by Kyle, Celia
“We can discuss it later,” Mason growled at the men, taking a step forward.
The three men didn’t budge, effectively barring the way inside the lodge. Mason’s sudden movement caused Lucy’s vision to swirl. She clutched at his bicep, barely even noticing how bulging and big it felt under her fingers—barely.
“Lucy!” Mason cried out and the next thing she knew she hung limply in his arms. She hardly had the strength to twine her arms around his neck. How very damsel in distress, she thought with a snort.
“Out of the way,” Mason demanded, pushing past the men whether they liked it or not. Their glares said they were definitely in the “not” category.
“We need answers, Mason,” one of them spoke—Lucy couldn’t tell which with her faced pressed into Mason’s neck.
“You’ll get them, just not right now.” Mason’s growling voice felt way too good. All snarly and vibrating and yummy.
Lucy wanted to call them all assholes—couldn’t they see she was sick?—but speaking required energy and she had precious little.
The most she could handle was to loll her head around and take a peek at Mason’s home. Beautiful handmade log furniture decorated the place, giving it a welcome, homey feel. Several couches and dozens of chairs created a huge seating area, which puzzled her. Either Mason lived with a bunch of his relatives or he lived in a hotel.
Heavy footfalls on wooden floors reverberated against wooden walls until Mason kicked open a wooden door. His distinct scent hit her stronger than a room full of fragrant roses. It suffused the air and seemed to be embed in every inch of the space. He’d obviously carried her to his bedroom. He tucked her under his covers, and she almost fainted from his heady, woodsy musk. She didn’t understand how this stranger could make her… want. When he pressed his lips to her forehead, Lucy had the sudden urge to tilt her head back until their lips met. The kiss would be hesitant at first but it wouldn’t take them long to dive into the growing desire that existed between them.
The thudding of multiple pairs of feet broke the spell, drawing Mason’s attention from her and to the room’s entry. He stood in front of her, legs spread and arms crossed. The three men from the porch stopped at the doorway, and Mason took a threatening step forward.
“Not another inch.” There he went with the growling thing again.
The one who looked to be the leader of the trio clenched his jaw and gave Mason a dark look. “Don’t fight us on this, Mason. We’re the National—”
“I know you’re the fucking National Circle, but I’m the fucking alpha of the Blackwood pack and I will not have three unmated alphas in here with my mate!”
Squinting hard at Mason’s increasingly blurry back, Lucy replayed his last words in her head, just to make sure she’d heard them correctly. Alpha? Pack? Mate? Who was his mate? Her?
What the everloving fuck?
Lucy tried to sit up a little, shifting her weight and begging her muscles to comply. She groaned at the rush of pain that came with the movement, but she was determined to ask them what the hell they were talking about. Drew chose that moment to appear at her side and pressed a cool hand to her blazing forehead. He frowned and then turned to Mason and jerked his head toward the doorway. Mason gave her one last glance before herding the three men down the hallway, closing the door in his wake.
Drew reached for the gauze she’d wrapped around her leg after her shower, tugging on the material and yanking a hiss from her mouth. “Fuck that hurts.”
“I know,” Drew soothed, “but I need to check out your wound.”
Lucy ground her teeth to stop herself from sounding like a big baby over a little bite. She kept her eyes focused on the wooden ceiling, counting the knots in the wood as a distraction. Only when Drew gasped did she look down at her leg and sucked in a harsh breath to match his. What’d been a few gouges was now a throbbing purple and red gash.
“Holy shit,” she whispered. “This morning it was just… Is this because I jumped out of the truck?”
Drew ignored her as he pressed the edges of the angry injury. Air whistled between her teeth with each new wave of agony, but she didn’t cry out again. She managed to remain silent. Barely.
He continued to poke and prod, eyes scanning the twisted wound. Finally, he looked up at her, a grave expression in his grey eyes. “I need to grab a few instruments.” Drew abandoned her and went to the door. “Don’t move, okay?”
“Couldn’t if I wanted to,” she mumbled, closing her eyes and immediately falling into a drowsy state.
