Her people hadn’t just defended their territory. The Orange County South Carolina males enlisted to defend their country. Stupid scientists and crazies made any job that required a thorough health checkup risky in the last thirty years. Still, some males felt the possible discovery worth the chance to make a difference. To protect the pack of all species and races in the United States of America.
“Order up!” Reggie’s voice sang out with a happy surety that rivaled the bright midmorning sunshine. With a snappy spatula salute for India and a wink for the restaurant manager, he set the plate on the order bar and marched a whole six paces back to his grill. As the fry cook, he now had plenty to eat. Reggie’s starved body had filled out in the last couple of weeks, becoming less hollow-cheeked. While the faint but lingering scent of her packbrother’s illness continued to worry her, the job kept her busy. Busy was good.
At night tucked into the one bedroom garage apartment they shared, her own sleep was erratic and full of loneliness as she wandered the beautiful green forests trying to find her Tag. Charles. Dream wolves shouldn’t haunt her so. When she woke, exhaustion dogged her all day as if she had no slept at all.
“Yo! Waitress! Another cuppa joe over here!” Young, brawny, and full of himself, the road worker waived the brown coffee cup over the dividing counter top that separated the dining area from the open kitchen.
Grabbing the coffee pot, she glanced at her lone packmate, happily shoveling homefries on the grill. By the end of the day, the greasy smell of potatoes and onion would settle in the back of her throat and bile would sit at the top of her stomach. The road workers scent of tar and sweat made her want to wrinkle her nose. Instead, she flipped her long braid back over her shoulder and filled the cup. The jerk made a show of sniffing the contents. “How old is this anyway. Smells like old shoes.”
India sighed and settled one hand on her hip. The scent of his interest mixed with the tar and sweat. Why did human men think that insulting her coffee was going to score points with her? “That coffee is ten minutes old. I made it right before you came in.”
“Yeah, well it tastes like crap.” His gaze passed her slight bust line to hone in on the expanse of brown leg that her uniform displayed.
“And your expert opinion is based on what?” India tilted her chin, fixing him in her predator’s sights. Her voice stayed calm and vaguely interested. “The tepid sports drink that stained your teeth pink?” She pulled her ticket book out of her pocket, making a show of flipping for the correct one. “Or is it the road tar cologne guaranteed to bring any woman to her knees, gasping for a breath of clean air?”
The man’s sunburned face took on a different hue of red. “I…ah…um.”
India dropped his ticket on the table with a bright smile. “Thank you and have a nice day.” Smug triumph tilted her lips as she made a round of the room, filling coffee cups and giving out extra napkins. Slipping behind the counter, she set the glass pot back on its burner.
“Sweets, you’re gonna have to stay on top of them roadies. They’ll run you into the ground if you let them.” Betty laughed, leaning her full sized figure against the inside bar. The brown and orange uniform strained against her generous full curves. She brushed a hand at a nonexistent loose strand of graying hair. Betty smelled of health, vitality, and a pack of cigarettes a day. She’d met India’s one mild warning about cancer with a patented secretive chortle and a warning to leave well enough alone. Not wanting to ruin the welcome they’d found in this teeny town, India did as her new friend asked.
Betty’s changeable hazel eyes settled on India. The mixture of protective affection she picked up from the humans felt almost motherly. Not that India had ever experienced a motherly look in her life from the woman who’d whelped her. Shari Demos’s attitude toward her only offspring was one of martyred horror at daughter’s ‘differences’. On a rare good day, Shari called long distance from her very upscale suite in her father’s New York home to exchange distant pleasantries over the phone. Over the years, India had learned to dismiss the hurt that the demon would never be allowed welcome there. She could still hear the sing-song cadence of his words in the background of the telephone. Shari had just as many excuses over the years not to visit India in South Carolina. It was best that India’s path of escape led further and further South instead of anywhere near her remaining blood relatives. Showing up on the run for her life on her mother’s doorstep would be unforgivable in the extreme.
