by Tyler, J. D.
Tilting his face up, he closed his eyes, released his hold over the beast, and let the change overtake him. Muscle and bone reshaped, and he dropped to all fours as his thick coat emerged. The process wasn’t without some pain in his joints and in his injured leg, but was nothing like the agony they’d endured five years ago, when the animal within was new and they’d fought it with all their power. Resisting had made it worse and was a mistake each of them had quickly learned not to make.
Embracing their feral nature had brought heartache in spades, closed the door on their old lives forever. But it also included a few benefits, and this was one of the best—to run with the night, hunt and kill. To feast and then howl to the heavens, though whether in triumph or loneliness he wasn’t always sure. To simply be and leave human worries behind, if only for a while.
He ran, relishing the earth under his paws, the wind in his face. Thankfully, his injury was lessened, as usual, in wolf form, and he was able to enjoy his run. After a while he scented a rabbit and chased it from a cozy burrow near a fallen log, knowing it didn’t stand a chance. The need to taste fresh meat, savor the sweet juices, ruled his canine heart and mind.
Until he held the writhing creature down with massive paws and it shrieked in terror, long and loud. Many nights in the past he’d hunted and not been affected by the cries of his prey. The weak fed the strong, and that was the way of the entire world. One slice of his claws, one snap of jaws, and the struggle would be over, the larger beast sustained. Why should the rabbit’s valiant will to survive affect his human half tonight?
Slowly, he eased off the rabbit and it wriggled free, gave a leap, and shot into the underbrush. His wolf whined at his inexplicable actions, giving up a hard-won snack. Maybe he’d had enough killing for one night.
Spinning, he ran again, heading for a stream about a mile from the compound that he liked to visit. The spot was secluded, on Institute property, and relatively safe even at this distance from the main building. Even if the most die-hard camper or hunter ventured this far into the wilderness, they’d be brought up short by a highsecurity fence topped with razor wire. Should anyone be stupid enough to try to breach it, silent alarms would notify the team as to the location of the would-be intruder and he would be dealt with.
Reaching his destination, he padded to the bank’s edge, stuck his nose in the frigid water, and drank. When he’d had his fill, he raised his head, scented the air to make certain none of his team was nearby. Satisfied, he shifted and stood.
Damn, he’d hoped the run would not only clear his head, but rid him of the rampant arousal jutting from between his thighs. If anything, the freedom of his run had only made it worse. Scowling down at his current problem, he wondered at its stubborn insistence. He normally had complete control over his body, but ever since he’d scented her it was as though his libido had gone bonkers.
I sleep naked.
Right this minute, Kira was probably sprawled in crisp sheets, sleeping like a fair angel, long dusky lashes curled against porcelain cheeks. Toned limbs tangled with white cotton, sleek back dipping to the curve of a small, tight rear.
“Shit.”
Groaning in frustration, he found a soft, spongy spot a few feet from the stream’s edge and lowered himself to the ground. On his back, he cupped his balls, already high and tight. This wasn’t going to take long.
Grasping his cock, he swiped a thumb over the head, smearing the oozing precum around. Conjuring a delicious fantasy, he imagined Kira half on her stomach, peaceful in sleep. He’d move the sheet aside, exposing her gorgeous little ass—and he had no doubt she’d be beautiful all over—and spread her legs. He’d nuzzle her sex, lick and probe, waking her slowly. Half-awake, she’d moan and beg for more.
He’d give her what she asked for, making her writhe as his tongue explored the dewy folds, teased and sampled the tiny clit. Nearly driven out of her mind, she’d get on her hands and knees, begging to be taken. And he’d gladly oblige, putting the head of his cock to her entrance and pushing home. He’d slide deep, show her the pleasures of being mounted and taken by something more than human. Something primal.
“God, yes.”
Fisting his rod, he stroked, gripping hard for that extra bit of rough. He’d do her just like that, sliding deep, faster and faster until he was pounding hard. Her cries would blister his ears, bring his beast forth with wild joy. When he could hold back no more, he would drape himself over her, thrust one final time, pump his seed into her womb . . .