Mason’s voice filtered through the wall behind her, barely audible at first, though it grew louder with each passing second. Strange because it seemed as if he was trying to whisper. The more she listened, the more clearly she could hear his voice—but not the others. She wondered how her hearing could be so strong when the content of the conversation blew away all other concerns.
“If you’re not here about the fire, why are you here?”
The other men’s voices mumbled so quietly she could barely pick them out, but then Mason’s burst in her head like a bullhorn.
“A tip? What kind of tip? About what?”
More murmurs, and then Mason cursed so loudly she winced.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! Frank-fucking-Riverson set fire to our pack lands, but you’re here to investigate an illegal change?”
Lucy didn’t care that she couldn’t hear the others. Mason’s words were still pinging around inside her brain. Werewolf?
“For fuck’s sake, it was an accident! Do you really think I sic one of my own pack’s pups on a human woman just to grow our numbers? Who called in that tip?”
Pack? Pup? Human woman?
If Lucy had thought her heart was racing before… No, she couldn’t have possibly heard correctly. The only answer was that she was delusional. That had to be it because she sure as shit wasn’t listening to four grown men talking about being werewolves!
Lucy didn’t hear Drew approach, but she sensed his presence. When he reached toward her leg, she shot her hand out and locked onto his wrist in a death grip. Only then did she open her eyes to stare into his surprised face.
“Drew, please don’t think I’m crazy, okay?”
His brow pulled together in a frown. “Okay.”
“Do you know…” She paused and listened hard to make sure the lunatics in the next room were still babbling at each other. “Mason and those other guys… they all think they’re… werewolves?”
Drew’s eyes grew wide as saucers and his breathing became shallow. Great, he thought she was the crazy one. Squeezing his wrist as hard as she could, she tried again.
“I know, I sound insane or delusional or something, but I swear to God they’re talking about it in the next room. I know you’re buddies and everything, but you seem like a really good guy. Please help me get out of here. I can’t end up like some too-stupid-to-live bimbo in a bad horror flick!”
A shadow dropped over Drew’s eyes, but instead of helping her up and out of the Little Lodge of Horrors, he took a deep breath and shouted, “Mason!”
Perfect, just perfect. As the sound of his crackpot leader’s feet running up the hallway thundered through the lodge, Lucy wondered if she should give them some tips on the best way to season her for their evening meal.
Chapter Ten
Mason strode into his bedroom, scanning the room for any threats. Lucy lay in the bed, fists full of blanket and eyes squeezed shut, body tense as she braced for oncoming pain. Drew stood at her side, a wicked-looking instrument in his hand. That was the moment Lucy’s eyes popped open and she met his stare across the distance. With her panic-filled gaze came a wave of her scent—the sweet notes now crowded by the stinging hint of fear.
His wolf howled and demanded its release. It would eliminate the threat against their mate. Permanently. But Mason had one problem with obeying the wolf’s desires—he didn’t see a threat, only Drew.
Drew, the healer.
Drew, the unmate
d male.
Drew, the man Mason had left alone with Lucy.
Having never had a mate, Mason was nearly knocked off balance by a ferocious surge of jealousy. He glared at Drew, lungs hardly able to draw in air. The man he’d trusted to care for his mate must have done something for her to be so fearful.
Mason crossed the room before Drew could so much as blink and wrapped his fingers around the healer’s throat. With the merest flex, he slammed Drew against the wall, the wolf’s feet dangling two feet above the floor. The other male’s hands scrabbled at Mason’s wrist, but he refused to release his prey.
Only Lucy’s scream stopped him from breaking Drew’s neck. He spared a moment to glance at the bed and met her terrified eyes. The scent of her panic filled the room with a cloying stench that drove him mad, drove his wolf toward the edge of violence. No doubt about it, whatever had scared her before he entered was nothing compared to how she felt as Mason pinned Drew to the wall.
Common sense told him that the only difference between then and now was his presence. It was enough to break through his hormone-fueled rage. He lowered Drew to his feet though he refused to release the wolf. He stared into the man’s wide eyes.
