by Kari Cole
“Well, crap. Rose! I tried!”
His mother burst in through the swinging doors. “Huh? Tried what? Oh! Hi, Vaughn. Have you eaten? What do you want?”
He shook his head. Mom and Aunt Ronnie might only be sisters-in-law, but there was a reason people often mistook them for blood relatives, and it wasn’t just their dark hair and skin tone.
“Hi, Mom,” he said.
“I’m already getting him food,” Ronnie said. “I tried to get him to give me the scoop on that Moreno boy, but no dice.”
“Damn,” Mom said. She looked at him. “Is he still an ass?”
Vaughn huffed a laugh. “Yeah.”
“And you’re still not going to tell us why? Or why his assholery started when you stopped seeing his sister? Or why you stopped seeing his sister, for that matter?”
He looked around the room at the staff all busy working, chopping, grilling, plating, washing. And listening. “No, ma’am.”
“Damn,” Mom and Ronnie said in unison.
“Oh well, we tried,” Mom said. “Hey, maybe you want to take your food to go, sweetie? Not that I’m not always thrilled to see you. It’s just Jessie Mills is out there and she said her friend stayed home with a headache. I thought you might like to—hey! Where are you going?”
Vaughn pushed through the double swinging doors and moved out of the way of another human waitress. The pub was packed end to end. People were bellied up to the bar three deep. Every table was occupied. The pool tables and dartboards had crowds around them, and the dance floor was jammed. The noise was intense and he immediately wished for earplugs.
His mother appeared at his shoulder. “She’s over there in the corner.”
Maybe he should be embarrassed, but he couldn’t muster the sentiment. Not with his wolf and eagle shouting at him to make sure Cassandra was all right.
“Thanks,” he said, and followed his mother’s directions.
Jessie sat on a bar stool in the corner near the dartboards. She was watching a game and drinking a bottled beer. “Hey, Sheriff,” she said when he reached her side.
“My mom said Cassandra’s not feeling well.”
Jessie rolled her eyes. “I’m fine. Thanks for asking. How are you? Tall, dark, and serious still, huh?”
“Jessie...”
She sighed. Even with shifter hearing it should have been hard to detect, but she did it so dramatically. “Yes. Cassandra has a headache. No wonder, actually.”
“What?”
“Huh? Oh, nothing. She wasn’t up to coming out and dealing with the noise. I made her some tea to help and told her to relax.”
He leaned closer and spoke quietly so the nearby humans didn’t hear more than they should. “She’s a werewolf. Headaches after a silver injury can be a sign that there’s still some silver in the wound or—”
“I don’t think it’s an adverse reaction to the shooting.” She looked to the tables where they’d been sitting when it happened and shuddered. “She’s healing well, but you’re welcome to check on her if you want. You know, you’re a pretty quiet guy. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you stop by. Make sure she has everything she needs.”
He had no idea what possessed him, but he said, “I might do that.”
“Good.” She chucked him on the shoulder and turned back to watch the dart games, dismissing him.
He turned and almost crashed into his mother.
“Whoa,” she said, holding a large paper takeout bag out to the side. “Here. Ronnie made dinner for you and Cassandra. I threw in some double chocolate cake. There’s enough for two, so make sure you share some with her. I know how you are about that cake.”
He blinked at his mother. Was everyone around him conspiring to make him crazy? His wolf nudged him to take the bag and go. The beast wanted to see that Cassandra was all right for himself.
“You’re all manipulating me. Don’t think I don’t see it,” he said, and Jessie cackled.
Mom patted his cheek. “Manipulate is such an unpleasant word. I prefer to think of it as lending a guiding hand. Now go on. Shoo. Oh, and don’t hog the chopped steak for yourself. That’s for Frost.”
Not just him. They were all crazy.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The sound of an engine approaching popped Hannah unsteadily to her feet. Frost leapt to her side, tense and ready. She had a three-second-long panic attack before a perverse sort of logic kicked in: Apex would never give her such a convenient warning as driving up to her doorstep when they came for her.
