Fighting For Their Mate

by Vella Day

  Ford hoped so. Their job was to stop anyone from snooping. Hoffman Furniture was used as the front for the lab in back. The ten thousand square foot showroom had a larger manufacturing section next to it where they made the custom furniture. Falling Pines only had a population of three thousand, and the powers that be thought it would be less suspicious if there was a reason for all these people coming and going up the mountain.

  He and Ty headed toward the front, wearing their Hoffman Furniture security uniforms. As they neared, Ford sensed the men weren’t werewolves. “False alarm.”

  “You know, sending in humans could be the smartest thing.”

  Ford checked out his brother. “What have you been smokin’?”

  He shook his head. “Any werewolf who gets within fifty feet of the place will set off the sensors. Humans won’t.”

  “So? Whoever is on guard outside would take them down in a heartbeat before the intruders are able to get in.”

  Ty shrugged. “Bodies will bring the authorities.”

  That would cause more harm than good. “True.” Several cars from the side exited, a nurse in civilian attire driving each one. They only hired female nurses for the lab. Ford suspected it was because they caused fewer problems than males. “I think we should focus on that side entrance. It seems more vulnerable.”

  “How so?” Ty asked. “Nurses are checked when they enter. Kind of hard to get past security.”

  “How close do you think those guards pay attention? They scan the badge. If the light blinks green, they wave them in then go back to their computer game. I bet a few don’t even look to see if the badge matches the face.”

  Ty kept his eyes peeled, but Ford could see him thinking. “Are you saying if a trained female operative were to get her hands on a nurse’s badge, she might be able to sneak in?”

  That was what he’d been thinking. The women were in street clothes to avoid suspicion from the locals and changed into their uniform once inside. “It’s possible.”

  “Interesting.” Ty checked his watch that was part communication device. “It’s time to teach our class. Let’s go in through the manufacturing building.”

  He and Ty had been brought to the facility because of their expertise in human combat training. Specifically, hand-to-hand combat. While all of the guards had guns and knives, too many relied on their ability to shift and kill. Statler, the head of the operation, had warned the men not to let anyone know werewolves existed. It would ruin their entire operation. That meant the guards would have to remain as humans when they fought, unless confronted by other werewolves.

  “You just like to use the scanners.” Ford chuckled.

  “You got that right.”

  Ford pressed the keypad to get into the building then headed straight toward the back stairwell, which led to the basement. Off to the side was another door that gave access to the lab. A retinal and fingerprint scan later, they gained access to the back of the main lobby.

  “I thought we’d go over ground defense today,” Ford said.

  “That means I’m your wingman. Great. I love trying to get out of the way of your lethal feet.”

  Ford laughed. “It’s all for the greater good.”

  “If you say so.”

  He nodded to the two men on guard and headed toward the gym, which was in the sub-basement level one. They swiped their keycard then had their eye scanned again. Ford wasn’t sure how anyone could breach the entrance without one of Statler’s men escorting them. Most of the facility had been carved into the mountain, invisible to satellite surveillance, and the gym was no exception.

  When he and Ty entered the musty smelling space, three of the shifters assigned to the class were present. After two weeks on the staff, Ford had made it a point to learn their names. Dram Peters, Wilson Schmid, and Nate Holtz. This was their third class. These three were new, and from what Ford had observed, had little skill. His method was to test them first then teach them. Besides skill, both he and Ty had one big advantage. For the past week, they’d undergone daily serum infusions to make them immune from dying from a specific kind of poison—one of the few things that could kill a werewolf. He didn’t feel any different, so he wouldn’t know if the serum worked until he was shot—something he hoped he never experienced again.

  A large mat sat in the middle of the floor. The trainees were a few minutes early, but it wouldn’t hurt to warm them up before demonstrating to the entire class.

  “You three want to step on the mat?”

  Dram nodded toward the wall of weapons. “Can we defend ourselves?”

