“Get out of here,” he growled at the two from Coalfell. “Before I give you cement shoes.”
The two gulped and fled from the office, fighting each other to get out first. Zane glared after them before turning back to the woman. She stared at him warily. Brown hair tousled around her face, where makeup was smeared. There was a faint sweet odor about her, but the smell of feline was almost overpowering. It wasn’t the same wild scent that he was used to with shifters, though. It was something more… controlled, almost.
“Well, this is a problem. What’s your name?”
She stared at him, her jaw shut. There came a look of defiance in her eyes and she lifted her chin slightly.
“I’m not going to hurt you. For one thing, Shadow would tear off my balls if I did. I know you… you got mixed up in that drug stuff a few months back. Shadow has adopted you, and anybody who hurts her family gets torn to shreds.”
Zane shook his head, the amusement at thinking of Tornado’s younger sister abruptly cut short. Shadow, if rumors were true, was backing away from the gang. She’d mated with that traitor-cop Blizzard. What the hell was she thinking? Zane had thought there was chemistry between them, but clearly, he was wrong.
That didn’t resolve what he was going to do with this pretty kitty, though. He sat on his desk, observing her in her continued silence. A streak of glitter ran over her cheekbones, highlighting them. She was very attractive. Her green eyes shone like fractures of gems, her skin smooth and clear. Lips were a little too large, but that just made them more kissable. With her hair tousled like that and the blanket clinging to her curvy frame, it made his wolf growl with pleasure. He’d like to get to know her in the biblical sense.
If his mother could hear his thoughts as he looked at this woman, who was clearly terrified just being in the same room as him, she would wring his neck.
“Did either of those idiots hurt you?” He made his voice gentle. “Did they…” How could he put this delicately? “Molest you?”
The cat shivered but shook her head. She swallowed hard. “I don’t want to get involved in all this gang stuff. I just want to go home.”
“I’m not in the habit of killing people who have done nothing wrong but be in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He frowned, considering her as he cocked his head to one side. “Tell me what you saw.”
“Nothing,” she said quickly.
The truth bled from her eyes. It was half-amusing, half-infuriating that they had managed to snag an honest woman. He could see in her fear that she wouldn't hesitate to put herself back in the line of fire to see the gang brought down. He could hear it in the way she said ‘gang stuff’.
“Is that what you’d tell the police? That you saw nothing?”
She flinched. “Yes. I’m just a working girl trying to make a better life for myself.”
“I don’t think so. I think you’re the type of girl who has a self-sacrificing streak. I think that you’d run straight to the cops the moment you went out this door.”
The woman snorted, turning her face away. “As if Sheriff Cunningham would do a damn thing about it. He thinks that you guys are some sort of break against even worse things.”
Zane couldn’t help but laugh at that. As he shook his head at the irony of that statement, something clicked in his mind. The smeared makeup, the glitter, the scent of sweat. The sweetness of perfume on her. She had said she was a working girl. He had the sudden image of her lying on her back, her curves laid bare before him, his hips between her thighs.
Then he thought of another man there and his wolf snarled in fury.
“A working girl, huh?” He shrugged. “I don’t mind partaking from time to time, so long as it’s from a reputable place that protects its girls.”
The woman stared at him for a long moment before her face flared red. She leapt to her feet, those green eyes glowing again. “I am not a hooker!”
She wasn’t?
“I happen to be a waitress,” she snarled at him, sounding like she was about to try to take off his face. “Not that it’s any of your business—even if I was a hooker I wouldn’t sleep with some sleazy gangster.”
Zane’s hair bristled at that. He stepped closer to her, a growl in his throat. “Do waitresses usually wear glitter on their breasts?” He glanced at her exposed cleavage. She yanked the blanket back up, but not before it slipped down enough to show one juicy-looking nipple. “If you’re not a prostitute, then you’re a stripper.”
She flinched as though it were an insult and not a profession.
“Whatever.” He waved a hand. “That is hardly important. I have to decide what I’m going to do with you. I can’t let you run off and tell everybody what happened today. Those idiots ought to have made sure there were no witnesses before taking out their mark. Would it help your conscious to know that it was a dealer of the tainted drugs that made their way into Coalfell recently?”
She didn’t need to know that it was a vampire.
“If it was,” she said, drawing herself up higher, “then they should have handed him over to the law and not killed him themselves! We have a law system for a reason—” She cut off and her eyes widened. Perhaps realizing she’d just admitted that she had, in fact, witnessed the murder that she had claimed not to see. She backed away from him, trembling again. “Your excuses don’t make it any less murder, and there is no justification for that.”
“Not even if one death means that two others survive? Or that children are spared abuse? What if it was a man who would kill his wife, and was killed specifically so he could not touch her?”
The woman opened her mouth and closed it again.
“What is your name?” he growled shortly. He didn’t care what she thought—sometimes killing was the only way. Especially when it came to vampires.
She fidgeted on the spot. “Melanie.”
Zane nodded at her. “People call me Thunder. You can call me Zane if you want.”
