by Sarra Cannon
Dante didn’t look surprised. Bez and his team of Dire Wolves had worked for the president and Dante for too many years not to understand each other. The guard at the door would be gone within the hour.
The private wing of President Blasius Zenne—known to his most trusted allies as Blaze—was a place most shifters would never see. Blaze and his mates were living, breathing targets for any shifter, man, or beast who wanted access to the power of the NALB. But Bez wasn’t most shifters; he’d been welcomed into the inner sanctum often enough to recognize a new chandelier hanging in the foyer, highlighting a picture sitting on the table to the right. One depicting the three wolves who made up the most powerful triad in North America.
The two men strode through the hall at a fast pace, neither speaking.
Bez stepped to the side and waited for Dante to swing the heavy doors closed, soundproofing the living area from all those outside.
“What’s the situation?” Bez asked as soon as Dante engaged the lock.
“They’ve taken another Omega.”
Bez didn’t fight back his growl as he walked faster, his boots thumping hard on the marble floor. Omegas—exceptionally rare, powerful, female wolf shifters—had been disappearing across the continent. So far, neither the NALB nor the Cleaners and Dires had made any progress discovering why or where they were being taken to. His team’s frustration was at an all-time high, the lack of information making them all feel the pressure. If there was one thing the Dires respected above all else, it was the innate power of an Omega shewolf. History hinted that the Omegas were all descendants of Dire Wolves. The world thought the Dire Wolves extinct, but Bez and his breed were proof that they had survived. The attack on the Omegas was as close to an attack on the pack of seven Dires as the men had ever seen, and they’d do anything necessary to hunt down the Omega kidnappers and rescue the women.
Dante led the way down a side hall and to the private office of the president where Blaze and his second mate, a female shifter named Moira, sat looking over maps and papers. Only the most powerful shifters were blessed with two mates to create a fated triad. Just another reminder of the innate strength within Blasius Zenne.
“Blaze, he’s here,” Dante said as they walked in. The man in question looked up, blue eyes hard. Blaze took his job seriously, took his responsibility to his fellow wolf shifters seriously. Anyone who doubted that fact would need nothing more than to see the fury in the man’s eyes at that moment to become a true believer. The loss of another Omega was not something Blaze would take lightly.
“Thank you for coming so quickly.” Blaze stood with an animalistic grace, a definite tell that his wolf was close to the surface of his consciousness. Bez noted the predatory way Blaze looked over the room, the not-quite-human cock to his head. Blaze rarely lost control, which meant something about this kidnapping had truly set him off.
“You call, I show. That’s how this works, sir.” Bez gripped the man’s forearm and gave him a single head nod, a traditional shifter greeting showing his respect for the more dominant wolf. Blaze mimicked the motion, the move one he rarely made, showing his willingness to accept Bez on equal footing.
“Yes, well, I appreciate it.” Blaze motioned Bez toward the empty couch, moving to the one where Moira sat.
“Good evening, Bez,” Moira said, giving him a smile. Dante slipped past to stand behind them, one hand on each mate’s shoulder. A balanced and powerful triad that only grew stronger every time Bez saw them together.
“They’ve kidnapped a fourth Omega,” Blaze said with a growl. “A young one this time.”
Bez sat on the edge of the seat, leaning forward. “How young?”
Blaze shook his head, obviously reining in his wolf side as his growl rumbled through the room.
Moira placed a hand on Blaze’s thigh, calming him, before she turned to Bez, her gaze strong and direct. “She’s only fifteen. We weren’t even aware this pack contained an Omega. The Alpha has refused to provide census data to the NALB for the past thirty years and didn’t respond to our warnings regarding the kidnappings. What we’ve discovered is that the pack was relatively small with only sixteen members, all living on a single commune-style property in the Texahoma area.”
“‘Was’?” Bez knew the woman enough to know she wasn’t one to misspeak. If Moira said “was,” the news of this pack wouldn’t be good.
Moira blinked and pursed her lips. “They’ve been decimated. Only one packmember even survived the attack…other than the Omega.”
