Different strokes.

  She stared at the mansion and tried to decide what was so different about it from the Dire mansion. The proportions were similar from the outside, although her parents’ house was cozy in comparison to the massive rooms and ceilings hidden inside the Dires’ house. But still, she felt a thousand times more comfortable there than she ever had in Blackwell Manor.

  She’d been most comfortable at Jinx’s place, but she pushed down that emotion. One thing at a time. If she freed herself from this, took the bounty off her head, she wouldn’t have to go into hiding.

  She was tired of hearing about the Greenland pack. Maybe she’d meet them one day, on her own terms, but she’d be damned if she’d be pushed into their arms. Paws. Whatever.

  The cameras would pick her up by the time she was halfway up the driveway. She was surprised no one had come out to greet—or grab—her but she had the feeling she was being watched. No doubt, they were closing a circle of people around her, ready to entrap her.

  “Do you not see me walking willingly to the door,” she muttered under her breath as she spotted two men in the bushes to her right. They were aiming something at her—probably tranquilizer guns and she did not relish the thought of being drugged again. Ever.

  She quickly rang the bell, knocked a few times and her father opened the door. So yes, if he’d done that instead of the staff, he’d definitely been tracking her movements by camera.

  “Hi, Dad,” she said with a s
mall wave. His face contorted a little and then he regained his composure.

  “Gillian, you’ve come home.”

  “I’ve come here to talk to you,” she corrected. “Can I come inside?”

  “Of course. Gilly, this is your home.”

  No, not anymore, but she bit her lip to keep from saying so as she stepped into the parlor. It all looked the same—pretty, polished. Lifeless. She turned midway through the hallway but her father urged her onward to the main living room.

  Her mother waited there, pacing anxiously. It was the most movement she remembered seeing from her mother, a small, frail woman who was always in bed with a headache or some other ailment. When she did entertain, it seemed to suck every bit of life out of her, and she always sat like the queen in the middle of the event, letting people come to her.

  Very effective.

  “Mother, hello,” Gillian said now, keeping her voice low.

  “Oh, Gillian, I’m so glad you came to your senses.”

  Well, yes, that too. She sat down on the couch across from her parents. A woman dressed in a starched black uniform brought the ever-present tea set and poured her a cup. Gillian mixed more cream and sugar than she normally would have, caught her mother wincing.

  “Sorry,” she muttered, took a sip and put the cup down so they wouldn’t notice her shaking hands. God, she was nervous, and the rustling in her ears wasn’t helping.

  Sister Wolf hated it here, and she was making her opinion known.

  “Look, I’m sorry I caused you worry when I left the hospital. I didn’t mean to. I just had to . . . find myself. And really, I did. I’m better. I’m twenty-one now. I’m ready to be on my own.”

  “Oh, Gillian,” her mother said with a sad shake of her head, like, “Oh, Gillian, you’re so deluded it’s not even funny.” And her father added, “We’re not supporting you.”

  “No, I don’t expect you to at all. I’m okay. I’ve got a place to live. A job.” Technically that was true as the Dires were tasked with helping humans. A nonpaying job but none of the Dires had asked her to contribute. She had the feeling they were quite comfortable in the money department. “I’m happy. I came here because I want you to know that. I’m not . . . sick. I can’t explain it, but everything that happened over the past years . . . well, it’s all okay now. I’m fine. And I just wanted you to know that. I’ll be okay—I am okay. So I’d like you to call off the dogs. I’ll stay out of the media and just live a quiet life.”

  “Gillian, that can’t happen,” her father said sternly.

  “But it is happening. You can’t put me back in a hospital without my consent.”

  “We can ask a hospital to hold you for forty-eight hours until a doctor assesses you.”

  “Do I seem like there’s something wrong?” Gillian asked calmly. “I wish you’d believe me.”

  “I want you to move back in here, not the hospital,” her father said and for a minute, she thought they really believed she was better. But his next words proved that was the farthest thing from the truth. “You’ll have your own doctor, round the clock. You’re sick—you just don’t realize it.”

  She hadn’t thought it would be easy. She’d never win this argument—she just hoped to come out unscathed. “I need you to respect the fact that I’ve made this decision.”

  “You don’t have a choice, Gillian,” her mother said sadly, and at those words, her anger rose. She swallowed her temper, not wanting to prove them right about anything.

  In her calmest voice, she asked, “Where did you find me?”

  “What are you talking about, honey?” Her mother wrung her hands together, urgency in her voice. “Dave, tell her she’s sick.”

  “I know I’m not your biological child.” She stared between them, looking for any kind of tell, but there wasn’t one. They were good. But why the big secret? Plenty of people were adopted. There was no shame in that.

  Although, with the Blackwells, continuing the line was important. Hiding her and her faults, more so. But using her to front their philanthropic efforts . . .