The offer of his real name took him by surprise, but he pushed that away. He was just trying to make her feel more comfortable. He didn’t like that she was staring at him with that fear still, as though expecting him to throw her on the desk or snap her neck. Not that he wouldn’t mind having her on the desk, but not in her current state.
He frowned as he glanced at the door. A chorus of song was coming from the other side. He couldn’t keep her locked up in this office. Not only would people talk, but the warehouse was a place where his men regularly got high and drunk. He ran a tight ship and he had men who he trusted to guard and protect her, but it was better to minimize the risks. He didn’t want her to end up hurt—and he didn’t want to have to kill off any idiot who hurt, or tried to hurt, her.
“Come on.” He jerked toward the door. “I’m not going to keep you here. I’ve got a place where you’ll… stay until I can figure out my next move. You will not be hurt or molested, I swear,” he added. “But if you try to run, I will hunt you down.”
Melanie stared at him for a moment longer before she nodded. He opened the door—and caught her by the tail as she tried to dart out. He seized the blanket again, wrapped her up, and carried her out of the warehouse. She snarled, tearing at the blanket as her claws found his skin and shredded it.
A smile tugged at his lips despite himself. What a feral kitty.
***
It was a good thing that he hadn’t put windows in the basement like he had wanted. Zane carried Melanie, shoved into a cat-carrying case now, into his house. The basement wasn’t exactly the most secure place, but it had a sturdy door and, with the lock he’d picked up, Melanie would be sequestered away for the time being.
“Here we are.” Zane set the carrying case down at the base of the stairs and pulled out his tools. “I’ll just get this lock in here and then you can settle into your new home.”
He glanced into the carrying case. It had been difficult shoving Melanie in it, but once she was inside she hadn’t made a noise. She pressed herself flat against
the back wall, glaring at him while he worked. He moved quickly. There was no telling if the case would hold if Melanie tried to shift into human form. Besides that, he wanted to get her put away before…
“Zane?” His mother’s voice came down the stairs. “Is that you?”
“Yeah, Ma,” he called back, working faster. “Just give me a minute and—”
Of course, it was at that moment that Melanie decided to try to shift. The carrying case burst apart as she turned human. The edges cut into her arms and back, releasing a spray of blood into Zane’s face. She bolted for the stairs and Zane pounced on her. He pinned her down, reaching to grab both her wrists.
“Help me!” she screamed, and Zane cursed.
“Stop that!” He slapped a hand over her mouth. “You’re just causing trouble!”
He dragged her to her feet. Melanie attempted to bite his hand and he moved it. She elbowed him, and he brought her closer to his body so she wouldn’t have to room to continue her attack. With one hand he yanked open the basement door just as there was a gasp above him.
“Zane Antony Burton, what in the name of all that’s holy are you doing?”
Zane flinched but ignored his mother as he shoved Melanie into the basement and slammed the door on her. He’d changed the handle into one that could lock and quickly locked her in. The deadbolt would have to wait. He stayed where he was for a moment, making sure that Melanie wouldn’t be able to get out.
“You’d better have a good reason for this or I’m calling the cops right now,” his mother hissed.
Zane let out a grunt, then turned on his heel. He took the stairs two at a time until he stood next to his mother. Her back hunched and her skin looked transparent it was so thin, but that didn’t make her scowl any less intimidating.
“Ma, it’s not like I’m keeping her as a slave,” he protested weakly.
“You had better not be! I raised you better than this.” She slapped his shoulder. “Now you go let that poor girl out of there or so help me—”
“She saw a couple of the men killing a vampire. But she doesn't know about vampires, so she thinks—”
His mother rolled her eyes. “Then tell her about vampires.”
“It’s not as simple as that and you know it,” Zane snapped at her. “Look, Ma, I brought her here for her safety. I can’t have her going around screaming about murder and I can’t keep her at any of the Brotherhood’s safe houses. Not when my men will start asking questions or, worse, Typhoon might find out about her. It’s just temporary.”
His mother glared at him, unconvinced.
Zane ran a hand through his hair. There wasn’t anything that he could say to convince her, not at the moment. The best he could hope for was that she at least trusted him enough not to call the cops. He ground his teeth for a moment, then yanked his phone from his pocket.
“What are you doing?” his mother snapped now.
“Calling Mary. She’s about the same size and she,” he gestured at the basement, indicating Melanie, “needs clothes.” He paused a moment, noting the tremors in his mother’s hands. “You need to go sit down, Ma. Did you take your medicines this morning?”
She snorted at him, still glaring. “Just make your call, Zane. Get that poor girl some clothes.”
Chapter Three
Melanie
It wasn’t the dungeon she had been expecting. The room, though there were no windows for natural light to come through, was well-lit by an old-fashioned chandelier hanging from the ceiling. It was worn, the paint chipped, but the bits of glue on it showed recent work having been done in it. Everything in the basement was similar. Old, but usable and showing signs of repair.
The room was clean and dry, too. A little chill, but not terrible. There was a couch along one wall, facing a TV, and Melanie found another few blankets in a small end table beside it. She wrapped herself up in them, huddled on the couch.