Reaching for the condiments, India nodded. She sent Betty a smile as she dropped packets of creamer, sugar, and lemon juice into the wide pocket on the front of her apron. “You just have to show them who’s in charge.”
Betty snorted another laugh. “What do you think of that Reggie?”
Flipping a pancake and sausages, Reggie had clearly found a niche. Happiness filled his voice. “India’s always in charge.” A quick hint of pink flushed his thin cheeks. He slanted a look at Betty. “Except for here. You’re the manager, Miss Betty.”
“Oh, lordy boy. You’ve got to grow some balls. Some woman’s gonna snatch you up and run all over you.”
Reggie shook his head, deftly moving the pancake and sausages onto a plate with the rest of the order before handing it to India. “Oh, I’ve got balls. I’m just waiting for permission to use them.”
India rolled her eyes, and left the two to talk amongst themselves while she delivered the order. When India finished her round of the room, the annoying road worker was gone. A five-dollar bill rested under the coffee cup. At the register, Reggie grinned, waving a ten-dollar bill for the road worker’s burger plate and coffee. India watched her packbrother give Betty a shy smile before dropping the road worker’s change in the tip jar.
Something hard and nervous loosened its hold in her middle. She had not looked further than the Frankston city limit sign because they might have to run again. She’d lived on hope for too long not to recognize the fragile holding-your-breath-feeling that she got whenever she watched Reggie interact with their new friend. A pack of two. She’d make it work. She didn’t know any other way.
* * * *
“Dryad says he’s not here.” Ember’s weight hit Chase, in his wolf form, between his shoulders with all the force of a Barbie doll tossed from the roof. Slight and a bit sharp, but nothing to make him flinch. She dug her tiny brownie fingers into his ruff and settled this way and that until she found just the right spot while he waited, playing the patient wolf steed for the tiny warrior fairy.
“Silly wenches. The only thing they say they saw, is a swarm of pixies. And I know those bastards are smarter than to show up in my territory. I think it might be time to update some of my little ‘surprises’.” Ember’s fierce little snarl, while cute, was nothing to laugh at. “I don’t know why we bothered anyway.” Brownies could make your life a living hell if you pissed one off. Especially, Ember. The Barbie sized female more than lived up to her candle flame hair in temperament.
Chase kept quiet as befitting a good wolf steed. Besides, the brownie’s abrasive attitude perfectly matched his own. That damned Hunter was here in his territory. He knew it. Felt it in his gut, even if the others were not giving his conviction their wholehearted support. They thought his illness and paranoia stemmed from refusing to accept his mate. Chase growled low. Him? Paranoid? Ha! And mated? At his age? God, what a pathetic joke that would be.
Without Tank around to take the lead, Chase could only listen to his instincts. Those instincts told him that the Hunter was up to something other than taking out his pack. Otherwise, the bastard would have done it as quick as he’d taken Chase down that day. The thing about psychics in general, was their hard-on for taking out the rest of the supernatural, especially when you added in the homicidal tendencies of Hunters.
There were a couple of possibilities that Chase kept circling around. Could be that the Hunter was setting up to lay Anderson County as the scapegoat in some grand Machiavellian scheme to start a jihad against the supernaturals. It c
ould be simpler than grand schemes and wars. The Hunter could be weaker than he first thought and just be picking off the supernatural outside pack territory. Or, he could be after something else entirely.
Chase had run into Hunters before and the pattern of those incidents had always been the same. Hunter meet supernatural. Hunter pull out all stops trying to kill said supernatural. Hunter gets killed because the idiot underestimated the new and improved Brothers Grimm, Chase and Tank. Of course, all that had been before they joined the pack. Still, the fact that this Hunter wasn’t following standard operating procedure bothered Chase to no end. He worried what would happen if their unwelcome visitor suddenly decided to get with the program and kill anything with any magical ability.
Their pack had too many liabilities to fare well in a major confrontation with the Hunter and his bag of deadly tricks. For a territory as large as Anderson County, their pack was pretty damn small and centrally located. Plus, they were heavy on mated pairs and noncombatants. It seemed that every pair was spitting out pups left and right. Their loyalties were compromised. Chase couldn’t expect a mated warden like Brandon to put the safety of the pack above his family unit. Or, Bradley with his ties to the fairies.