“We hope.” Blaze gritted his teeth, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “The survivor died shortly after being discovered, but he was able to give us a few bits of information.”
Dante moved across the room, grabbing a remote to turn on the flat screen TV over the fireplace. The screen brightened, showing a picture of a man. Gritty and slightly out of focus, the picture had obviously come from a long-range camera lens. More than likely the work of Dire Wolf Levi, who collected physical pictures of the shifters he met instead of mentally cataloging them as Bez did. Good thing…the man on the screen was one Bez had never met.
“Harkens Thearouguard, formerly of the Nez Perce pack in Idaho.” Dante flipped through a handful of pictures, all shots of the subject. “Seventy-eight shifter-years old, approximate look of a mid-thirties human, with dark brown hair and eyes. His wolf is an Interior Alaskan, mostly black with brown tips and shading. Last documented sighting by an NALB regional officer stated Harkens stood five feet nine in human form and approximately the same from nose to tail as a wolf. He left the Nez Perce pack eight years ago and hasn’t been seen by NALB officers since. The surviving packmate recognized him as one of the attackers.”
“So Harkens is my target.” Bez looked over the image on the screen, memorizing every dip and line of the man’s face. “Anything else?”
Dante glanced at Moira, an uncomfortable expression on his face. “The Omega’s packmate was close to death when found, almost completely bled dry. The shifter who spoke to him couldn’t be sure if the man was completely lucid or not at the end.”
Bez sat back and cocked an eyebrow, intrigued by the hesitancy in Dante’s voice. “Go on.”
But Dante couldn’t—or wouldn’t—finish his thought. Neither he nor Blaze seemed willing to express whatever they thought might have happened to the pack.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Moira leaned forward, face filled with fury. “Dawes kept muttering something about the attackers bringing a monster with them. One that only attacked the shewolves of the pack.”
“You think they’ve collared a werewolf?” Bez asked, raising an eyebrow at how improbable that option seemed. Werewolves couldn’t be captured and trained like circus monkeys.
She sat back with a huff. “Of course. What else do you know that would terrify a shifter and only hunt the women?”
Bez smirked at her sass and intelligence. She’d impressed him from the moment they’d met. In a dark hallway at the last Gathering, Moira had smiled and charmed him, protecting mates she had yet to actually meet, not knowing anything about them or their relationship with the Dire. She’d thrown herself to the lions, so to speak, and proven herself with a single, selfless act. The chick was brave, and he respected brave. Though he seriously doubted her theory of a werewolf being involved in the kidnapping.
“Moira,” Blaze said, his voice quiet but filled with frustration.
Bez kept his mouth shut and his eyes on the TV screen, offering the triad what little privacy he could. He hated listening to the three argue. Like the rest of his Dire Wolf brethren, he’d never found his mate and didn’t expect to. Most wolf shifters didn’t make it much past a hundred without finding the person the fates had designed just for them. But the Dire Wolves differed from their cousins. All seven had lived mateless for too many hundreds of years to count.
Dante moved from the back of the couch to kneel in front of Moira and Blaze. “Werewolves only feed on female shifters, my dove. They kill anything in b
etween them and their next meal when the full moon rises. They’re mindless beasts, untrainable.”
Moira’s eyes went soft, her shoulders relaxing. “I know, but—”
Blaze stood and stormed across the room, pouring a glass of what looked like whiskey from a decanter on the side table. Moira quickly followed him.
Bez split his attention, surreptitiously monitoring the couple while continuing to commit Harkens’ face to memory. Being part of Blaze’s most trusted team and Moira’s first guard, Bez knew more about their relationship than most shifters ever would. He knew exactly how much Blaze feared for Moira’s safety, knew the man had just as many fears regarding Dante. Bez didn’t understand that kind of worry, though, having never cared about someone in that way. It all seemed excessive and time-consuming. Why worry when the two mates were powerful shifters in their own rights? Dante and Moira could definitely hold their own in a fight, so Blaze’s constant stress about their safety didn’t make sense to Bez. Not that he needed those worries to make sense to back up Blaze and his mates.
