The sound of footsteps in the distance sent her into a partial panic. She turned and grabbed the handle of the nearest door, yanking it open and entering the room without looking. She pressed herself to the door, listening as she heard the footsteps growing closer. Holding her breath, Haven waited to be caught, her plan to surprise them foiled.
The footsteps reached her and then, to her surprise, kept going, never slowing. She finally exhaled and then turned, putting her back to the door and closing her eyes, needing to relax her heart rate before the ugly side of her nature came out to play. Her nostrils filled with the scent of big cat and she stiffened. Opening one eye ever so slightly, she peeked out to find a huge black jaguar, or panther as pretty much anyone normal would call them, standing a few feet from her, staring at her out of one eye as well.
The other eye was missing, the area the eye would have been a mangled mess. The panther appeared to have burns on that side as well, the disfigurement extensive. She didn’t dare move. She knew better. She did inhale again, looking for any sign of man mixed in with animal. She found none.
That did little to calm her.
Swallowing hard, Haven opened both eyes and stood, waiting for the animal to attack her. Everything about the panther said he was used to being in charge. And from the looks of it, he’d had a hard go at life. The more she stared at him, and at his wounds, the more her heart broke. Who or what had done that to him? Who would dare to harm such a magnificent creature?
It stood there against a backdrop that took her breath away. This was unlike any other habitat she’d ever seen for big cats. This seemed to be a giant replica of where the cat would live in the wild. It took her a moment to realize the trees within the area were real. Not artificial and made to look like nature. She glanced up and noticed the high ceiling and the night sky that was easy to see through the glass.
“Whoa,” she whispered before remembering she was possibly about to become a late night snack for the panther. “Easy, boy. Let’s not eat me, okay?”
It eased closer to her and she expected to lose control over whatever it was she carried in her—the thing that craved the night and made her avoid a human with a cut because she wasn’t sure how she’d react. Whatever she carried in her didn’t react. If anything, that side of her relaxed as if telling her she was wrong, the panther was no threat to her. In spite of all her training and all her knowledge, she did what she knew better than to do—she put her hand out to it, waiting to see what he would do next.
He approached her with a lazy gait, and each relaxed step he took helped Haven feel more at ease. When he reached her, he lowered his head and then moved against her extended, open hand. It took her a moment to realize that he wanted her to scratch behind his ears. She nearly laughed.
“Like that, don’t ya, boy?”
He purred and pushed against her hand more with his head. She bent, lowering herself in the process before adding her second hand to the equation. The panther was almost puppy-like as he lapped up the attention. She felt it then, the trust the creature had for her. He knew she wouldn’t harm him, just as she’d known he wouldn’t hurt her.
Nature had a funny way of working things out on its own.
She smiled and then it faded, confusion taking its place. Why was the animal here if the place was just a front? The panther’s wounds were old and looked to have been tended to as best as possible. Someone had taken care of him. He was well-fed and seemed in good health even with his disfigurement.
The information she’d been fed about the men she was after seeped into her mind and she felt herself doing something she’d not done before—question the truth of it. Why would the person who told her all of it lie? What could they possibly gain?
No.
There had to be another explanation for why the panther was there. The information she’d been given had to be good. If it wasn’t, she’d given up everything she knew for nothing. For lies or even half-truths. Neither would be good.
“This changes nothing,” she said softly, the panther practically pushing her over to get additional attention and affection from her. She patted his side. “I know, big guy. I know. I’ll deal with these monsters and then I’ll get you somewhere safe. I promise.”
The panther pushed against her and for a moment she could have sworn he shook his head no. That couldn’t be. Could it?
“I have to go,” she said, petting him on the head gently. “They need to pay for what they did.”
