Sure, the girls might have wanted him in the moment, or even for a few weeks or months into the relationship, but that could change. She could change.
He wouldn’t change.
You couldn’t teach old dogs new tricks because the old dogs just freaking didn’t care to learn. Riley had lived over a hundred years. Among humans, he was old. Therefore, he wasn’t learning anything new.
Among his own people, he was still a babe, but that didn’t help his argument, so he wasn’t going to toss that into the equation.
Also, the girlfriend, when she truly got to know him, might not understand his lifestyle, might not like it and might decide to leave him. But if he’d taken things to the next level, it would be too late. Anyone you brought to Vlad’s home stayed in Vlad’s home.
Vlad wasn’t calling the shots anymore, but Riley understood the reasoning behind the edict. Protection of the species. Still. By bringing someone into the fold, you opened yourself up to challenges.
Look at Vic and Draven.
Riley hated challenges. What was his was his, and he didn’t share. And maybe he felt that way because he’d grown up in a pack, and every scrap of food, every piece of clothing, every room, bed and unmated female—and yes, every unmated male—had been considered community property. That had gotten old fast. So, like he’d said, he kept a part of himself distanced from his girlfriends and never allowed himself to consider one exclusively “his.”
Until Mary Ann.
Somehow she’d snuck past his defenses. Hell, maybe she’d muted them like she muted everything else. He’d wondered, finding it strange that he’d been intrigued by her since the beginning. And yeah, he’d also been panting for a little action. All that dark hair he’d wanted to fist, those so-deep-you-could-be-lost-forever eyes of fall-brown he’d wanted to search. That olive skin, pale with the slightest hint of color, he’d wanted to lick. (Hey, he was a dog.)
She was tall and slender, pretty in a quiet way, graceful in an even quieter way. Like, she might trip while she was walking, her mind lost in thought, but when she reached up to brush her hair out of her face, her fingers tracing over her cheeks and temples, she was all fluid motion, a study of sensuality.
She didn’t know her own appeal, and that had been obvious in the beginning, too. She sometimes looked down at her feet, shyly kicking stones. She never purposely sought attention; she sometimes blushed. She was reserved and nervous, yet determined to overcome every test tossed her way.
At first, he hadn’t known how smart she was. He’d just thought, wow, she’s pretty…and sweet…and more concerned with others than she is with herself. But he’d learned fast. Real fast. Her mind worked at an amazing speed. She took nothing at face value, researched everything and, though reserved and nervous, had no problem voicing her opinions with people she was comfortable with, believing what she said one hundred percent.
What’s more, she told the truth, always. No matter how harsh. He admired that trait because he was the same way.
She was emotional, too. Something he was not and had not realized he liked. Until her. She wasn’t afraid to cry all over him or hug him. Or to laugh and twirl around a room with happiness. Quite simply, she held nothing back. The complete opposite of him and everyone he’d ever dated, really.
She was vulnerable, and she didn’t care. She just…lived.
Leaving him hadn’t been about protecting herself. He knew that. Leaving him had been about protecting him. She didn’t want to hurt him, and he got that. He did. He didn’t want to hurt her, either. But separation? That wasn’t the answer.
So she was a drainer. So what? They’d deal. Every couple had their problems. And okay, okay. Her problem could kill him. They’d find a solution before that happened. Guaranteed.
A rock sliced into his paw, but he didn’t stumble. He kept running, sweat dripping in his eyes. Unlike non-shifter dogs, he could sweat (among other things) as human and animal collided inside him. And sweat he did. A lot. His fur was plastered to his pelt by the time he reached the big, bad city.
Panting, he whizzed past people—all of whom yelped in shock at the large (really large) animal streaking by—bypassed cars and barreled past other animals. Pets on leashes, wild things foraging for food.
So many auras, each boasting colorful layer after colorful layer. One for the physical body, one for self-directed emotions, one for emotions directed at others, for the logical mind, the creative mind, the practical mind, for truth and lie, for love and hate, for passion and finally, for peace and chaos.