“We’re all right,” she whispered to Frost. “We’re all right.”
Ignoring her aching head, she walked over to the screen door with Frost still sticking to her like a shadow, and looked out onto the driveway. Headlights from an SUV washed over them. The bright light stabbed her photosensitive eyes, but despite the pain, she smiled.
“Hello, Vaughn,” she said when he stopped at the bottom of the porch steps. Oh, he really was just as handsome as she remembered. She’d been hoping that her overly horny brain had conjured the image of masculine perfection, but no. Even the scar on his cheek didn’t detract from his good looks.
“Cassandra,” he said. He had a huge brown paper bag with handles in one hand and a six-pack of beer in the other.
Her stomach growled and she smiled wider. “Did you bring me dinner?”
“Yes.” He came up the steps, his dark T-shirt and faded jeans showcasing rather than hiding his glorious muscles. She pushed open the screen door to let him in, but before he could enter, Frost shoved himself between them and growled softly. The sheriff frowned at him and growled back.
Hannah couldn’t help it—she laughed. It started with an unladylike snort, morphed into dimwitted giggles, and then totally devolved into raucous belly laughs that made the tiny men pounding in her head with ballpeen hammers strike up a drumbeat.
“Are you all right? You smell like pain,” Vaughn said, grabbing her arms. He guided her over to the couch and knelt in front of her. “I’m going to call Sarah.”
“No, no,” she gasped, mostly from breathless laughter. “Sorry, y’all—ah, God, you two are ridiculous.”
“Oh-kay,” he said, sounding grumpy.
Frost snorted and sat right next to her, his fuzzy butt on her bare foot.
Hannah cracked up some more. “You two. You’re gorgeous as can be, really, but if y’all start peeing on me, we’re going to have a problem.” The human and lupine glowers intensified, and she pointed at each of them in turn. “You have been warned.”
Vaughn sank down a bit to Frost’s eye level. “I brought her food.”
Frost’s nose twitched as he thought about that. Finally, he bumped Vaughn’s shoulder with his head and got up to investigate the bag the sheriff had left by the door. With care, the wolf lifted it by the handles and deliberately set it next to Vaughn. Tail waving slowly behind him, he waited.
“Huh,” Vaughn said.
“Frost appreciates a male who brings a meal,” Hannah said. “As do I. Not that I’m complaining, but why are you here?”
Vaughn set the bag on the coffee table and went over to the door to retrieve the beer. “I saw Jessie at the Golden Claw. She said you weren’t feeling well.” He sat down next to her and started unloading takeout boxes.
“Wait, so you came over to, what? Check on me?”
“Yes.”
Her heart may have stumbled in her chest, and if she wasn’t careful, it might roll right over and show him its belly. Still, Daddy always said considerate behavior should be acknowledged. She leaned in to him and kissed his cheek. “You are the sweetest male.”
He blinked at her, and if she wasn’t mistaken, she’d totally thrown him. Yep, a ruddy flush stained his cheeks and he seemed suddenly fascinated by the food boxes. Frost snorted again and came closer to investigate the dinner o
ptions.
Vaughn shot him a black look. “You know, furball, I never promised I’d share with you.”
At Frost’s affronted look, she burst into another fit of giggles. Bad idea. The throbbing made her eyes feel too large and she rubbed her temples.
“Here, let me.” Vaughn set her hands in her lap and massaged her forehead and temples with his thumbs.
“Oh, that’s awesome,” she said in a whisper.
“Never heard of a werewolf getting a migraine before. Not unless they’re full of silver. Are you sure you don’t want to call the healer? Maybe she missed something.”
His quiet, deep voice soothed her even more than his talented fingers. “No. My side is healing just fine. I overdid it today. That’s all. Mmm. Don’t stop, please.”
Fingers delving into her hair, he continued his gentle ministrations. “Overdid what?”
“Long, weird story. Ask me again later.”
