by Paige Tyler
“Should we try to warn them?” Khaki Blake, teammate and Xander’s significant other, asked across the radio.
Becker could hear the sound of feet pounding on pavement through his earpiece—the rest of the team running for their entry positions.
“Negative,” Xander ordered. “The suspects could have the guards’ radios.”
Becker swore as he raced to the side entrance, where he was supposed to meet up with fellow SWAT officer and explosives expert Landry Cooper. They had no idea how many bad guys were in the warehouse or where they were. If the guards weren’t already dead, the suspects now had two hostages they could use as human shields to hide behind on their way out. That made this operation a hell of a lot harder.
He absently heard Xander tell the on-scene commander to keep the rest of the Dallas PD officers at a distance. Xander didn’t want their fellow cops running into the building, shooting at everything that moved, including SWAT.
Cooper was already waiting at the heavy metal security door when Becker got there, his gold eyes glinting from behind his ski mask. Becker waited as Cooper punched the code into the cypher lock on the wall, then led the way. They both hesitated as soon as they got inside, waiting for the rest of the squad to signal they were ready to go.
That was when Becker realized there was something really strange going on in the warehouse—so strange that it took him a second to realize what had him pinging all of a sudden.
“Shit,” he muttered, finally recognizing the familiar scent in the air. “We might have a problem, team. The guys we’re going up against are werewolves. Every one of them.”
There was stunned silence on the other end of the radio.
“You sure?” Xander asked.
“He’s sure,” Cooper answered before Becker could say anything, his North Carolina accent barely discernable. “I smell them too.”
Xander’s curse was terse over the radio. “Everyone, stay together and watch yourselves.”
Becker didn’t need to be told twice, and he doubted anyone else did either. The idea of facing criminals who were just as strong, fast, and hard to take down as the SWAT team was more than enough to keep them on their toes.
He and Cooper moved slowly through the warehouse, checking behind every box and pallet as they instinctively covered each other. How the hell had another werewolf pack moved into Dallas without them realizing it?
He was still trying to come up with an answer when gunshots sounded from the far side of the warehouse.
“Contact!” the SWAT team’s lead armorer, Trevor McCall, shouted over the radio. “Khaki and I are engaged with two of them, both heavily armed. They’re definitely werewolves. I put four rounds into one of them and he’s still going.”
More gunfire came from somewhere off to the left of Becker, then even more from the right. Bullets ricocheted off the concrete floor and steel shelving units, punching holes in shipping crates and containers, and making it damn near impossible to figure out which direction the bad guys were shooting from.
“I’m pushing the exterior security guards and the rest of the DPD to the outside perimeter,” Xander announced. “We can’t let regular cops engage with these guys or it’ll be a bloodbath. This is all on us.”
“Roger that,” Becker said.
“Incoming!” Cooper shouted.
Becker turned just in time to see two hulking figures dressed eerily similar to him and Cooper—black garb and tactical vests—and toting automatic weapons, which the bad guys were aiming in their direction.
Becker ducked behind the closest wooden packing crate while Cooper dove for cover behind another as bullets whizzed past them, all six feet five inches of him managing it without getting hit. Using the crate as a shield, Becker stuck the barrel of his M4 out and took aim. He hated the idea of killing fellow werewolves, but he didn’t have a choice. This crew would take him and every member of his pack down without hesitation. It was pack against pack, and there was no question about what he had to do.
Becker put two rounds through the thug on the right, just above the top of his tactical vest. The werewolf stumbled back, but then charged forward with a growl, his eyes turning a vivid yellow-gold, his lip curling in a snarl, exposing his fangs.
Becker lifted his weapon a little higher and squeezed the trigger, putting three 5.56mm ball rounds through the werewolf’s forehead. That stopped him cold and he immediately went down. On the other side of the aisle, Cooper took out the second werewolf.