  “You can try. How about you each grab a knife of your choice?” It wouldn’t do them much good. There was no way they’d get close enough to cut his throat. Any accidental nicks or stabs would heal in seconds. Gunplay on the other hand could be deadly if used on a non-enhanced wolf. Ty was the weapon’s expert. He’d be holding a shooting class later.

  The three men returned. Ford didn’t want to give them too much warning. “Come at me as if I’m human.”

  They all charged at once. That was their first mistake. They should have circled him before advancing. As they neared, Ford dropped to the mat and swirled his feet. He flipped over and over again, never letting them get a hold of him. One of his former students had called him a human eggbeater with legs. The heel of his boot connected with Dram’s shin and he yelped. Pussy. On the next rotation, Ford managed to trip Wilson. The third man, Nate, stayed out of the way. Smart. The lack of attack gave Ford enough time to grab his knife. In a flash, he was on his feet with his weapon slicing through the air.

  He chose to advance on Dram because that trainee was the most arrogant. Ford twisted the man around before he knew what was happening, wrapped an arm around his throat, and then placed the blade to his neck.

  The other two men stilled, their eyes wide.

  “All right, gentlemen, let’s discuss what happened.” Ford stepped back. “What was your first mistake?”

  The newbies glanced from one to the other. Clearly, it would take months of training to get them even close to those he taught back home.

  “We should have surrounded you,” Wilson said.

  “Precisely. Dram, what should you have done?”

  He grunted. “Not let you get behind me?”

  “Correct.” Ford inhaled to gain some patience. “Ty, let’s show them how it should be done.”

  His brother stepped on the mat, bent his knees, and held up his hands in a defensive pose. “Try me to take me down, bro,” Ty challenged.

  “Note how Ty has lowered his center of gravity so I can’t push or pull him easily, especially if we’re struggling for a weapon.” Ford demonstrated, and Ty managed to remain upright. “His hands are up, so that if one of you comes from behind him, you can’t reach that all-vulnerable throat. If he’s off guard and sees my hand close to this throat, he should shrug his shoulder and tilt his head so I can’t reach his jugular. Questions?”

  The last three men showed up, and he repeated the challenge with them. Two failed miserably, but Tony Khan showed some skill. Ford would have to watch out for him.

  * * *

  Bailey cracked open her eyes and blinked at the harsh overhead light. Her mouth tasted like she’d eaten dirt, and then the image of that wolf surfaced, dredging up more fear. She swiped her tongue across her gritty teeth, but it didn’t do much good. She needed water.

  She tried to sit up, but she couldn’t move. What the hell?

  Oh, my God. Her wrists were strapped down, as were her feet. Where am I?

  Tatum! Oh, shit. Where is she?

  Bailey twisted her head, and a sharp ache stabbed her behind the eyes. Alone in the room, she turned her head in the other direction to get her bearings, but things weren’t making any sense. Why was she constrained and why wasn’t there a window in the tomblike room? Her body twitched as the image of that wolf appeared again. God, but he was creepy. Had she hallucinated him? Was she still imagining things? Could this be
some kind of terrible dream? The pain in her head and the ache in her belly were very real, making her think this nightmare really happened.

  Bailey needed help. “Hello? Anyone there?” She held her breath, straining to hear other sounds, but silence blanketed her.

  Brad! He did this to her.

  Her mind slowly recreated the last series of events. He and Tom had come into their hotel room. Bailey remembered that much. She’d yanked the blanket up to her neck so they wouldn’t see her half-undressed body. Brad had rushed over to her bed and raised his arm. That was when she spotted the needle. The stab came before she could scream. Then blackness descended and she woke up here. Wherever the hell here was.

  Panic clawed at her gut, but that only made matters worse. She needed to keep her wits about her if she had any hope of getting out of there. She wasn’t back at her parents’ house, and this sure as hell wasn’t a hotel. While the sheets appeared clean, the bed was like what one would see in a hospital.