The panther pushed her to the point she fell onto her backside. The next thing she knew, she had an extremely large lap cat on her, snuggling against her. And this time she was sure the panther shook his head no. He peered at her with his one good eye, as if pleading with her to understand him. Try as she might, she couldn’t. She wasn’t like Harper. He’d always had a special way with animals. Always was able to communicate with them with nothing more than his thoughts. But not Haven. She would empathize with their feelings, making her a damn fine veterinarian, but she never understood them at the level her brother had.
And now he was gone.
Pushing up and off the floor, Haven steadied herself against the large cat and laughed softly as he tried once more to gently restrain her. “No. I have to go.”
She put a hand on the door, turned the knob and twisted, realizing she must have entered through a back emergency door to the habitat. The sign near the exit confirmed as much. She eased out and closed the door softly yet tightly. She didn’t want to risk the panther escaping. He might end up getting hurt.
Haven glanced around the dimly lit hall and thought more about all she’d been told of the men she was tracking. So far, not much was adding up.
“One rescued animal does not a saint make,” she muttered, before finding herself moving across the hall to another of the doors. With slow purpose she eased it open and peeked in. There, off in the corner of another elaborate habitat, were two wolves, snuggled against one another. The male glanced in her direction and she felt whatever was in her rise up as a low growl emanated from her throat. It was faint, but there. A warning to him. Be good. Be calm. Be quiet.
The animal lowered his head and closed his eyes, returning to sleep.
She couldn’t stop the smile from forming as she closed the door. The place wasn’t just a front after all.
“Stop it,” she whispered in a voice so faint it was barely there. “You’re not here for shiny happy. You’re here for revenge.”
“Och, I do nae need a shirt on,” said a loud, boisterous voice with a thick Scottish accent. She already knew which one that was. The guy in the kilt. “I’ll nae put it back on. I’m hot and horny.”
“Do not make me resort to violence,” said another, his accent unrecognizable to her ear.
“Tut, I do nae think you have it in you. But yer welcome to try,” replied the Scot. “In the meantime, when are the women gettin’ here?”
Haven followed the sound of the voices as they grew louder and louder.
“Boomer, get your fucking monkey off me,” boomed a powerful voice.
Someone laughed and the sound made her stop in her tracks. “Stop calling him a monkey or I’ll tell your wife.”
“Eat me, asshole,” snapped the grumpy one.
“Wolf meat gives me indigestion,” answered the man whose very laugh had caused her to freeze in place.
“Don’t make me take away your black lipstick, dickhead,” answered the grumpy one.
The other laughed hard and long, the sound making the edges of Haven’s mouth curve upwards. For the first time in what felt like forever, she felt light, airy, happy. She wanted to laugh and be part of the back and forth, but it wasn’t that easy. The more she thought on it, the more she realized she was falling under the spell of a fantasy. So what that they apparently cared for a few animals? That didn’t mean they were good men. Didn’t mean they weren’t killers.
Didn’t mean they hadn’t been the last faces Harper saw before he was torn into tiny, unrecogni
zable bits. Haven choked up, tears coming quickly and streaming down her cheeks at the thought of her brother. The harder she cried, the angrier she became. She touched her sidearm and nodded, knowing the time had come. She sucked in a huge, shaky breath and put one foot before the other, each step she took marking the end of the woman she’d once been and start of something horrid she could never take back.
Chapter Seven
“Put your clothes on,” said Duke to Striker as the Scot took his seat at the card table wearing nothing more than his kilt, and even that seemed as if it was barely on. His t-shirt and boots were discarded by the door. “We’ve all seen the show.”
Striker shook his head. “I will nae do so. I told you I wanted strippers here tonight and for this to be strip poker. You all dinnae listen. Instead, all I got was a cross-dressin’ monkey. Now, you can deal with me. I’m hot.”
“Like you’re sexy and you know it? Or is this a werewolf menopause thing?” asked Boomer with a grin as he shuffled the deck of cards.
“Kitty, I will smack you,” Striker warned. “I’ve nae been able to run free in wolf form all week. Means my temperature is risin’. And this way, with nearly no clothes on, if I feel the need to shift and run I can do that out here. You live in no man’s land. The nearest liquor store is an hour away. Who moves that far from a good drink?”