“Will you tell me if I do?”
Smart male. She smiled. “Maybe.”
“Hmm.”
Wow, if the whole being a sheriff thing didn’t pan out, the male could make a fortune as a masseur. Women would come from across the country for a session with him. That thought made her wolf growl, and Hannah had to agree. No, definitely not. Vaughn’s talented hands were not to be shared.
“Cassandra.”
“Hmm?”
“You’re growling.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
“Huh.” What the hell was the matter with her? She could not get possessive about the sexy sheriff. Cop, Hannah. Cop. She kept saying that to herself, yet here she was.
With a pang of regret, she pulled away from his touch. “Thank you. That was wonderful.”
Those serious gray eyes studied her. “Anytime.”
How about now? And how about without our clothes on? “Um, the food’s getting cold. It smells fantastic. What is it?”
“Smells like my aunt’s Monterey chicken and rice. I hope you like Mexican food.”
“Love it. Wait, you didn’t know what you brought?”
“No. My mom handed me the bag and told me to share.”
Good Lord, she was so thankful she was sitting down. His sheepish grin was devastating. “But you just told Frost you wouldn’t share with him.”
“I said I didn’t promise.” He pulled a large square container from the bag and opened it, revealing about three pounds of chopped steak. “This one’s yours, wolf.” Instead of setting the box on the floor in a corner somewhere, he put it on the end of the table. The simple gesture of not dismissing her best friend meant more than she could express.
“Your pet has conned my mother into thinking he’s a lost puppy,” Vaughn said.
“Oh, he’s not my pet,” Hannah said. “I think I might be his, though.”
As if proud of her, Frost gave her a lupine grin. Then he neatly picked up a piece of steak with his front teeth and chewed.
Vaughn shook his head. He reached back into the bag and pulled out two more square containers. Before he could set them down, he had to move the box of gloves to the floor. He raised a brow. “Looking to make a new fashion statement?”
“Sort of. They’re part of the long, weird story.”
“Ah. The one you’re going to tell me.”
“Maybe,” she corrected. A thought struck her. “When did Frost meet your mother?”
“At the Golden Claw. She and my aunt own it. My aunt Veronica is head chef, and my mom manages the front of the house.”
“Oh,” Hannah said, still not picturing a female who might be related to him.
He placed one of the containers in front of Hannah with a napkin-wrapped set of plastic utensils. “You’ve met my mom, too.”
“I have?”
“She was your waitress the day you were shot,” he said.
“No, I don’t think so. We had this super-kind eagle shifter take care—” The burnt citrus scent of nerves and challenge suddenly surrounded her, stopping her cold. What had she said? No. “You don’t mean—” The impassive set of his jaw grew harder. No way. Impossible. He was a werewolf. “That lovely female is your mother?” He gave her a tight nod. “Your biological mother?”
Was that sound his teeth grinding together? “Yes,” he said.
“Oh,” she said. “Ohh. Well, that explains some things.”
* * *
Vaughn turned to look at Cassandra. The only light in the room came from a table lamp in the corner and the rising moon outside. For a werewolf, it was more than enough light to see by, but the thought of finding the same rejection in her eyes as Elena’s made it as hard to move as deadlifting a car. Still, he did, because he’d be damned before he cowered like a pup. “Like what?” he asked.
In the dim light, her eyes were deep pools. “Like your tattoos. And maybe why your packmates acted like such shits last night.”
Fuck. Guess he shouldn’t have read so much into her quick rejection of the other males last night. He’d hoped she was different and could see beyond all the—
“And maybe why you didn’t clean their clocks like they so richly deserved,” she said. “Jackasses.”
Vaughn shook his head. “What?” One leather-covered hand touched his arm, the other his chest, and he held his breath, afraid to move, afraid he might scare her off.
“You’re mixed blood and they—at least some of them—don’t let you forget it, huh?”
He nodded once.
“And you’ve probably gotten that crap all your life.”