  Oh, shit. An IV was taped to the back of her hand. She ran her gaze up to the source where the liquid was clear. Saline? Bailey squinted and read the name on the bag. Yup. Why, though? Had she been in an accident and didn’t remember crashing? If she’d been injured, why was she strapped down? Had she struggled and the restraints were for her benefit? She hoped that was the case as the alternative was far worse. Bailey struggled to get loose again but made no progress.

  Anxiety raced up her veins, and the monitor behind her beeped more rapidly at her elevated heart rate. Shit.

  Breathe. She tried to focus on her yoga teacher’s soothing voice. By closing her eyes, Bailey was able to picture herself in the darkened, warm room on her mat. Her pulse slowed. It worked. Sort of.

  Confused, frustrated, and scared shitless, she dropped her head back, trying to catch her breath and sort things out. The picture turned bleaker the longer she waited. Without a window, she had no idea what time of day it was. This was ridiculous. She didn’t belong here. There had to be a mistake.

  “Can anyone hear me?” she yelled as loudly as she could, desperately needing answers.

  No one came.

  She craned her neck and spotted a call button, but she couldn’t reach it. This was some kind of facility. Only what?

  Bailey’s heart jerked when the door clicked open. A pretty, young woman with neatly pulled back auburn hair entered, and Bailey’s pulse evened out. She thought the old-fashioned white uniform was a bit odd, but what did she know?

  “Where am I?” Bailey asked.

  The woman, who was about Bailey’s age, walked over to her. Her nametag read Clare. “How are you feeling?”

  Bailey tugged on her restraints again. “How do you think I feel? I can’t move.” Her father’s words of catching flies with honey rather than vinegar penetrated her brain. “I’m sorry. Can you loosen these cuffs? Please.”

  “I’m sorry, but only the doctor can do that.”

  “Then can you call him? I want to go home.”

  The nurse silently took Bailey’s blood pressure and temperature. She hoped that after this exam, the nurse would tell her what was going on. As soon as she finished, Clare pressed a few buttons on a display above Bailey’s head and walked out, using a key to unlock the door.

  “Hey. Don’t leave me!” A sob bubbled up. The latch snapping shut seemed final. “I’m hungry. Please help me.”

  Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she’d never felt so alone in her entire life.

  Chapter Three

  Bailey had to get loose. For the hundredth time, she glanced around the room, searching for her clothes, for her backpack—for her phone. Her cell had a GPS tracker in it. If she could call her dad, he’d know what to do. Fuck, he was a goddamn US senator. He’d find a way to rescue her. Her father always claimed his worst nightmare was if someone ever harmed his family.

  Bailey was certain that was what was happening. They’d drugged her and were planning to hold her captive until Dad paid the ransom. These people would tell her father not to involve the police, but he wouldn’t listen. He had a protocol to follow. She bet the FBI was setting up a trace on her dad’s phone right now, ready to learn where and when the ransom drop would occur. At any minute, they’d come into her room, hold a phone to her ear, and tell her to say something to prove she was alive. Then they’d do the same with Tatum.

  The kidnappers would probably give her dad twenty-four or forty-eight hours to get the money ready, and within a few days, she’d be freed. The tension in her body eased at having figured out why she was there. The pounding headache unfortunately remained.

  With that much figured out, she could focus on other things—like the fact she was thirsty and hungry. Most of all, she had to pee. Badly. She tried yelling for help a few more times, but all that got her was a sore throat. After a frustrating hour, she slammed her head against the pillow.

  She must have dozed, because the next thing she remembered was Clare shaking her.

  “Bailey, we need to move you now.” Clare unhooked the IV from the bag and capped it, then did the same on the other end.

  Her eyes flashed open. Finally, human contact. “Can I pee first? I have to go.”

  “Just a moment.”

  Clare stepped outside and closed the door. What was wrong with these people always walking out on her? She swore it took ten minutes before the door opened again. This time, a man who had to be six-foot five entered the room. Was he the one who had her kidnapped?

  Her eyes crossed for a moment. Bailey wanted to memorize his face for when she spoke with the FBI about her captors, but her vision didn’t seem to be cooperating.

  Uh-oh. If she could identify Clare and this giant, did that mean they planned to kill her? “Where’s my sister?”