And sink his canines deep into her throat. Claim her.
Mine! My mate.
“Ahh, fuuuck!”
He shot hard, cum painting his belly and chest in creamy ropes. Again and again he spurted until his hand and torso were slick and he lay spent, out of breath. God, that was so good, fantasy or not. The real deal would likely kill him.
Gradually his scattered brain began to collect itself and a chill settled over him that had nothing to do with his nakedness and the cool night air. What had he called her?
My mate.
No. Uh-uh. No goddamned way was that ever going to happen. He liked his life the way it had been for the last several years—footloose and able to scratch his itch with a willing female whenever the need became too great to ignore. Alexa might not appeal anymore, and Vegas was a long commute anyway, but there was always Jacee, the sexy bartender at the Cross-eyed Grizzly. The cozy hangout was only a thirty-minute drive into Cody, the town nearest the Institute. Jacee didn’t mind being his occasional booty call.
Only because she’s as lonely as you are, his conscience nagged. She deserves better.
Didn’t matter. Guys like him had to settle for what they could get out of life, and for Jaxon, that meant being content with his brothers. Losing himself in a pair of arms once in a while. Fighting the supernatural predators he’d never dreamed existed before they’d been turned.
Surviving one more day.
His life could never include a Bondmate. He wouldn’t open himself to that awful rejection and hurt again, not to mention endangering his brothers’ lives a second time. Never.
Shaking off those grim thoughts, he rose and washed himself off in the chilly stream. Then shifted and ran.
From here to the equator wouldn’t be far enough.
Kira rolled over, stretched, and opened her eyes, squinting against the bright sunlight filtering through the blinds. The dull throb at her temples attested to how little sleep she’d gotten. A strange place, surrounded by strange people who were like beings from the Syfy channel, wasn’t conducive to peaceful slumber.
Added to that was the mournful howling that gave her goose bumps and had her pulling the covers over her head. Didn’t these guys ever sleep? Or were those real wolves doing the serenade? All night, she half-expected Jason Hawes and Grant Wilson to burst into her room carrying thermal cameras and EVP recorders, completing her little side trip to Paranormals-R-Us.
And then there were the renegade thoughts of Jaxon, ones that made her shivery in a good way. Sure, she’d been scared as hell and more than a little freaked out to see a man morph into a wolf and race from the darkness. Tear apart the two guys trying to kill her, and with little effort. But the jerks with the guns had frightened her more, and truth be told, she’d sensed, deep down, that the wolf meant her no harm.
What had he said? That he and his friends weren’t the ones she had to worry about.
So far that appeared to be the truth. He’d rushed to her defense like her personal avenger, and had continued to protect her even from his friends. She wondered if he realized he’d constantly put his body between them and her, his glare promising trouble for anyone who dared to touch her.
Okay, am I being a bit too romantic here, reading more into his actions than was really there? Maybe. But he had protected her.
Looked damned fine doing it, too. All those rippling muscles, that soul patch, spiky black hair, and the wicked ear piercings lending the man that slight air of irreverence. Con
fidence. Here was a guy who knew how to handle his business.
She’d love to know whether he could handle himself as well in bed as he could out of it.
“Right. He’s probably got a string of women who can answer that question.” And why should that make her cranky? Sitting up with an irritable sigh, she got her bearings and then made her way into the bathroom, wincing as she glanced in the mirror. “Talk about ghouls,” she muttered, making a face at herself. The mug staring back at her would no doubt make the wolf run for the hills, tail between his legs. Time for a shower, and coffee. In that order.
Before she could turn on the water, a firm rap caught her ear. Heading out, she passed through the bedroom and snagged the T-shirt Jaxon had brought, hauling it over her head. As she went into the living area the knock came again.
Hurrying to the door, she peered through the peephole to see a woman standing in the hallway. Sliding the bolt, she opened up and gave the gorgeous brunette on the threshold a tentative smile.
“Hello. I’m Kira Locke.”