Lil’ Duke sat in a chair next to Duke, grinning, holding his cup of water, all smiles and all dressed in pink. He’d already tried twice to get Duke to wear a tiara, but Duke wasn’t having anything to do with it. Boomer had tried with no success to convince the chimp it was time to head back to his habitat. There was no way the chimp was going to listen to Boomer and miss out on guy’s night. Especially if it meant he could sit near Duke.
“Can you move your damn monkey?” asked Duke, growling slightly. He made no effort to move the chimp himself, though, and the man was more than capable. Boomer suspected Duke had grown fond of the little guy. The alpha wolf would never admit to as much. It was against his manly code.
Striker grinned at Lil’ Duke. “Pink looks good on you, lad.”
“You just like the monkey because he wears a dress like you do.” Duke reached into his front pocket and withdrew a handful of cigars. He tossed them onto the table. “Are we doing this?”
“Smoking will kill you. And he’s not a monkey,” reminded Boomer.
“We’re immortal, dipshit. Cigars don’t count,” snapped Duke. He lifted one and bit the end off, spitting it in the other direction. He didn’t light the thing, just held it in his mouth.
“Surgeon General would probably beg to differ. Thank the gods we’re immortal,” returned Boomer. He glanced at the bit-off tip on the floor. “You’re a pig.”
“I’m a wolf. And I say cigars at card night don’t count. I can’t light up. Mercy will smell it on me,” said Duke with a somber expression. “The woman can smell anything anymore.”
“I like strippers,” added Striker from seemingly out of nowhere. Typically, his focus was on women and not much else. “Call some up. This party could use some entertainment. Hurry up or I’ll get naked.”
“Safe to say we’ve all seen you naked more than we wanted to,” said Corbin, with a dismissive look down the end of his nose at Striker. “Laney came across even more of your selfies online. She was embarrassed because you were showing everything you had and more.”
Striker laughed. “Och, James’s woman knows a guid thing when she sees it.”
“I thought we agreed to keep low profiles on social media,” said Malik, glancing at Striker. “Is Laney making any headway on containing the online leak about us all?”
Corbin exhaled loudly. “She’s trying. As fast as she can get information taken down, it appears on another underground blog. And yes, we agreed to keep low profiles. Some listened. Some didn’t.”
Striker shook his head. “I dinnae agree to shit. You all think the information age will be our undoin’. I say it’s like a giant comin’ out party.”
“He just made us all sound like we’re…” Duke grunted. “Never mind. He’s an asshole.”
“And?” questioned Striker as he picked up a cigar and put it in his mouth without lighting it. “What is yer point?”
“My point is you need to get off the internet. We have perfected the art of staying under the radar and reinventing ourselves every couple of decades. It’s going to be fucking hard to do when your face is plastered all over the internet.”
Striker smiled so wide he looked like the cat that ate the canary. If Boomer had kept canaries at the rescue he’d have worried the damn wolf really had eaten one. “Och, is nae my face I’ve been sharin’ online.”
Corbin lowered his head. “Would that I could kill him myself. Ah, how easy my life would be then.”
“You say that a lot,” said Malik.
“You’ve met him. How often do you want to kill him?” asked Corbin before taking a drink.
Malik jauntily cocked his head to one side. “Every few hours usually. Though I haven’t seen him in a while, so I might be a bit more tolerant of the Scot. But I agree with Duke. It’s unwise to put yourself out there all over the internet.”
Striker waved a hand in the air and Boomer half thought the guy would follow the action with a comment like “pish-posh.” It wouldn’t be a total stretch. Striker had once gone through a Disney stage where he sat around watching kids movies nonstop. They’d all been subjected to spoon full of sugar comments for weeks. The guy was very strange.
Striker looked to Malik. “The ladies love me. I go on message boards and they cannae get enough of me. They keep offerin’ to bear my offspring. I have my pick, really.”