People wore those layers like coats. Glowing coats that broadcast their thoughts and emotions—their everything. Wouldn’t be so bad, if each layer was a simple color from an organized chart. Red, blue, green or yellow, something easy like that. But, no. He saw varying shades of the same colors, different colors on top of different colors, colors blending together, colors, colors and more colors.
That was another thing he liked about Mary Ann. Her aura. He didn’t have to waste time interpreting the colors pulsing around her. They were too pure, too strong, each one stacked on top of the other, nothing murky or open for interpretation.
Where are you, sweetheart?
Last time he’d seen her, too many days ago, she’d been in Tulsa, Oklahoma. How she’d escaped him, he didn’t yet know. One moment he’d seen her, the next, when she turned a corner, he hadn’t. He’d smelled her, though. That sweet fragrance of wildflowers and honey. But just like her, the scent had faded, leading nowhere, and he’d lost her trail completely.
He would have stayed and continued searching, but when he’d called his brother Nate for an update on Vic, Aden and life at the mansion, he’d flipped. Hearing his personal charge was “crying a lot” and “shut in her room,” as well as “worked into a blood craze and threatening to damage people” had sent him into a tailspin of panic. He’d stolen a car and broken every speed law known to man to reach her.
He could have driven back here, that would have taken him only three hours, but he preferred to run in his animal form. To scent Mary Ann. To know who had interacted with her.
When he reached the street where he’d last seen her walking—smack in the middle of a busy shopping center—he at last slowed. Horns honked, cars swerved to avoid him. He moved into the shadows, staying close to building walls. Would be a major pain in the ass to deal with Animal Control and their tranq guns.
Adrenaline surged through him, thick and potent, making his blood like fire in his veins. The sweat kept dripping from him, leaving a noticeable trail along the sidewalk. He probably smelled. Good. Everyone would stay the hell away from him.
He sniffed…sniffed…so many odors, blending together. He sorted through them, continuing to sniff…caught a hint of magic, and the hair on his spine lifted, even wet and weighted as it was. Magic equaled witches, and the witches hated Mary Ann with a murderous passion.
A coven could live here, unaware of the drainer now in their midst. Or a coven could be following her.
He sniffed, sniffed…there. The drum, drum of his heart increased in speed and ferocity. Mary Ann. The scent of her hadn’t just lingered; it had grown stronger. She must have taken this path several times—and recently. Why? Had she run into the witches? If so, had she sucked the magic out of them or had they captured her? Or worse?
He studied the area. Clothing boutiques, a deli, cafés, a coffee shop. A short distance ahead was a hill, highlighted by a multitude of lamps, a yellowing lawn and a tall, sprawling building. It was older, comprised of brownstone, with steepled roofs and concrete steps. A library.
Bingo. Mary Ann’s mother ship.
Riley closed the distance and clomped up the steps. Closing time had already passed, which meant the building was empty for the night. He turned, sniffing. Oh, yes. The sweet scent of Mary Ann saturated the air. She’d been here many times. Researching, as her nature dictated.
What was she researching? Drainers? Even the thought caused his stomach to churn with a bu
cket of acid. Paper trails were a bitch, and yeah, witches tracked that kind of thing. Who didn’t? They’d be on her—if they weren’t already—before she could click her heels together and pray for home.
Sniff, sniff. He frowned. He also caught the scent of something, someone, familiar. Dark, a little citrusy. Familiar, yes, but not enough to immediately register a name.
Then, Riley lost the scent altogether. Cigarette smoke wafted through the air, masking everything else as it wound around him. He growled, low and throaty. He hated that crap, and as soon as he found the source he was going to—
A dirty guy with a whiskey bottle sat behind one of the columns, the smoke snaking around him. “Here doggie, doggie,” he slurred.
Seriously? Riley threw another growl the guy’s way.
That earned him a drunken chortle. “Mean little thing, ain’t ya?” Little? Hardly. Dude, you’re lucky I don’t piss all over you. Riley flashed his sharp canines and turned. He could see the shopping area he’d just left and a good expanse beyond that, rundown apartments, most likely crack houses, and what looked to be several crime scenes, police lights flashing red and blue. Beyond even that was downtown Tulsa. Lots of lights and towering buildings, both glass and chrome.