Another nod. It was all he could manage.
Her eyes narrowed. “Have you ever beat the snot out of them for it?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Couldn’t.”
“Why?” she asked again, her voice soft and low. He shrugged. “Because you’re bigger, stronger, more dominant—” He was nodding again, but she kept speaking. “And you felt like you’d be reinforcing the crazy dual-shifter stereotypes?”
“Yes.”
The hand on his chest slid up to curl around his neck, lying over the bullet scar there. “You’re not the most talkative guy, are you?”
“No.” How could he be with her looking at him like that? Her eyes dark and clear. Without fear. Like he was a male she wanted.
She smiled and the room seemed to glow. “I definitely made the right choice last night.”
Then she kissed him.
Chapter Twenty-Six
622 gasped for breath. His heart was pounding so hard he was afraid it might crack a few ribs. He flopped onto his side on the testing room treadmill, unable to go any farther, even if he could make his trembling legs move. A new guard—one who reeked of black magic—stood over him, a damn cattle prod in his hand. 622 didn’t know why the presence of a warlock surprised him. These people were monsters. Pieces of filth that tortured and killed to power their magic fit right in.
The harsh, hot rubber scent of the treadmill belt filled his nostrils and made him sneeze. What he wouldn’t give to smell fresh air. Even a jam-packed city would do. Sweat dripped down his face and stung his eyes. He raised a hand to wipe it away and tangled his arm in the heart monitor leads trailing from his chest. It tugged on the electrode stuck to his skin and he bit back a yelp of pain. There were seven of the little fuckers attached to him. He’d thought they’d fall off, he was sweating so hard, but no such luck. Getting them off was going to be about as fun as washing with sandpaper.
“Watch it,” a lab tech said. The bastard was human, average-looking in every way, right down to his lame-ass, white grandpa sneakers. “You pull one of those leads off and mess up my readings, I’ll make you run it again.”
Totally unafraid of 622, the tech kicked his hand out of the way so he could step onto the treadmill to get a
better look at the monitor. The cougar inside didn’t like that. It was stronger, faster...deadlier than the easily breakable human. 622 bared his still-human teeth and hissed.
The tech yelped and scrabbled away. Aww, look, poor guy almost dropped his computer tablet.
“Jeffries,” the Black Widow said, her tone bored. “Do try to remember what you’re dealing with. If he kills you, I’ll be very annoyed. Experienced lab assistants are extremely hard to come by.”
In a parody of a smile, 622 showed the man all his teeth.
Jeffries gulped. “Y-yes, Dr. Salma.”
Fun over, 622 tried to get comfortable, but couldn’t. The sweat dripping down his back and sides itched, and his hands shook like a birch leaf in the wind. Actually, his whole body trembled. Huh. That was new. Sometimes he’d get the shakes after getting shot up or gassed with something. He’d never had them just from running before. Of course, the docs had never made him run for so long and hard that his bones felt like they might disintegrate either.
The door buzzed open and Dr. Hermann bustled in, his nose buried in his tablet. “How are the subject’s results?”
The Black Widow ran a finger down the screen of a monitor. “Interesting,” she said, before typing something on her tablet. What’d they do, buy the things in bulk?
Hermann moved closer to look at whatever data was playing out over the screen.
“Here,” the tech said, shoving a cup of water in his face. “Drink. You’re dehydrated.”
The order raised 622’s hackles, but he was too thirsty to care about dominance. He rose up on an elbow, reached for the clear plastic cup, and splashed water everywhere.
“H-hands s-shaking t-t-too much,” he said. Goddess, was that rusty croak his voice? When was the last time he’d actually spoken? No one asked him questions like how he felt anymore. They knew he wouldn’t answer. Shit. He couldn’t remember.
The tech paled and took a step back.
The warlock grunted. “Give it to me. I’ll do it.” He took the cup from the tech, refilled it from a pitcher on a rolling table, and squatted down. “Behave,” he said, his voice filled with quiet menace.