“And I’m the welcoming committee,” the woman said warmly, holding up a stack of clothes. “I’m guessing you’d like something to wear.”
“Yes, thank you! Come in.” Stepping aside, she let in her visitor. Though technically, she was the visitor here, she reminded herself.
The brunette laid the clothes on the sofa and turned to Kira. “I hope these fit well enough to get you through a day or two. I’m taller and not nearly as slender as you, so you might have to roll up the jeans and wear a belt. Oh, I’m Mackenzie Grant,” she said, holding out her hand.
Kira shook, liking her already. “Jaxon told me about you. You’re one of the doctors, correct?”
“That’s right. I’m a psychologist, though I’m not called on much to use that training anymore. At least not like I was in the beginning, when the men had so much trouble adjusting. Now I’m a scientist and parapsychologist here at the Institute. I study paranormal phenomena, particularly how the changes have affected our Alpha Pack men or will affect them in the future.” She blushed. “I’m sorry. I get carried away by my subject, especially since I rarely have anyone new to discuss it with.”
Kira grinned. “No biggie. I can see why you’d be excited, Dr. Grant. I can’t imagine what it must be like to be on the leading edge of such a fantastic field of study and have to keep it a secret from the outside world.”
“It’s hell,” she agreed. “And please, call me Mac. Everyone else does.”
“Okay . . . Mac.” Kira paused, curious. “Please, if this is none of my business just say so, but . . . are you a shifter, too?”
The doc shook her head. “No, I’m fully human. I was brought in by my father to help launch the Alpha Project more than five years ago, after the SEAL team was attacked in Afghanistan and turned. He was the team’s CO and recommended me to come in and counsel them, and that led to what I’m doing now. When the compound was completed, I just stayed on and never left.”
“Sounds like a dream job, studying real-life paranormal stuff and getting paid.”
“It is, but it can be frightening, too. There’s so much out there that we believed to be fairy tales, and—Well, enough of that for the moment,” she said, a bit too brightly. “You must be starved.”
So much out there. Like what, besides wolf shifters? Her skin prickled. “I could eat. I need a shower first, though.”
“Take your time. Breakfast is served at seven, but there will be plenty of food if you’re later than that. You don’t have to worry about a schedule, at least not until we figure out what you’ll be doing, so it’s all good.”
All good. Right. Kira almost laughed at the absurdity.
“I—Thanks.”
“See you soon. And try not to worry, okay? You’re safe here.”
“That’s what Jaxon said.”
Mac cocked her head. “Well, he’s right. None of our guys will let anything happen to you. You can trust any of them with your life.”
“I got the demonstration on that one in living color. Maybe I can return the favor someday.”
The other woman winked and headed for the door. “Good luck with that. They’re as übermacho as men come.”
After Mac left, Kira availed herself of the shower, relishing the hot water on sore muscles that were making themselves known. Her back was especially tender, she supposed from the goon slamming her against the car last night.
Well, he’d paid for it. Both had. Remembering the huge wolf ripping out their throats, she shivered despite the steamy spray.
Out of the shower, she found a fluffy towel in the cabinet and dried off. Frowning, she realized she had no way to comb or dry her hair and cursed herself for not thinking of it when Mac was here. The friendly woman probably would’ve loaned her a brush, dryer, and even a little makeup if she’d thought to ask. Not that she normally wore much, but she wasn’t thrilled about going to sit and eat among a roomful of hotties, sporting wet hair and looking like an extra from Dawn of the Dead.
“Fantastic.”
After using the towel to dry her hair the best she could, she finger-combed to remove most of the tangles and then gave up. Next came the jeans, which were too big in the waist and about four inches too long. To keep from stepping on them, she rolled them up, making cuffs. Then came the red T-shirt, which was also too big, but at least helped hide the fact that she was about to lose the jeans.
Looking at herself in the dresser mirror, she slumped in dejection. For today, it would have to do. Mac wasn’t a big woman at all; Kira was just small. Always had been, which was why she’d never been able to swap clothes with her girlfriends in high school.
“I look like a refugee.” Which was pretty accurate.
