Her protector turned to them and spoke, his words too fast and too much like a growl for her to understand any of them, but the biggest held up his hands and they all stopped moving. She felt a stirring deep inside of her, longed to pull him to her, and she was embarrassed by the reaction. It wasn’t the time or the place and still she wanted him to kiss her until she couldn’t see straight.
She tore her gaze from him and tried to get her body back under control, but it refused to cooperate. She was hot and wanted to rip off her coat, but the man would wonder what she was doing, and so she kept it on and waited nervously.
When he turned back to her, he put his arm around her again, his hand nowhere near the brand. He was so warm, like an instant heater. He kept his pace even with hers although she knew he could move faster. There was power behind those muscles and it called to her in a way that frightened her. “Do you work for the police?”
“I’m a sketch artist,” she explained.
“What’s your name?” he asked, his brown eyes settling in around the color of a strong whiskey, and she was pretty sure she could get lost in them. She hadn’t dated much at all, not from lack of want, but because the damned brand didn’t seem to like men. It burned whenever one got too close. But now it was appeased.
She wasn’t even close to being so.
“Kate. Kate Walters,” she answered quickly when she realized he was staring, waiting for her to speak.
He nodded, but didn’t offer his name in return. And dammit, she was curious. But they were rounding the corner the police station was located on and ahead of her was Officer Shimmin.
She wasn’t sure when the man had let go of her, but she was very much alone.
“Kate, I’ve been calling you—I couldn’t hear your location in the message,” Officer Shimmin said, sounding genuinely concerned. As many times as he’d told her to call him Leo, she couldn’t bring herself to do so. Although he was a good-looking man, maybe late thirties, she’d never been able to see him as anything but a boss, an authority figure, and one she was a little afraid of, if she thought about it too hard.
“I felt … silly even calling,” she said apologetically.
“Never.” He took her hand in his. “Come on. Let’s get you inside.”
She allowed him to steer her into the frenzy of the police station, the brand on her back humming with an energy she’d never felt before, and she knew it had nothing to do with Leo Shimmin.
*
The woman he’d just saved was a high-level witch—and Stray doubted she knew it. Jinx had stayed out for long hours hunting another witch who continuously eluded him, but Stray was the one to make this surprise catch.
He didn’t need a picture of Kate—no, she was now branded into his mind.
She was tall—close to five foot eight—and her long dark hair hung in loose waves down her back. Her eyes were brown, but with more than a hint of copper, which matched the highlights in her hair. Natural, not store bought—he could smell that shit a mile off.
Even though she’d worn a bulky coat, it couldn’t conceal her figure, more lush than thin, and his body damn near bloomed when he’d gotten near her.
He wanted to follow her everywhere, camp outside her front door or, better yet, in her bed. The lust that rose from him was like a rising smoke, visible for a thousand miles.
Wanted to press her against the wall of the nearest building and take her. Claim her.
Mark her.
Brother Wolf howled and Stray nearly dropped to his knees to join in.
Whether or not this was because of Killian coming, it was the most visceral reaction to a woman Stray had ever had.
The only one he’d ever had to a witch.
Was this a trap, a spell, conjured to yank him into the trapper’s clutches?
He shook his head and realized Kate had turned to stare at the empty space he’d vacated with lightning speed and stealth once he’d come close to Leo Shimmin, in the same kind of reverie daze he’d been in before.
Good to see he wasn’t the only one affected. Something had happened when he’d touched her lower back. She’d practically vibrated away from him. Whether or not she knew he was an other, she’d know he wasn’t human soon enough.
For now he’d have to content himself with the fact that he’d actually made contact with a very powerful witch who could potentially be much more so than the one Jinx had been attempting to sniff out. He and Jinx had spent hours going over research and lore for the witches, most of which had been culled from Seb through Rifter. According to legend, when a witch gave her powers to another, it was through a brand on the person’s body that typically only the witch and her recipient could see.
Jinx told him that by touching a brand of that sort, a bond could be formed, but it needed to be skin to skin. And although Jinx didn’t have X-ray vision, he did know something had happened when he touched her through her coat. Even now, his hand tingled in a way it hadn’t since he’d been around Killian fifty years earlier.
He rubbed his hands together as he backtracked the way he’d walked with Kate.
Her mind had been reeling when she’d first come upon him. He couldn’t actively read all her thoughts, which he assumed was because of her powers, but whatever was happening, she was empathizing too much for her own mental health. He winced at the emotions rolling off her, wondered why she did this to herself over and over.
Talk about self-flagellation. Even he wasn’t that bad.
He found her scarf close to where he’d first come upon her, by the building’s front steps. She must’ve dropped it when she first noticed the young werepack. He tucked it into his pocket next to Agent Young’s card that he’d taken from her pocket, trying to ignore its scent of warm sun on a spring day—the beach, salt water—all good memories he wasn’t sure he ever had and was damned certain she’d never had.
The Weres had followed her for a block before he’d intervened. Stray had caught their scent immediately, but the first one he’d focused on had been Kate. Holy hell, he’d followed her just to keep smelling her. And shit like that could easily get him arrested. Women wouldn’t understand.