Mary Ann wouldn’t have traveled so far from the library, even to lose herself in the crowd. One, she couldn’t afford it, and two, information was her crack, and she’d want to be close to the source, just in case a new idea struck her and she needed a snort. So. Cheap motel, here I come. Riley trotted from the building, always sniffing, until he found the correct trail. There! Anticipation flooded him, and he picked up speed.
First thing he’d do when he found her was shake her. Second thing, kiss her. Third, shake her again. Fourth, kiss her again.
He was sensing a pattern.
She’d probably taken a hundred years off his life. And he wasn’t grateful! Shifters didn’t live forever, but they did have a long, long life, and he wanted every moment of his.
His parents had died before their time, with too many regrets. He didn’t want that for himself. ’Course, they’d died in a fairy raid and not because of one little human girl who drove them crazy.
Fairies, man. They had such a God complex, always slaughtering other supernatural races in the name of protecting humans, when the truth was, they just wanted to be the most powerful beings on the block.
Kinda like Vlad, who had raised Riley. Whom Riley had always served. Until Aden had taken the crown. Then Riley’s loyalty had switched, and even when he’d discovered Vlad still lived, Riley hadn’t betrayed Aden. The bond had already formed.
This new Aden, though… There was something different about him, something Riley didn’t like. What, he wasn’t sure. Still, he wouldn’t betray his new king. Once he had Mary Ann safely tucked away and guarded, he would help Aden rediscover his old personality. Some how.
The scent of magic increased, and Riley slowed. His gaze sharpened, darting past colors, slicing past shadows. Across the street, he spotted two telling glows. One a metallic gold, the other a brownish gold. Magic.
Hello, mentor and apprentice.
His ears twitched as he listened to all the conversations around him—and even those miles away, and inside buildings—discarding idle chatter, focusing, focusing…
“—have to strike now, while she’s without protection.”
He knew the voice. Marie. A witch. The leader of the coven that had come to Crossroads.
“I know. But her wards are a problem.” He knew that voice, as well. Jennifer. Also witch. The student. “We’ll have to plan our strike precisely. We can’t allow those wards to save her.”
Mary Ann was currently protected against death by physical injury and mind control. To bypass those, the witches would have to…what? Cause mental injury through some kind of trickery? He wasn’t sure how they’d pull something like that off.
How many others were nearby? Had they seen Mary Ann already? They obviously hadn’t attacked her. Determined to discover the truth, he drew closer to them.
“The boy will have to be taken care of, as well,” Marie said on a sigh.
What boy? Him? Or someone else? Jealousy sparked.
“He’s done nothing wrong,” Jennifer said.
“Doesn’t matter. He’s powerful. He’ll be trouble,” Marie replied.
Powerful could mean Aden but could also mean Riley. However, the “done nothing wrong” part eliminated them both. Riley’s jealousy sprouted wings with razored tips and flew through his entire body.
Marie continued, “We can’t risk his coming after us. He could do serious damage. Especially if he decides to aid the other one, the new king. And since Aden has Tyson stuck inside him…”
“I know.” Fear coated Jennifer’s voice.
Tyson? One of the souls BD? Before Death.
Riley made a mental note to tell Aden, see if the name sparked a memory in a soul. He stopped when he reached the front doors of an apartment building. One of the crumbling, rundown ones. The witches were inside, their auras practically crackling beyond the bricks. So badly he wanted to charge through the building, biting and chewing the magic wielders to pieces. Threaten Mary Ann and hurt. That was the lesson they needed to learn. But he was without wards. His wolf skin couldn’t hold them. The witches could cast a thousand different spells—death, destruction, pain—and he would be helpless.
That was why wolves never challenged witches without a vampire by their side.
A low growl slipped from him. He hated walking away from a fight, but he did it. He clomped back into the shadows and saw the motel across the street—and the four telling auras inside it. Those auras crackled, glitter swirling in a rainbow of colors.