That left about a dozen more. They came at him and Cooper from multiple directions at once, using their keen hearing and sense of smell to pinpoint their location. They even attacked from above, climbing on top of shelving units and trying to pin them down in crossfire.
In the two years he’d been with SWAT, Becker had never gone up against anyone who was even close to being a match for him and his pack. These guys were fast and they were strong. But while they fought like berserkers, they didn’t fight as a pack. That gave Becker and Cooper the advantage. When they put down yet another werewolf—this one fast and wiry, who’d climbed and hopped around on the shelving units like a frigging monkey—the rest of them turned tail and ran.
On the downside, that meant he and Cooper had to split up. It was dangerous, and Xander would have their asses for it, but it was worth the risk if they could take down this crew.
“I found the two guards,” Khaki reported over the radio. “They’re alive but unconscious.”
Xander said something in reply, but Becker didn’t hear what it was because he was too busy trying to figure out the new scent his nose had just picked up. It was unmistakably werewolf, but unlike any werewolf he’d ever smelled before. It reminded him a little of Khaki but sweeter.
He took a breath, then another and another, until he was almost hyperventilating. Shit. He could barely hold up his weapon.
Becker shook his head, trying to clear it as he rounded the corner, and came face-to-face with a female werewolf so beautiful that all he could do was stop and stare. She stared back, her blue eyes as wide as saucers. Her heart beat a hundred miles an hour and there was blood splattered on the tactical vest she wore. Becker’s heart lurched at the thought of her being hurt. But one sniff confirmed the blood wasn’t hers. It belonged to one of the other werewolves with her.
He opened his mouth to order her to drop the MP5 she had aimed at him, but nothing would come out. It was like she’d robbed him of the ability to speak. But he had to get the weapon away from her. If she pulled the trigger, he’d be dead. Shooting her wasn’t an option though, and the idea of arresting her didn’t make him feel any better.
Becker didn’t consider whether what he was about to do was smart but simply lowered his weapon and took his finger off the trigger, letting his M4 hang loosely against his chest by the strap over his shoulder. Then he slowly lifted both hands as if in surrender.
He’d done it to put her at ease, but her heart pounded even harder. Her eyes darted left and right, her ponytail swinging from side to side. And while she kept her weapon trained on him, at least her finger wasn’t wrapped around the trigger now.
Becker pulled up the black ski mask hiding his face, then switched off his mic. When he finally managed to find his voice, he didn’t want his teammates listening in.
“Relax and put down the gun,” he said, keeping his voice soft and calm even though gunfire echoed in the rest of the warehouse. “We can work this out. No one else has to get hurt.”
She didn’t say anything or lower her weapon. She didn’t run either. That was progress, he supposed.
He was wondering if he should try a different tack when Xander’s voice came across loud and clear over the radio in his ear. “They’re bolting, so be careful. The few left are going to fight like caged rats.”
Becker didn’t have to ask if the woman heard what Xander said. She was a werewolf like him, which meant she had the same exceptional hearing. If he needed further confirmation, the look of terror on her face
would have been it. He couldn’t blame her; her pack had just abandoned her.
Off to the right, the sounds of gunfire increased, and so did the howls. Boots thudded on the concrete floor, heading in their direction.
She looked around again, trying to see every direction at once. Her grip on her weapon tightened, and she swung it at whoever was coming their way.
Oh hell, she’s going to start shooting.
Swearing under his breath, Becker closed the distance between them and ripped the MP5 out of her hands, tossing it aside. She bared her fangs in a snarl, but before she could get the sound out, he slapped a hand over her mouth.
“Trust me,” he said in her ear.
Wrapping his free arm around her, he picked her up and half carried, half dragged her over to the nearest crate. Ignoring her struggles, he ripped the top off the crate, praying there’d be enough room inside. It was empty except for a rolled up painting.
“Thank you, Lord,” he breathed.
Taking his hand away from her mouth, he swung her up in his arms and dumped her inside as gently as he could. She hit the bottom of the crate with an oomph, then immediately sat up.