The first question was where was she. As soon as she realized that there was no way out of the basement, Melanie's mind turned to the woman she had seen before. The one Zane called ‘Ma’. She had been white-haired and feeble, bearing little resemblance to the robust wolf. But if she was his mother… did that mean that he was keeping her prisoner in his mother’s house?
Was that little old lady with her white hair and wrinkled face part of the Savage Brotherhood?
There was movement outside of the door and Melanie leapt to her feet, eyes wide and face going pale. If it was the wolf again—her cat did not roll onto its back and purr at the thought—what would she do?
“Hello?” a thin voice called through the door. “Are you alright, dear?”
The wolf’s mother. Melanie rushed to the door. “Please, let me out.”
There was a beat. “My name is Felicia. What’s yours?”
“Melanie. I’m just a waitress from Coalfell. I want to go home.”
She waited, holding her breath as she listened, but there was no sound of the lock clicking open. Melanie pressed her hands to the door. If Felicia was part of the gang, then Melanie had no reason to trust her, or think that the lady would help her escape.
“Dear,” Felicia said, sounding exhausted. “Tell me, have you been hurt at all?”
Melanie's shoulders slumped. Not physically, no. Well, nothing that would even bruise. She had a feeling that wasn’t what Felicia was asking, though. “No,” she said reluctantly.
“And why are you naked?”
Melanie looked down at herself. She had always been told, from the time she was a young girl, to keep her abilities to shift a secret. Growing up in Coalfell, the only shifters were really the Savage Brotherhood, and a handful of others that ended up working in places like the Chubby Kitty. Even the other felines she had met didn’t always understand her, they being large predators and her being a small cat who was as much prey as predator.
“Dear, I know you’re a shifter. I can smell it on you. You’ve got a bit of a peculiar scent, though… I’m an eagle myself… at least, I was once.”
There was regret in Felicia’s voice. Melanie hesitated a moment longer. “I lost my clothes trying to get away from them. Please, let me out. I don’t want to die.”
“Nobody is going to kill you, Melanie.” Felicia’s voice sounded weaker, more exhausted.
It reminded Melanie of when her father’s health had taken a bad turn. Oh, God! How long had it been since she was meant to be home? Was he worried for her? What if he had fallen and couldn’t get up? What if he had tried to cook something and set the house on fire?
“I need to get home.”
Felicia hummed. “Zane knows what he is doing. He does important work. I can’t risk that you will ruin that for him.”
Important work? He led a gang for God’s sake! How was that in any way important? What lies had Zane been feeding his mother, that he could lock up a naked woman and his mother would defend him?
“My boy is a good man,” Felicia continued. “He’s all I have left, and he looks after me.”
Melanie closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. “I won’t tell anybody what I saw. I just want to get home.” Did she dare mention her father, or would the gang go after him if she did? “Please, let me—”
“Ma.” Zane’s deep, rumbling voice cut her off. “What are you doing? You shouldn’t be going down these stairs with your bad hip.”
He sounded so soft and concerned that all the curses Melanie wanted to throw at him for locking her up died on her tongue. She pressed her ear to the door as Felicia, her voice sounding a little stronger, told him that she was making sure Melanie was unharmed. He guided his mother away and Melanie returned to the couch. There would be no getting out that way...
When she heard footsteps on the stairs again, she shifted and raced to the door. There was some shuffling around, then the door swung open. Melanie jumped back to avoid it hitting her, then darted forward—only to ram face-first into a piece of wood that now blocked the entrance. Melanie backed up, blinking away stars
as Zane laughed.
He tossed something into the room. It fell over Melanie, hiding her from view until she clawed her way out of it. She leapt at the wood, but Zane batted her back into the room and quickly shut the door.
“That was a valiant attempt,” he called through the door as he locked it again. “But I’m not going to let you go that easily. Now, why don’t you get dressed while I put this deadbolt in?”
Melanie snarled under her breath, but on closer inspection of what he had thrown at her, it was indeed clothing. She hesitated only a moment before she shifted back to human form and dressed. Having clothing on her body, even if the shirt had a V-neck that went halfway to her navel and the pants were tight enough to shift the position of her hips, was reassuring. She went back to the couch. Questions formed in her mind, but she didn’t ask any of them as a saw blade appeared in the door.
***
It took Zane less than half an hour to install the deadbolt, making it even more difficult for her to break down the door. But Melanie didn’t give up. While he had worked, she’d managed to steal a screwdriver from his toolbox. Now she stood on the end table, chipping away at the concrete wall near the top of the room.
Her arm ached with the effort and her forehead beaded with sweat. Fine powder coated her exposed chest and landed gritty in her teeth. She continued to chip away with all her strength, though. She didn’t need to open it up large enough to escape, just call for help.
The door opened, and she jumped and turned. There was no time to attempt to race out again, although from her last few failed attempts, she didn’t think that it would do any good anyway. She jumped off the end table as Zane came in, carrying a bowl of soup. The smell made Melanie's stomach rumble, but she didn’t reach for it.
He set the soup down next to the TV and moved to inspect her work. Melanie's fist clenched around the screwdriver. He was going to tie her up now. Patch up the concrete. Maybe put her feet in some and dump her in a lake. She swallowed dryly, backing away as she eyed him.
Thunder Page 2