Finally, the two mates rejoined Dante on the couch across from Bez, neither looking happy but clinging to one another nonetheless.
Blaze coughed. “I must apologize—”
“You apologize for nothing, sir.” Bez nodded toward the screen, happy for a change in subject. “Any hints on current location for the subject?”
Dante shook his head. “Before the attack, he’d been spotted a handful of times with two other shifters. It was assumed that they’d created a small, feral pack of their own, though we’ve been unable to confirm this. Sightings have been in New Orleans and Baton Rouge, always in late February. No one’s seen him in almost a year, though.”
Bez snorted and rubbed a finger across his jaw as pieces of the puzzle behind Harkens fell into place in his mind. “Of course not. It’s not time yet.”
Blaze swung his eyes to meet Bez’s, questioning. “Time for what?”
“The brothel to open.” Bez stood and headed for the door, too antsy to wait any longer. Even his wolf seemed anxious, the beast whining to be let free. Craving the exhilaration of the chase. “Miss Terri’s starts taking customers in March. It’s the only brothel in the south that has staff serving to a shifter’s unique predilections. That kind of discretion isn’t cheap though, which means our guy’s been working hard through the year to pay for his mating season concubine.”
“Follow the money,” Moira said.
“Exactly.” Bez reached the hall and paused, looking over his shoulder to the only non-Dire he’d ever taken orders from. “Return or destroy the target, sir?”
“Return.” Blaze glanced at Moira, who stared back at him, confident and strong. “I don’t think he’s the planner for these kidnappings, but we’ll need a full interrogation to be sure. Saving the child is our end goal.”
Bez nodded. “Yes, sir. You know I’ll take care of it.”
“I do know; that’s why we called you.” Blaze escorted Bez down the hall and across the threshold of two massive doors, spanning from the floor to the coffered ceiling fifteen feet above. Dark and heavy, the doors highlighted the woodworking ability of another of Bez’s teammates. Dire Wolf Mammon had carved them after catching a guard selling information about Dante. Mammon had figured the greedy fucker was setting up a kidnapping to usurp the president using his mate as collateral, a plan he abhorred for being weak and cowardly. Once Bez had tracked the seller and the buyer, the Dire Wolves had descended as a pack to eliminate the threat, something they rarely had the pleasure of doing. Due to the constant threat against Blaze, and the varying skills of each Dire, they tended to work apart, relying on the actual Cleaners as soldiers and backup. But on that night, they’d worked as a unit, victorious as always. Two days later, Mammon began the process of carving the doors. He whittled and planed the wood using the claws and teeth of the traitorous wolves right on the front lawn of Merriweather Fields, making sure every shifter on staff understood the penalty should they get greedy.
The doors offered two levels of protection: one physical due to their solidness and weight, the other auditory. Once closed, the doors muffled every sound from those on the opposite side. Blaze had just shut the two of them off from Dante and Moira, thus making their conversation as private as possible.
Bez stood at parade rest, waiting for his true orders, his neck stiff and his shoulders hard with tension. Some things were not meant to be discussed in front of others, something he had learned long ago. Something his president knew as well. Blaze threw a glance over Bez’s shoulder, and then leaned in close.
“The official mission states Harkens is wanted for questioning,” Blaze whispered with far more air than voice forming the words, making Bez furrow his brow in question. Blaze’s lips pursed for a moment. “Unofficially, you have my permission to do whatever it takes and use whatever you need of the NALB or my personal resources to interrogate Harkens your way. I want that Omega back here at the Fields in one piece, and I want you to bring the team of kidnappers in with her.” Blaze leaned back, meeting Bez’s steely gaze with one of his own. “Harkens isn’t our guy and probably doesn’t even know who the ringleader is, but he’s close enough to know how to find someone who does.”
Bez didn’t misunderstand what the president was saying, but he still asked, “And Harkens’ fate?”