“What are you doing?” she demanded in a voice so soft and silky it almost brought him to his knees.
He shook off the hold her voice had on him and reached for the top to the crate. “Stay here until it’s safe to leave.”
Ignoring her startled look, he pushed her down with one hand and pulled the lid into place with the other.
Shit, that was close.
Blowing out a breath, he turned to find Cooper standing there staring at him like he’d lost his ever-loving mind.
Cooper switched off his mic with a flick of his thumb before shoving up his ski mask, a scowl on his face. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Becker’s mind whirled like an out-of-control windmill. How the hell could he explain what Cooper had seen?
He couldn’t. He only hoped his friend would give him the benefit of the doubt. “Trust me. I have to do this.”
Cooper opened his mouth, then closed it again. His dark eyes went to the crate, his jaw flexing. Becker tensed, ready to stop his friend if it looked like he was going to rip off the lid. But instead, Cooper gave him a long, thoughtful look, then turned and walked over to another stack of boxes.
Becker frowned as Cooper picked up one of the cardboard boxes and carried it back over to the crate where the female werewolf was hiding. Cooper ripped open the box and pulled out a big fancy decanter of what looked like whiskey. Taking off the top, he dumped the whole thing over the crate before reaching for another and doing the same thing. Becker couldn’t miss the overpowering smell of jasmine and buttercups.
Not whiskey. Perfume.
Cooper was covering her scent. Why the hell hadn’t he thought of that?
Becker grabbed two more bottles and poured it on the crate. When they were done, Cooper shoved the box of empty perfume bottles out of the way, then glared at Becker.
“You better know what the hell you’re doing,” he muttered before striding off.
Giving the crate one more quick look, Becker slung his weapon off his shoulder and hurried to catch up to Cooper. They reached the end of the aisle just in time to see Xander finishing off an enemy werewolf.
Xander shook his head. “Damn, these things are psychotic. It’s like they’d rather die than give themselves up.” His gaze went to the section of warehouse where Becker and Cooper had been, and made a face. “Jeez, it reeks down there. Is it all clear?”
Becker nodded. “No one down there.”
“Good,” Xander said. “Let’s wrap this up then.”
Becker waited until his squad leader turned and led the way to the other end of the warehouse before following.
Okay, you beautiful werewolf. I’ve done my part. The rest is up to you.
Chapter 2
Jayna sat with her knees tucked up and her ear pressed against the side of the crate, straining to hear if there was anyone still in the warehouse. She normally would have used her sense of smell to determine that, but the two SWAT guys had doused the box in perfume. At first, the scent had been nice, but after breathing it in for the past six hours, she wasn’t sure her nose even worked anymore.
She didn’t hear anything but waited a few more minutes just to be on the safe side. Even so, she cautiously pushed up the lid and peeked around. When she didn’t see anyone, she slid it aside and hopped out, almost stepping in a box of empty perfume bottles. The fancy label caught her eye—Clive Christian. Wow, that was some insanely expensive stuff. Someone was going to be pissed.
But that wasn’t her problem. Getting out of the warehouse was.
Jayna slowly made her way toward the nearest exit, checking over her shoulder every few steps and ready to duck behind the nearest crate, container, or barrel. She passed a lot of yellow crime tape on the way, as well as little pieces of numbered plastic markers set out on the floor beside each and every cartridge case. She’d been too worried about staying alive to think about it at the time, but crap, there’d been a lot of shooting.
She was halfway to the door and freedom when she remembered she was still wearing her tactical vest. If anyone was around, she didn’t want them thinking she was a criminal—even if she was. Shrugging out of it, she dropped it in one of the big industrial trash cans she passed. Next, she stripped off her black sweater and threw that on top of the vest, then covered everything with the paper already in the container. Unless someone went digging, they’d never see them.