“What did you do?” Mason growled through clenched teeth.
Before Drew could speak, Lucy answered for him with a snarl of her own. “Nothing! Except for not answering my question.”
Mason’s fury lessened while apprehension crept in. He released Drew and turned to face his mate. Who didn’t know she was his mate. Or that he was even a werewolf.
“And what question might that be?”
She narrowed her eyes and her nostrils flared. “Whether he knew you nutjobs think you’re werewolves.”
Mason stopped breathing, and he was pretty sure his heart stopped beating as well. Shit!
He hadn’t wanted her to find out this way. She would eventually have to learn the truth about the Blackwood pack, and her eventual membership, but he’d wanted to ease her into their world slowly. How had she discovered their secret? Drew?
No, it hadn’t been the healer. The wolf was loyal to the pack above all. In truth, Lucy’s accusation was no doubt the reason why Drew had called for Mason.
“What makes you say that?” Mason kept his tone cautious, soothing.
Even in her sickness, she had enough pluck to roll her eyes at him. “Seriously? I heard you talking in the next room, plain as day.” She pointed a trembling finger at him, the shakes revealing her weakness. “Don’t even try to deny it.”
He wouldn’t call her a liar about hearing the conversation, but he could easily have denied that their meeting wasn’t next door. Mason had escorted the National Circle through the pack house and back to the sitting room to have their little chat. No human could have heard their mumbles at that distance, much less any details.
A spark of hope joined his rolling fear. She exhibited symptoms of transforming into a wolf—the only question was whether she could survive the transition. No matter what, Mason was going to do everything in his power to ensure she lived.
He returned his attention to Drew and wrapped an arm around his old friend’s shoulders. He walked the healer to the door and Drew didn’t need to be told to leave. Drew gave Mason an encouraging nod and then left the room though Mason knew he’d stay nearby, ready to help when he was needed.
The National Circle waited nearby, the trio’s gazes not leaving Mason. He kept his voice low as he spoke. “Time to leave, gentlemen.”
The beta and the enforcer backed away, but Roman—the alpha of alphas—didn’t budge. The other two glanced at each other and then followed Drew, leaving Mason and Roman to face off on their own.
Mason ground his teeth as he glared at Roman. National Circle Alpha or not, Mason wasn’t about to allow him anywhere near Lucy. “You need to leave. Now.”
To his credit, Roman kept his cool, but the way he crossed his arms made it clear he wasn’t leaving any time soon. “I’ll leave after Miss Morgan has answered a couple of questions.”
Defying the National Alpha would normally earn a wolf all sorts of painful punishment, but the only thing that mattered in that moment was Lucy. A growl developed in his chest, but a feminine snort jolted him out of his growing anger. Both he and Roman glanced at the bed where Lucy remained, a firm glare in place.
“You can go suck a lemon, pal,” Her objection endeared her to Mason even more. “I’m not answering questions until I get a few answers of my own. Do you freaks really think you’re werewolves, or what?”
Mason bit his lips to keep himself from smiling. He’d known she was one ballsy chick even before they met—throwing herself into the path of an oncoming car to save a child proved that—but seeing her tell off the National Alpha was more than he could have dreamed. Judging by the frown Roman gave Lucy, he disagreed though Mason caught the gleam of amusement in the man’s eyes.
Lips twitching ever so slightly, Roman returned his attention to Mason. “We’re not leaving until we have answers, Mason.”
The last of Mason’s patience evaporated, and so did his inhibitions about speaking freely in front of Lucy. Even if they left the room, she’d hear it all anyway. She’d already proven that fact.
“Listen,” Mason jabbed a finger in the air in Roman’s direction. “I have an injured mate who’s asking questions, and she has a right to answers. I don’t need to remind you how this could turn out. Instead of taking a step back, you’re more concerned about bleating like a fucking sheep over a mishap involving a young pup!”
“I’d stop pointing if I were you,” Roman’s jaw worked overtime and his green eyes flashed a dark warning.