Fairies.
They were here, too. Dread slithered through him. His ears twitched as he honed in, listened.
“—reach her before the witches,” someone was saying. Female. Possibly Brendal, the fairy who’d tried to mind-control Aden into doing as she wanted. A princess, and the dead and ghostly Thomas’s determined sister. “She’s mine.”
“Yes, princess.”
Oh, yes. That was Brendal.
Riley sped into action, Mary Ann’s scent strengthening the moment he reached the Charleston Motel. The sign underneath read Weekly Rapes Available. Nice. Someone had screwed with the letters.
Would Mary Ann have gone inside such a dilapidated facility? Doing so was completely out of character for someone known as a Goody Two-shoes. (And what the hell did that mean, anyway? Why were shoes considered good?) She might have, though, simply to throw off whoever was following her.
And the witches and fairies had seen her. No question of that now. Why else would they be here, talking about her?
As his anticipation and concern returned, strengthened, he raced across the street. Headlights washed over him, a car horn blared, tires squealed. Shoulda looked both ways, he supposed, jumping out of the way. The motel doors opened from the outside, rather than from an inner hallway. His favorite. He sniffed each one until he caught another whiff of Mary Ann.
The instant he did, his blood heated with all kinds of gooey emotions only girls were supposed to feel. She was here.
He shifted to his human form, naked and suddenly cold, picked the lock, shifted back to his wolf form, settled his mouth around the knob and gave a little twist. Or tried to. No movement, which meant she’d done more than lock it. Good. Not that any kind of rigging would stop the witches, the fae or him.
Rather than shift back to his human form and undo her handiwork—perhaps waking Mary Ann and giving her time to run, hide or call “the boy” the witches had mentioned—Riley slammed into the door with all his considerable wolf weight. Hinges snapped, and wood shards rained.
He remained there in the entrance, taking stock. First thing he noticed: there was someone on the floor, sitting up, glaring. Tucker Harbor. Second thing: someone on the bed, sitting up, gasping. Mary Ann. That fall of dark hair, her aura the dark red of fear, th
e blue of hope.
In an instant he knew. Tucker was “the boy.” The powerful, supposedly done-nothing-wrong boy.
In a blink, the scene changed. No longer was anyone on the floor. No longer was the person on the bed gasping at him with a combination of fear and hope.
Now, there were two people on the bed—and they were having sex.
Another growl left him, this one as savage and lethal as a dagger. Probably cutting much deeper. He’d already decided to kill Tucker, but now he was going to make it hurt.
Riley shifted—uncaring that he was naked—and closed the door as best he could. With the damage to the hinges, he could only prop the fake wood against the opening. Then he turned and crossed his arms over his chest.
“I know what you’re doing, you bastard, and you can stop.” Illusions. This was an illusion, and he knew it soul deep. Neither person on the bed, so lost to pleasure, cast any kind of aura.
“Riley,” Mary Ann said on a raspy breath.
The sound of his name on those lips affected him. His blood heated another degree and not with fury.
“Tucker,” she said next, pleasure giving way to irritation. “Stop, or I’ll stab you.”
A funny threat, coming from her, but effective. Tucker dropped the illusion, and once again Riley saw that Tucker was on the floor and Mary Ann was on the bed.
She looked away from Riley, even as she tossed him a sheet, a hot blush staining her cheeks. “For frick’s sake, Riley, cover yourself. Tucker’s here.”
Had she just said for frick’s sake? And, if he didn’t obey? He wanted to ask but didn’t. He caught the sheet and wound the material around his waist, tucking in the end to ensure it stayed put. He recrossed his arms over his chest. “I’m sure Tucker’s already come to grips with the fact that everyone he encounters is bigger than he is, so don’t worry that he’ll slip into a shame spiral and kill himself. Just start talking.” Before I start maiming. “What’s going on?”
“Can’t you tell?” Tucker asked, smug enough to boil Riley’s good intentions. “We’re dating again, and she’s playing hard to get.”
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