Hoping a woman in black jeans, a white T-shirt, and boots wouldn’t attract too much attention, she headed for the exit. She quickened her step as she passed the bloodstains on the concrete floor, refusing to look at them. She’d seen four omega werewolves go down last night in the firefight with SWAT. Had the other two made it out? She didn’t know why she cared. It wasn’t like they’d been worried about her. No, they’d worried about their own asses, just like omegas always did.
But she forced those thoughts aside, focusing instead on avoiding anyone who might be walking around the place, so she wouldn’t end up dead too.
There were two men and a woman standing a few yards away from the loading dock, and Jayna instinctively ducked behind a shipping container. She thought they were cops at first, but then she caught sight of the letters CSI on the back of their jackets. Crime scene techs on a smoke break.
Jayna chewed on her lip, wondering if she should try another exit. But that would mean wandering around the warehouse looking for one and possibly running into the cops if they were still there.
Taking a deep breath, she walked out onto the loading dock and down the steps, then headed for the main gate as if she belonged there. Since she didn’t know if the security cameras were back on, she kept her head down and lifted her hand in a casual wave to the security guy and patrol officer chatting by the guard shack. Other than staring at her ass as she walked by, neither paid her any attention. They were here to keep people out, not keep them in.
The moment she reached the end of the parking lot, she darted between the warehouses there, then took off running. Only then did she finally relax. Nobody could catch her on foot—nobody. Even so, she didn’t start walking again until she’d put a mile between herself and the warehouse full of crime scene techs and dried werewolf blood.
She shuddered as she thought of what had happened last night. If that big, hunky SWAT cop hadn’t helped her, she’d be in a jail cell right now—or dead.
As she walked along one of the smaller streets near the airport, she reached for her cell so she could call Liam Kinney, her pack alpha, for a ride when she realized she’d left the burner phone in the loft. Damn. She’d have to take a cab. She needed to clear her head a little before she went back to her pack anyway. The last several weeks had been crappy and the past few hours even worse.
Why had that big SWAT cop saved her life? She’d been trying to figure it out since he’d tossed her in that crate.
At first, she’d thought he’d helped because he was a werewolf like her, but that didn’t pass the logic test. If there was a bond, it sure as hell hadn’t kept the other SWAT werewolves from mowing down her so-called pack mates like they were dead weeds.
No, there was another reason he’d helped her, and while Jayna didn’t have much use for cops, she could make an exception for this guy. Although, to be totally honest, it wasn’t simply the fact that he’d saved her life that had her thinking about him so much. There was also the minor issue of being so attracted to him that she’d barely been able to comprehend what he was doing when he’d picked her up and put her in that box.
That wasn’t like her. She didn’t swoon over guys, regardless of how cute they were.
Maybe her strange reaction was because he was a particularly strong alpha. Maybe he put off some kind of pheromone that made female beta wolves go a little nuts. That made sense, right? The alternative was that she’d fallen in love at first sniff, which was completely crazy.
Not nearly as crazy as an all-alpha werewolf SWAT team. On top of that, she was pretty sure she’d gotten a glimpse at a female alpha.
Liam had told her there was no such thing as a female alpha. He claimed a woman could never be strong enough to control the rage that an alpha lived with every day. He’d also said there weren’t any other large werewolf packs in the United States. He insisted that only a strong alpha like him could hold a group of betas together, and that alphas like him were too rare for there to be more than one or two major packs in existence at the same time in the entire world.
Well, she now had it on good authority that he was wrong on both counts. Every one of those SWAT werewolves had been well over six feet and looked stronger than a herd of bulls. And the female alpha was faster and more aggressive than anyone in Jayna’s pack ever dreamed of being.
Jayna crossed the street, then cut through the parking lot to where the taxis were lined up in front of the airport terminal. She climbed into the first taxi and gave the cabbie directions to the renovated loft on Canton Street, where she and the rest of the pack were staying, then leaned back and gazed out the window.