Frustration rubbed his mood raw. Again, he wondered what the Hunter was after. Chase changed directions, barely noticing Ember’s curses as she tightened her grip on his ruff. It could be that the Hunter could have left the area, unwilling to take on the pack. Chase’s gut said otherwise. He needed news. Reinforcements. A network of eyes and ears willing to rat out a mutual enemy. For that, he needed wheels and a cell phone.
* * * *
A mile-eating run straight through pastures and woods finally brought Chase deep into the Brushy Creek portion of the county. For whatever reason, having the brownie along helped with slipping through thick berry patches. His wolf form sailed over fallen logs and deep ravines. Long ropes of sharp spiney vines, dubbed wait-a-minute vines by the locals were of little bother. “Yee-ha!” Ember thrummed her heels against his side, excited by the wild ride. “Ride a wolf! Screw the cowboy!” Obviously, Ember needed a little less Country Music TV time.
He loped into the small yard of the hideaway that also served as Tank’s laboratory and took a moment to calm his breathing. All of the wolven had little retreats spread throughout the county. Some were fairly decent, like this mostly finished storage building, turned habitation. Others were literally caves dug into a hillside with supplies buried nearby.
Of all their little spots, both he and Tank favored this one. The nearest neighbor lived several miles away, a retired couple who spent more time away than home. The property had been confiscated by the pack from Weres they’d evicted years ago. The original house had been a dump with major foundation problems and outdated wiring. A serious case of termite infestation convinced them to bulldoze the mess and start fresh. In its place, Chase had used garage plans to erect the bare bones combination workplace and emergency den. He wasn’t as good at the carpentry thing as Adam was, but he’d been around to pick up enough over the years. Chase was damn proud of the steel wall studs, meant to disrupt a fairy’s spell, and the wire mesh concrete block exterior designed to stop the normal range of bullets. Tank’s field SUV sat parked under an inexpensive oversized carport that had been added on later.
Shedding the brownie from his back triggered the Change back to his human form. Magic burning through him, fueling the Change. He never thought of the transition as pleasant. The sensations had had more to do with adrenaline than pain, but the exercise made him feel like a ball of kid’s play dough, squished from one form to another. His golden fur receded in a waterfall of flesh. Bones and organs shifted, moving into the position for his new form. His muzzle pushed in. His back legs straightened. Knees reformed to bend forward instead of backward. Finally, standing, he took a deep cleansing breath, giving in to a full body shake that whipped his long hair around his waist and over one broad shoulder.
“Are you done yet?” Ember’s tiny fists rested on her hips. One doll-sized toe tapped out her impatience as she sniffed her opinion of the bare drywall walls and ceiling. “I swear, I would never have come along if I knew you were going to drag me this far from home.”
Chase strode by the brownie, comfortable in his nakedness. Still, inside the tiny living area, he found a spare set of clothes in the closet. Confusion rolled in a turmoil inside him as he pulled on leather pants and a t-shirt. His bud hadn’t checked in for a week. Where had Tank gone? Why go at all? Sure a few Weres and other supernaturals were getting sick. What better reason for the only doctor who specialized in the super-freak crowd to hang around?
Another part of him felt stretched tight, like a rubber band almost at snapping point. If he closed his eyes, he could point in the exact direction to find her. Just thinking of her made his instincts rush forward. Go to her. Claim your mate. He took a single step before stopping himself. No. Been there—done that, got a trunk load of emotional baggage to show for it. Chase had no use for a mate. Shaking his head, hoping to rattle all thought of the female from his mind, he sat on one of the two futons that made up the main part of the retreat’s furniture and focused on the job of putting on boots. Damn things made his back hurt whenever he stayed over. Hell, most of the time, unless it was cold or raining, he woke up furry and outdoors. He always appreciated the comforts of home that much more after time away, even if that time was in the company of some sweet female. Not that he’d be sniffing any skirts with the Hunter ghosting his territory.