  The tall man, who hadn’t spoken a word, glanced over his shoulder. Clare pursed her lips and slightly shook her head. He looked back at her. “We’ll talk about it later. You said you wanted to use the bathroom?”

  “Yes.”

  As he carefully unhooked her straps, Bailey couldn’t drag her gaze from his hands. He had hair on the back of them, and his nails were really long and pointed. Ew. He wouldn’t be so bad looking if he got a trim. Even his face seemed to have a heavier growth from a moment ago. Or was she hallucinating again?

  Yeah, that must be it.

  As soon as she was free, she bent her knees and groaned. They ached from being in the same position for so long. Even flexing her stiff elbows hurt.

  If she thought she could have gotten past him, she would have tried to fight, but with his shoulders wider than the bed, and having more muscles than any wrestler she’d seen, she didn’t dare try. She’d make her move when she had a better chance at success.

  The giant slipped his hand behind her back and eased her up. Making friends with him might help her. “What’s your name?”

  She wanted him to think she was attracted to him. Build his ego. Make him believe she’d do whatever he asked.

  “Tyson.”

  “That’s a nice name.” She wasn’t lying.

  “Thank you. What’s yours?”

  He didn’t know? “Bailey Nash.” Perhaps the name would sound familiar.

  His eyes seemed to change color from a deep brown to a gold. The drugs must still be in her system. Eyes weren’t gold. He slid his hands under her legs and lifted her up. Whoa. Three long strides later, he set her down in the bathroom then clasped her shoulders. He didn’t let go until she could stand by herself. Holding onto the sink didn’t seem to count.

  Only then did she notice the insignia on his shirt—Hoffman Furniture Security. He must have gotten it at Goodwill or something.

  “I’m good.” She waited for him to close the door. She wasn’t going to pee with him standing there.

  As if he understood her concern, he stepped out and closed the door. The thump implied he was leaning against it. Voices sounded. The nurse’s tone came out sharp, or perhaps worried, as if Tyson had treated Bailey too well or som
ething. Whatever they were discussing, it didn’t sound good for the future.

  While she took care of business, she searched every corner of the bathroom for something she could use as a weapon, but there was only a toilet, a shower without a curtain, a sink, a towel, and a bar of soap. There wasn’t even a mirror. Probably because glass could cut. Damn. When she finished, she washed her hands, and then knocked for him to let her out.

  “I’m ready.”

  Tyson opened the door and actually looked worried. “You okay?”

  A litany of offenses were on the tip of her tongue, but she had enough sense to recognize that even if he believed her, he wouldn’t do anything about it. “I’m hungry.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. Right now, you need to get back into bed. Do you need me to help you?”

  “No. Thank you.” It was a bit unsettling having his hands on her. She wasn’t used to being so helpless.

  Taking small steps, she edged her way across the room. The giant followed closely behind. She couldn’t tell if he thought she might fall, or if she might bolt. Escape was on her mind, but she had to find Tatum first. Bailey wouldn’t leave without her sister.

  She turned around and eased onto the bed. Once she slipped under the thin sheet, he buckled her in again. Only this time, the hair on the back of his hands was absent.

  I’ve definitely been drugged.

  He tightened the straps. “Is that necessary?” Damn, her voice sounded whiney.

  “Yes.”

  “Why am I here?” This time her voice cracked.

  “Don’t worry.”

  Why could no one give her a straight answer? She wanted to punch something—only they wouldn’t let her use her hands.

  Clare strode toward them. “I need to take her to the lab now.”

  Lab? “Why are you taking me to a lab?”

  Clare’s face softened. “It’s standard procedure. We need to draw some blood and test it.”

  “Why can’t you take it here?” Normally, she wasn’t the type to argue, but nothing was making sense.

  What she wanted to ask was why take it at all? Had her dad requested the sample? Even if he had access to the FBI lab in Washington, they couldn’t test DNA that fast, could they? Did they even have her blood type or DNA profile on file? Her head spun and her stomach churned.