  “You need to get back on your medication, Gillian. You’ll feel much more like your old self,” her father explained with a logic she used to believe in.

  When had she begun to see through the act? There was the normal parental rebellion for sure, but she’d taken it further. The more they disapproved, the more she’d pushed. Until . . .

  “Your temper caused the death of your classmates.”

  “Dave, we promised we’d never tell her,” her mother cried out.

  “She has to know the consequences for what she did. What could’ve happened to her if we’d told the truth.”

  She was shaking her head, standing and backing away from them like that would make what they’d said disappear. Out of sight, out of mind.

  “Gillian, please. We promised the judge and the doctors—the families of the victims—that you’d forever remain in custody, watched by a doctor. If you don’t, we have to put you in prison.”

  “Prison,” she repeated. “I don’t understand any of this.”

  “Because you didn’t remember what you did. Dave, it wasn’t her fault—it was the horrible mental illness,” her mother said.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about—why you’re lying about everything!” she yelled, right before she felt the prick of a needle in her neck. She whirled around and drop-kicked the man who’d stuck her with the tranquilizer, threw him across the room without thinking. Sister Wolf was enraged, gearing up to be uncontrollable, which Jinx and the others had warned her about and, yes, this had all been a huge mistake.

  And there was no turning back from it.

  She fought as long as she could, the hallway leading to the front door seeming to stretch out as she ran toward it, a never-ending kind of hall as she ran on jelly legs.

  They’d used the same amount of drugs they did at the hospital—the dose was enough to take her and her wolf down, no matter how hard she fought.

  * * *

  Gillian woke up slowly. Her head throbbed, her face was sticky and when she touched it, she realized she’d been bleeding. She ripped a piece off the bottom of the T-shirt she wore and held it to the cut to staunch the bleeding, because there was nothing else in this literal cell that would help.

  A mattress on the floor. A small window she couldn’t escape from—and it was barred anyway—and cold, hard cement floor and walls. A door that looked solid. She stood and tried it anyway. The doorknobs bent under her touch and she frowned at that. Why would someone bother to make a prison like this and use shoddy equipment?

  She tried the handle again and only succeeded in ripping it off, which was no help to her. She crushed it in her hand, the metal cutting her. But it seemed to heal quickly. Just like her head. She felt for the cut that had reopened and there was nothing.

  Only then did she realize that the knob wasn’t the issue—she was. She’d never translated her strength into being able to do things like this, but she was getting stronger on an hourly basis, it seemed. And none too soon.

  She stepped back and readied herself, gave the door a hard kick with the bottom of her bare foot and waited for the pain.

  There was none. Instead, the door flew open and she realized she hadn’t needed to kick that hard. She walked out and found herself in a maze of hallways. It was only when she reached a staircase that she knew exactly where she was.

  She was home.

  There were running footsteps above her head. She waited, crouched in the dark corner, because in order to get out of here, she would have to get upstairs.

  The door opened with a creak and she heard lots of talking. They must have hidden cameras upstairs, watching her every move.

  She heard, “She’s out . . . door’s off . . . impossible.”

  Impossible.

  “It’s the sickness. I’ve heard mental illness makes people do things they normally couldn’t do.”

  Her mother’s voice. They had no idea Gi
llian was a wolf. That in and of itself actually made her feel better. If they’d known all this time . . . if they’d been using her . . . well, that was worse than locking her up because they didn’t know how to deal with a perceived illness. Not by much, granted, but still.

  “There were marks on the side of the van . . . looked like they’d been made by animals,” her father was saying. “One of the men swore he heard barking.”

  She smelled them now. The hellhounds. They were protecting her because she was Jinx’s.

  And they would kill anyone who they thought was hurting her.

  She had to get out of here, lead them away from this house, her parents, or there would be a bloodbath. And as she moved to walk up, prepared to leap past her parents, when they met her halfway up the stairs, she simply froze at the fear in their faces.

  “You can’t leave, Gillian,” her father said in a tone of voice she’d never heard him use before. “You’re violent. You’ve hurt people.”

  “I didn’t do what you’re saying. It was a car accident.” She wanted to believe it—she did believe it—but she couldn’t remember anything about the night in question.

  “There was no car accident. We told you that.”

  “My legs were broken.”

  “You were tied down after it all happened, for your safety and everyone else’s. Look at the pictures.” Her father shoved them at her angrily. He looked at her as though he’d never seen her before, like she wasn’t even his.

  Because she wasn’t. But they wouldn’t—couldn’t admit that. They could only pretend to take care of her because they loved her.

  She slid the pictures out of the folder, glanced down at the first one on the pile and nearly vomited. It showed dismembered people. She forced herself to stare at them. She recognized the faces of the dead . . . three of her classmates. She saw deep claw marks and bites on their flesh.