Blaze’s eyes glowed, his wolf pushing forward as he growled out, “A nonissue. Harkens is nothing more than a means to an end. Bring me my Omega and the people who are holding her.”
“Understood, sir.” Bez left Blaze in the hallway, heading for the doors out of the wing. His wolf was ready to run, anxious to get on with the hunt. And if Bez was being honest with himself, so was he. Blaze wanted Harkens dead; therefore the shifter’s last breaths were already numbered.
It was time to hunt.
Chapter 2
Sariel scraped her thumbnail over the floor, scratching a track into the wood. Another line, another day survived. Testing the depth of her latest mark, she ran her fingers over the gouges. She didn’t even need to look to count them. Twenty-seven marks. Twenty-seven days locked in a houseboat in the middle of a swamp. Adding the week or so between when the men had come for her and when they threw her in her current cage, and she’d been gone from her home for over a month. It felt like a lifetime.
As the sounds of the night-loving creatures rose, heavy footsteps approached, their pace rushed. Sariel scrambled off the floor and into the corner. Hands shaking, she stood with her head slightly bent and her shoulders curved toward the wall. Submissive. Twenty-seven days alone with the same four men had taught her much, mostly how to pretend she respected them so they wouldn’t take too much of an interest in teaching her their pack order. She may have no longer shown the marks from those first few lessons when she’d tried to escape or fight them, but she certainly hadn’t forgotten.
“Yoo-hoo, dud. We’ve got a present for you.”
Sariel bit back a whimper, terrified of what the present could be. She’d been lucky enough to be guarded by men who listened to their leader, and their leader said she was not to be touched. That hadn’t stopped them from torturing her in other ways, though.
She cringed when the door flew open, revealing a tall shifter standing on the threshold.
“Honey, we’re home.” He snickered as he walked in with some kind of large, rolled package over his shoulder. Sariel sniffed on instinct, but her wolf senses had faded too much to get a good read on what he’d brought. Twenty-seven days was a long time to go without shifting. And while her wolf was still a strong presence in her mind, the physical attributes that had always been close at hand due to the wolf within had almost disappeared. She was practically human at this point.
The man tossed the package on the cot opposite Sariel’s before he even looked her way. His eyes nearly glowed, his excitement almost something she could feel. She cowered as he stalked closer. His grin widened at the sight of her pressing herself against the wall, a sick,
twisted smile that made her want to throw up.
“Oh, dud. Don’t worry, your time is coming.”
“Please.” Sariel shivered as his finger ran down the length of her arm. “I just want to go home.”
“That’s not in the cards for you, darlin’.” He grabbed her wrist, pulling it to his lips and licking across the width. Sariel fought back a sob and pressed her shoulder harder against the wall. “I know you’ve been lonely, so I brought you a treat.”
Sariel took a deep breath when he dropped her wrist. She hated him, hated the way he watched her and the constant touches he gave whenever he came near. Little things, hints of what he wanted, all adding up to make her sick whenever he came through the door. The sadistic bastard liked to keep her on edge.
With a knowing smirk, he chuckled before turning back toward the cot. He practically danced over to it, pulling at the fabric wrapped around the oblong shape with glee.
“See, we needed a replacement for you, since you’re a dud and all.”
Sariel’s heart skipped and her gut clenched. “No.”
“Oh, yes.” He grinned as he yanked the last of the fabric. A small female, a child, really, rolled to the floor at his feet. She didn’t move, didn’t react. Sariel couldn’t even tell if the girl was breathing.
“What did you do?” Sariel whispered, unable to hold back the words.
The man grinned and shrugged. “We found someone who wasn’t a dud.”
“No.” Sariel’s stomach sank and her eyes burned. This was her fault. Her stupid defective body had been the catalyst for these animals to hunt the poor girl. She wasn’t stupid—she knew the reason they called her a dud. Sariel had known it since she was a pup. She didn’t have a functioning reproductive system, which her captors had discovered when they’d forced her to endure two days of invasive medical exams.
“Don’t worry,” he growled, his voice a shade too high not to be mocking her. “We’ve got a plan for you as well.”