Lissie’s pretty face swam before his eyes. He knew too well, the consequences. Guilt by association was still a crime in the Hunters’ rulebook. Hard to believe that so much beauty and vitality could be filled with treachery. She hadn’t been so pretty by the time the Hunters finished with her. Bitch she might have been, but Lissie hadn’t deserved that fate. His wife had died fast by comparison. A bullet to the brain tended to do that. As far as he knew, both women had been one hundred percent non-psychic human. He crushed the rest of that thought with ruthless self-preservation.
Chase grunted, getting to his feet. However, he might be linked to Cleo, he would not give in. He didn’t want a mate, much less the hassle of kids. His loyalty lay with his pack, not some stray female he’d never met in person. “Hey, Ember. Time to go.” Chase grabbed the keys to the SUV. It was time to figure out what this Hunter was up to and then he’d gladly rip out the guy’s intestines and hand them back.
Chapter Nine
Ember wrinkled her nose as she stared at the rundown house. “Surprise, surprise. It’s a shack. How many more of these dumps are we going to tour?”
Chase didn’t bother answering. He exited the SUV with great caution, letting his scent carry downwind to the Weres hiding behind the tree line. The one thing he both liked and disliked most about East Texas was the sheer size of the forests. The pine trees were everywhere. Cut them all down? Just wait a couple of years and another tiny woodland wonderland sprang back up in its place.
“Hey!” Ember scrambled out of the door and jumped onto his shoulder just before he slammed it shut, and beeped the alarm on. A white plastic bag swung in one hand as he walked to the leaning porch. Dropping the bag in a rocking chair, minus half the back spindles he paused. The stink of Were filled his nose and forced him to suppress a growl that tickled in the back of his throat. Two pair of beady black eyes peered out from a dirty window. Ember choked back a squeal, her bravado disappearing under his long hair. “What the hell is that? A rabid badger?”
“Wereraccoon. Be quiet. You’ll scare them.” Chase wished he’d locked the brownie in the car. Better yet, just dropped her off at Packhome before making the rounds. But, if he’d done that, no doubt the boss would have stuck someone else with him so that he wouldn’t be alone. The pack’s concern was starting to get on his nerves.
Ember tugged on his hair, unmindful of her own strength or that she was creating tangles as she wrapped herself from view. “Scare them? What about me?”
One thing about Ember, she told you like it was. “Why did I listen to you anyway? I knew I should have brought my spear.”
The door opened a fraction, tilting crazily on its hinges. A black nose matching the beady eyes glared out from behind a gray muzzle. A raccoon the size of a large dog ambled out on to the porch, snatching up the bag in its greedy fingers. The creature rummaged around inside the sack before pulling out a chocolate bar. The head of a stuffed animal hung upside down out of a small tear in the bottom of the bag. The raccoon pivoted, darting back inside, sack and all.
Chase waited a few more minutes. When nothing else occurred, he walked back to the SUV. He tapped on the window with the keys. Startled, a man popped up in the front seat. His naked body was lean and thin. Salt and pepper hair belied a young face dotted with powdered sugar. Dark shadows bruised the underside of his sugar-bright eyes. “Now, Jude, you know better than to try and steal my wheels.” Chase bared his teeth in a predatory wolven smile. “Are you suicidal?”
“Ewwww.” Ember huddled against his neck. “Now you’re going to have to get that thing detailed. He’s got his bare ass all over your leather seats.”
The window rolled down. The rich scent of chocolate, pastry, and sugar mixed with the feral scent of Were rolled over Chase in a nauseating wave. Jude stroked a covetous hand over the car door panel. “I was just gonna borrow it. You know I’d have brought it back.”
“Yeah. Right after you took it joyriding. Get outta my car.” Chase’s words came out on a growl that had the man scurrying through the window. He caught the wereraccoon by the neck, giving Jude a good shake when he would have resisted. Skinny arms flailed. Strange, desperate high-pitched growling sounds punctuated each wriggle for freedom.
Creature Comforts Page 7