A hoarse chuckle fell free from Boomer and he tried to cover his laugh.
“What is so funny?” demanded Striker with a huff as he sat back in his chair, man-spreading in the process.
Boomer wiped his mouth, unable to hide his amusement. “Laney showed me the sites you were on. Do you know what furry fetish is?”
“Aye,” nodded Striker and puffed his chest. “’Tis a strong like of shifter males. They talk all the time about me wearin’ my wolf when I finally meet them.”
Boomer lost it then, laughing so hard he had to put his head down. Striker was in for a rude awakening should he ever take up any of the offers. Boomer could only hope one of the men was around to see the look on his face when he figured out what a furry fetish really was. He tapped the table with the deck of cards, shaking his head, laughing more and more.
“What?” asked Striker. “What the bloody hell is so funny?”
Duke grunted. “Isn’t the furry fetish thing when humans dress up in costumes that look like animals and they get off on it?”
Lifting his head, Boomer could only manage a nod through his laughter. He was slightly bummed Duke had spilled the beans on the matter, though. It would have been funnier for Striker to find out on his own.
Striker’s eyes widened. “Like the costumes you see team mascots wearin’?”
“I believe so, yes,” added Corbin, a note of amusement in his normal stoic voice. “I wasn’t aware that was your thing, Striker. Just when you think you know a person.”
Malik didn’t bother to hide his laughter. “Gives new meaning to ‘taking one for the team’, huh?”
Striker whipped out his cell phone.
“What the hell are you doing now?” asked Duke. “You don’t need to update your profile already, do you? Didn’t you just do that? You’re addicted to that shit.”
“I’m nae updatin’ it. I’m removin’ my profile from a certain message board. I do nae think I want to be part of that.” He shook his head. “I’ll nae be wearin’ any costume. I’m wolf enough to nae need one. And I’ll nae be havin’ anyone tryin’ to bed me wearin’ one of those things. I like my sex kinky, but I draw the line at fuckin’ mascots.”
The men all laughed.
After a few moments, Corbin cleared his throat. “I know we’ve asked before, but
do you have any plans to shave, ever?”
“Aye,” replied Striker with a rub of his hairy jawline. “When I’m guid and ready. Nae until. Look at Tut. He’s hairy. Make him shave and cut his hair. Do nae go pickin’ on the Scotsman. Yer people been tryin’ to boss around mine for ages.”
Duke groaned and had to pull Lil’ Duke off the table when the chimp made a move to grab the bowl of popcorn. “We know. You’re still pissed at England. Dude, this grudge is beyond ridiculous.”
“Let him be angry,” said Corbin with a slight grin. “England doesn’t want him, either.”
“Some things never change,” said Malik as he glanced at his cards and then took a sip of his vodka on the rocks near him.
“Tut, you should have my back,” said Striker. “English are pains in the arse.”
“Some, yes. But I dislike the French more.” Malik had grown used to the nickname the men had given him long ago. After all, he hailed from Ancient Egypt so the name sort of fit. “Dealer, you suck.”
“Nah, I purr.” Boomer smiled as he finished dealing to Duke, who grunted as well.
“I fucking hate cards,” said Duke as he looked at his hand of cards.
Striker fidgeted in his seat and Boomer wondered who gave the guy sugar. “Seriously, I need to get laid. Can we please order a stripper?”
Boomer shook his head. “They have a no touching policy anyway.”
“Then order from another place,” said Striker, appearing as if he might burst. “A place with a touch-all-you-want policy. Damn, I miss the brothels of old.”
Duke glanced at Striker. “You know damn well Mercy would kill me if Boomer brought in strippers for tonight. Stop trying to get me gelded.”
Striker laughed and then brought a bottle of beer to his lips, taking several large swallows before setting it on the table. He scrunched his face. “I should have gone with a cheaper beer.”
Act of Submission Page 5