Neither would Leo Shimmin, and Stray had no intention of going near him or the police station, especially not without the aid of nightfall or his fellow Dires.
He made a quick call to Liam to come round up the stupid young Weres who still remained in the street, harassing other young women as they passed. The young king of the Manhattan pack—the king of all the Weres—was gearing up to make his mark on the world.
He would have to start with these three numb-nuts.
“I’m on it,” Liam assured him. Stray hung up and headed home through the woods. He’d walked to town, Brother Wolf trailing Kate’s scent. Now he also scented fresh blood that was different than the blood of the prey he’d chased last night.
That was deer. This, what he smelled, was human. And when he investigated further, he found police tape and no bodies, but he smelled Were mingled in with the human scents.
Dammit.
Weres roamed everywhere—it was impossible not to smell them. Last night there’d been no way for him to tell that a wolf had been involved in this human kill. Today he was sure of it.
Dires were charged with protecting Weres and humans, and Weres were supposed to protect humans as well—or, at the very least, stay far away from them until they had full control.
Stray thought that a lot of the Weres never gained that control. They were imperfect animals, far less powerful than the Dires.
He ran faster, until he got to the underground lair the Dires utilized to stay out of sight during the day. He threaded his way through the tunnel into the main Dire mansion and found Rifter, Vice and Jinx in the kitchen, their backs to him as they watched the news about the local murder on TV.
“Wolf kill,” Stray confirmed.
“Just like the murders that have been following Harm,” Rifter added, and Stray handed him Agent Young’s card. The fed ha
d been sniffing around them for weeks, looking for Harm to question.
“It wasn’t Harm I scented,” Stray confirmed, and a quick flash of relief passed over Rifter’s face. “And I found a witch.”
They could deal with a wolf kill later—this was far more important.
“A witch? Where? Forget it—who cares? Is she here?” Jinx demanded as Vice threw Stray a beer, telling him he looked like he needed one.
“She will be.” Stray took a long drink from the bottle before saying, “I don’t think she knows what she is.”
“And this helps us how?” Jinx asked. “Fuck, Stray, you were supposed to be looking for the sure thing.”
“Jinx, calm down,” Rifter told him. “Let Stray tell us about her.”
“Her name’s Kate Walters—she works for the police. Sketch artist,” Stray said. “I think Shimmin knows what she is. Let me do some research.”
He didn’t wait for Rifter to agree. He grabbed his laptop and was already typing furiously as his brothers silently moved to sit around the table and wait with a patience they didn’t have.
It took him less than five minutes to find her in the victims’ database. There were two separate entries, one ten years ago and the other nearly three years ago.
“She’s an orphan,” he managed, his voice tight, not sure why anything to do with a witch was affecting him like this.
He heard Vice’s phone ring, heard the Dire talking to Liam and, in seconds, he flashed out of the room to their aid, with Rifter following just as fast. When he looked up, only Jinx remained at the table, silently watching as Stray’s fingers worked.
He didn’t worry about it—probably the young werepack needed some containing. Instead, he continued work on unfolding Kate’s history.
“Lots of humans get thrown away in the world,” Stray muttered as he paged through her history on his computer. Lots of wolves too—like him, he thought, but he didn’t say that out loud.
“What about her parents?” Jinx asked.
“They were killed in a car accident when she was thirteen,” Stray said. “She went to live with two different sets of relatives—which lasted less than a year combined. After that, none of her other relatives would take her in, so she went into foster care. Blew through several different homes.”
“Why was she so much trouble?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
“Don’t try too hard. We just need her to create a spell.” Jinx stared at him. “She is a witch, right?”
Stray nodded. “She has no idea how strong, though.”
“We’re gonna show her,” Jinx promised, and Stray heard his Brother Wolf growl at the mention of we. “You all right?”
Stray wasn’t all right at all, and there was no use pretending. “Don’t touch her.”
Jinx narrowed his eyes, wisely didn’t say anything but, “Got it loud and clear.”
By morning, all the Dires would know what Stray had said. And for the first time since he’d met them, he was glad his message was getting across.
“If she doesn’t know how powerful she is, then we use that to our advantage,” Jinx said.
“How so?” Stray asked.
Jinx gave him a sideways glance, like he wasn’t sure how Stray would react to his words. When he spoke, Stray understood. “After she helps us, she’ll need to be destroyed.”
Everything inside of Stray wanted to rise up, but he forced himself to heel. If this witch fell into the wrong hands … “We’ll discuss it when the time comes.”
Jinx nodded, like he knew he wouldn’t get a better answer right now. Stray forced himself not to strangle the other wolf and for the moment, all was right with the world.
Chapter 3
He’d never had love and he had no need of protection. But money? Well hell, every wolf needed that, and Killian, aka Kill to the underground world of ultimate—and illegal—cage fighting, was no exception.
“Come on, motherfucker,” the Were called Champ—seriously, Champ—taunted Kill, revving the crowd up with his antics.