After slipping on a clean pair of socks and her own tennis shoes, she grabbed her purse and made certain the containers were still inside. Reassured, she slung the straps over her shoulder and headed out. Once in the corridor, she also realized she hadn’t asked for directions to the dining room. Hadn’t Jax taken her through it last night? She’d been so wiped, she’d hardly noticed, and had no clue where it was located.
She did remember that Mac’s place was next to hers. She knocked and waited. No answer. Biting her lip, she stared across the hall to the door Jax had said belonged to him. Might as well give it a try.
But he wasn’t there, either. Resigned to finding her way alone, she started down the hallway. At the T-shaped intersection, she hesitated. Had they come from the right or left last night? Taking a chance, she went right.
It was the wrong direction, of course. She made that discovery when she ended up taking a couple of turns and going through a set of double doors to find herself in what appeared to be a waiting room. There were cushioned vinyl chairs and a desk with no receptionist. Probably at breakfast with everyone else, since it wasn’t like this was a public facility where they’d be expecting someone. Backtracking, she made the opposite turns that would lead back to the hallway where her room was located. Or so she thought.
“Crap, where the heck am I?”
A minute later, she found herself in another corridor, this one not as brightly lit as the others. Doors lined each side of the hall, each one made of dark, heavy metal with a single window held in place by heavy rivets. Moving close, she inspected the first one, noting the Plexiglas was two or three layers thick.
Beyond the window was a cell. There was nothing else the space could be, furnished with little but a bed, a sink, and a toilet.
“What is this place?” she wondered aloud. In answer, a low, menacing growl echoed down the tunnel, causing her to jump. Hand on her galloping chest, she inched forward, drawn to the source despite common sense shouting at her to run.
As she padded down the right-hand side, she discovered the culprit in the second cell. She drew in a breath to see a black wolf, one almost as big as Jax, pacing the width of the space—as much as the heavy chain on the end of the metal collar would allow. Back and forth, like an anim
al at the zoo, and she had the impression he was slowly going out of his mind.
Suddenly he stopped, whirled, and raised his head, staring straight at her through the little window. His eyes glittered, though what color they were she couldn’t tell. She saw only impotent rage a second before he launched himself at the door, lips pulled back in a feral snarl, fangs white as snow against his dark fur.
She jumped back in reflex but the chain held, and the wolf was jerked off his feet by his own speed and force. He fell, rolled to his stomach, and coughed. Then he leaped up and ran again, to the same result. Tears pricked her eyes and she moved on, out of sight. Poor thing. If he couldn’t see her, he’d eventually stop. She hoped.
The next cell, not surprisingly, was empty. Feral creatures probably shouldn’t be kept side by side, even though they were surrounded by some sort of thick metal for the walls, floor, and ceiling.
In the fourth cell, she saw something really massive curled on the bed, so heavy the mattress sagged under its weight. Squinting, she saw that it was coiled, its sleek head resting on a pillow, seemingly sound asleep. Now, why on earth would they have jailed a snake? Even if it was as big as a frigging Volkswagen. Perplexed, she moved on, thankful the growling from inmate number one had ceased.
Cell number six, however, provided the secondbiggest shock since her life had gone headfirst down the rabbit hole. She blinked to be sure of what she was seeing. A humanoid creature sat on his bed. Humanoid because . . .
Jesus, he had wings. Beautiful, deep blue wings matching waist-length hair that was no doubt glorious when the tresses were clean. Though the wings were drawn up against his back, the longest feathers trailed like silk across the bare mattress behind him. He was naked and very male, with skin that gleamed like snow. He was no doubt a fine specimen when in full health, but his prominent ribs and collarbones testified to the lack of proper nourishment.
The winged man was rocking, arms wrapped around his middle, staring at the opposite wall at nothing. Almond-shaped eyes fringed with dark lashes were drowning in despair and tears coursed down lean cheeks. Like the wolf, he wore a metal collar but there was no chain. Curiously, only his wrists were bound in irons, and his hands were encased in some sort of silvery mesh gloves.