“And if I were you,” Mason curled his lip. “I’d figure out who called in the tip in the first place. Interesting timing, don’t you think? That you got a helpful call about the Blackwood pack breaking laws at the exact same time I’m dealing with an asshole starting fires in my forest. Convenient, don’t you think?”
Roman examined Mason for a moment before he spoke. “Seems as if you already have a theory. Share with the class.”
That was the alpha of alphas—demand, not ask.
Mason didn’t care for the man’s condescending tone, but this wasn’t about only him anymore. This involved Mason, Lucy, and the entire Blackwood pack. The National Circle needed to know his thoughts, if they didn’t have suspicions of their own already.
“Word spreads fast in small towns, Roman. Frank Riverson free of jail for more than an hour before I heard about his release through the grapevine. I’d be pretty fucking surprised if he didn’t have a whole lotta hate for the Blackwoods. After everything that happened, wouldn’t you?”
Roman scowled. “How did you—”
“Never mind all that,” Mason interrupted. “In addition to the fire, the pack house was vandalized. Two days after Frank’s release.”
“You never reported that.”
“I know. At first, I thought it might be local kids from town, no big deal. After the fire though, it didn’t take a genius to put two and two together. I was preparing an official request for an investigation by the NC when all of…this happened.”
He waved a hand back toward Lucy but kept his eyes laser focused on Roman.
“Now you get some mysterious tip there’s some massive conspiracy involving our pups biting humans to grow our ranks.” Mason huffed in frustration. “You must see what’s going on here, Roman. You can’t possibly be that dumb.”
Roman’s upper lip pulled back in a warning snarl and Mason had just enough control to not snarl back. The scent of Lucy’s fear had increased steadily as the two men spoke, and he’d do just about anything to be alone with her so he could calm her. He should placate the National Alpha, keep the man happy, but Lucy needed him more than Mason needed to kiss ass.
Out in the main living area, Mason could hear his brothers talking to Roman’s beta and enforcer. Plastering a fake smile on his face, he motioned toward the door.
“Listen, I’
ll gladly talk about this until we’re all blue in the face. Later. Right now, I’ve got a mate to claim and that requires privacy. Got it?”
Roman’s gaze shifted between Mason and Lucy and back again. With a nod, he finally left them alone.
Chapter Eleven
To Lucy’s hypersensitive ears, the click of the door latch catching sounded like the metallic thud of a prison cell slamming closed. Even worse, it felt like a death sentence. Oh sure, the big house in the middle of nowhere was filled to the rafters with smoking hot men—and not just regular hot, but a-nun-tearing-off-her-habit hot—but on the flip side, they all thought they were werewolves. Had she mentioned she was alone with them? In the middle of God’s nowhere? Awesome, right?
Mason snared a chair and dragged it toward her side of the bed. Lucy’s gaze darted around the room, searching for a weapon—some way to defend herself from the crazy. With Mason’s strength and speed, she’d never make it to the door before he caught her. Her only hope was that someone had inadvertently left a bazooka lying on the bedside table.
No such luck.
Mason spun the chair around and straddled the back. So very manly. So very sexy. His green eyes burrowed into her, making her skin crawl in the most pleasurable manner. Even as sick as she was and as nutso as he was, the heat between them threatened to engulf her.
This is how girls in horror movies die, dummy!
Right! She’d almost forgotten she was trapped in a house with a bunch of crazies. If she’d learned anything from scary movies, it was to never walk into a dark room after hearing a child-like giggle and to always play along with the bad guy’s delusion. He might cut someone in half with a chainsaw if they didn’t.
“I won’t taste very good, you know,” she blurted the words out. “Not even Gordon Ramsey could make Lucy Stew taste good with all the infection in my body. There’s puss and goop and icky creepy crawlies in my blood. I’d probably give you food poisoning.”
Mason’s laugh started out soft, then his belly joined in, and soon it was rumbling up from his toes. At the sound, a good portion of her fear evaporated like a puff of smoke on a windy day. He wiped a tear from his eye and grinned down at her.