Kill had never gone for the dog-and-pony show. He would never be anyone’s bitch, and he proved it when his fist connected with the wolf’s cheek and the sound of shattered bone reverberated in his ears.
Fighting was easy. Natural. He pretended whoever was on the receiving end of the fists was his family—everyone except Steele, or Stray, as the Dire had renamed himself when they’d split.
The whole thing broke Kill’s heart. And the revenge he’d taken on Stray’s behalf hadn’t been nearly as satisfying as he’d thought. While he didn’t regret what he’d done, he did regret what he’d become.
But maybe he shouldn’t. If it affected the prophecy for the better, then maybe none of it was in vain.
“Kill, Kill, Kill,” the crowd chanted. Of course, the humans who ran and watched the show had no idea they were, at times, watching wolves fight. And most of the Weres around here had never seen a Dire, although they probably sensed Kill wasn’t exactly one of them. But outing Kill meant outing themselves, and so they all remained hidden in plain sight, earning money from those who’d forced them into hiding in the first place.
Killian knew the stories of the Extinction—about how Jameson and his crew refused to cede his crown to Harmony or Rifter at the Elders’ command and instead massacred humans. How the Elders smote the entire Dire race, save for a select few. How the Dire alphas with abilities who roamed the earth for centuries never knew about the small Greenland pack with no abilities.
Champ staggered up now. The roar of the crowd was a pumping throb in Kill’s ears, a rush he had to force himself to control before things went very, very badly in front of too many people.
It took another shot at a much lower strength to make the Were go down and stay down.
He’d won. All that was left to do was collect his prize money and prepare to make the final leg of the trip to see Steele.
He left the ring with the crowd still calling for him—and he didn’t look back. As he walked through the small runway, he watched women in the box seats falling over themselves, trying to gain his attention.
He didn’t need to plant suggestions in anyone’s mind for this. No, he’d never used it for seduction on humans or Weres, but it was an ability that made him just dangerous enough to both races when he wasn’t with Stray.
Fucking prophecy.
Steele didn’t want the power, which was why he’d changed his name and never tried to contact Killian. But Killian prided himself on the fact that he’d been the one to leave first. He hadn’t wanted Stray to have to make that kind of decision, but still, he’d always secretly hoped his brother would seek him out. Kill thought the two of them could’ve had a great life if Stray hadn’t been fearful of how strong they were together.
He’d figured the pup would get comfortable enough in his Dire skin and eventually return.
But then Rifter and his band of merry wolves had to get involved and ruin everything, and Killian knew that their separation was probably for the best.
More than fifty years and not a word from Stray before this. Guess Kill couldn’t blame him, but was his brother going to hold a grudge forever?
Killian still couldn’t tell, because Stray’s phone message through Kill’s manager had simply asked for help, not forgiveness. And Kill still owed him one for sure. Maybe more.
Seeing each other wouldn’t be easy, but the pull to combine powers—no matter the purpose—whenever he saw his brother would be hard to resist. They were like magnets in each other’s presence.
Entire states still separated them and his body had already begun the familiar tingle that had started inside of him when Steele had been born. Added to the post-fight adrenaline rush, he definitely needed a release.
A weregirl had followed him into the locker room, no doubt let in by one of the bouncers. Kill could see why—she was built and blond, sinful. Perfect for use. Perfect to keep his mind at bay for an hour or two.
&n
bsp; He’d taken Were lovers, never humans, as he roamed nomadically through Greenland and Alaska, but he didn’t rely on the Weres for help of any other kind. There were a lot of vamps in Alaska because of the short daylight hours. They knew who he was and vice versa, and they kept an eye out for one another.
He stripped his shorts as he walked, well aware of the weregirl’s eyes on him. He started the shower as he waited for her to make the first move, and he wasn’t disappointed.
“Hey, baby, you need some help with that?” she practically purred from behind him. She couldn’t take her eyes off his ass first, and then his cock, and he certainly liked the appreciation.
He pulled her into the shower with him, fully clothed. “You have no idea.”
“Good boy,” she murmured, and he’d show her good, have her yelling his name and then leave her begging for more.
Because he was nobody’s pet.
Chapter 4
The truck had come out of nowhere—to this day, Kate wasn’t sure it had truly been an accident. One minute she’d been crying as her mother yelled at her for visiting the fortune teller, and the next, a bone-crushing slam threw her against the side window and the car was skidding off the road.
She turned over in her sleep, an attempt to stop the nightmare.
She knew she’d died that night, no matter what any doctor told her. She should’ve been covered with third-degree burns. At the very least, she should’ve been injured somehow, covered in cuts and bruises, if nothing else.
She’d been mainly fine, even though they kept her in the hospital for several days under observation. They were obviously confused as well as to how she remained unscathed except for intermittent back pain, although as the days went by and she remained in stable condition, they began to grow tired of her constant queries.
“You were thrown from the car, Kate—it’s a miracle,” the doctors and police told her, over and over.
She stopped asking about everything when one day she looked in the mirror and saw the unexplained handprint on her lower back that looked like a raised red brand on her skin.
Dire Wants Page 4
