by Moira Rogers
It would explain the awkward tension in his eyes whenever the subject of Guides being involved with their Initiates came up. “Maybe. I don’t know. I guess it depends on how obvious it is. I mean… God, maybe I don’t want to know, but… Is it just my heart or are there other things you can…sense?”
They’d had plenty of blunt conversations about sex over the years, but the tops of his ears turned as red as his hair. “Oh, there’s plenty of stuff. We don’t only have good ears, Brynn. Our sense of smell is superhuman too.”
Which was pretty much what she hadn’t wanted to hear. “Well, shit. So much for subtle.”
“Uh-huh. There’s a reason I never went home alone if I didn’t want to.”
She supposed knowing exactly which women would respond well to some judicious flirting made picking up dates laughably easy. Brynn sighed and resisted the temptation to glance out the window again. “Fine. So Joe knows I want in his pants, and so do you. So does everyone in this godforsaken town, I guess. This sucks.”
Dylan arched an eyebrow. “Hey, you’re the one who wants to stay here.”
“I only want to stay here if I get superpowers like the rest of you.”
“That doesn’t stop everyone else from being in your business. Just lets you get up in theirs too.” He broke off a corner of her abandoned toaster pastry and popped it in his mouth. “Can you stand knowing, for instance, that your sister and Keith like to have sex in the morning? A lot?”
“I already know that,” she retorted. Then she considered the possibility that a pillow over her ears might not help once she had superhearing. “Though, on second thought…”
“Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide,” he murmured. “Something to consider.”
Brynn rolled her eyes. “No, not really. Not if the alternative is being too dead to care that my sister’s banging a hot werewolf.”
“Your sister is a hot werewolf, and you will be, too, if you go through with this. Has that sunk in yet? You’ll be a werewolf, Brynn.”
“I know.” She pushed off the counter and reclaimed her junk food. “Trust me, Dylan. I’ve thought about it a lot. Every damn time someone attacks us.”
“Have you talked to Gavin?”
“No. There hasn’t been time, and with Richard…” She fought another stab of guilt as she sank into her chair. “God. Abby’s going to feel like it’s her fault.”
“Don’t think there’s any way around that,” he told her slowly.
“Well maybe there should be.” It came out harsher than she intended, riding on a wave of frustrated temper. “Shouldn’t there be a limit to universal guilt, or are alpha werewolves immune?”
He grimaced and pushed away the rest of the pastry. “If you manage to answer that question, Brynn, let me know.”
The sound of heavy boots on the steps forestalled her answer. Joe had obviously reached his time limit for how long he could go without checking in on her. At least he has more self-restraint than Abby. Though if he comes in that back door shirtless…
He stomped through the door and draped his discarded shirt over the back of a chair. “How’s it going, Dylan?”
“Not bad, Joe.” He was fighting laughter…and losing.
Brynn watched the muscles of Joe’s back flex as he pulled open a cabinet and reached for a glass. A tattoo she hadn’t seen before decorated one arm, something that reminded her vaguely of a military symbol. It only accented the hard muscles of his upper arm, and she imagined her appreciation of said muscles was painfully obvious to both men.
One look at Dylan confirmed it. She rewarded his uplifted eyebrows with a dark scowl and shoved her chair back from the table. “I’m going to go take a nap. I’m beat.”
“Want me to wake you when it’s time to eat?” Joe asked as he tugged open the refrigerator door.
Not unless you’ve put some goddamned clothes on first. She fought another wave of purely inappropriate desire and fought not to grind her teeth in frustration. “Sure. Thanks, Joe.”
Dylan cleared his throat. “I’ve got a thing, so I’m going to go. See you, Joe.”
“Later, Gennaro.”
Brynn watched Dylan flee with another spike of annoyance that overcame her embarrassment. When the door clicked shut behind him, she spun and glared at Joe. “Are you doing this on purpose?”
He pulled a head of lettuce from the crisper. “Doing what?”
Either he was amazingly oblivious, or he was used to women getting hot and bothered every time he walked into a room. If he’s walking in sweaty and shirtless, I suppose that’s a distinct possibility. Brynn forced herself to take a breath, then let it out in a rush. “Just…Jesus Christ, Joe. I’m not sure how many more stops my emotional rollercoaster can take, so put your clothes back on, would you?”
He reached for his shirt. “Didn’t mean to offend.”
The refusal to acknowledge her none-too-subtle arousal forced her temper higher. “Do I look offended?”
“You look like you can’t decide whether to kiss me or kill me.” His grin was lazy, almost challenging. “Don’t worry. I have that effect on women a lot.”
Pegging him in the head with something heavy might have seemed mighty appealing, but Brynn settled for a cutting glare and a judicious retreat.
It wasn’t until she was in the bedroom with the door shut safely behind her that she realized Joe had neatly maneuvered her back to solid ground, to a place where there were emotions other than fear and helplessness. Maybe not useful emotions…
But it’s something.
*
The door shut softly behind Joe, and the porch creaked as Keith moved to stand next to him. His friend held out an opened bottle of beer. “Brynn and Abby are talking to their brother’s roommate about funeral arrangements. He doesn’t really get why they can’t come out there, but he’s rolling with it, I guess.”
Joe accepted the bottle and stared into it. “Did they decide on cremation?”
“I think so.” Keith drained half his beer and closed his eyes. “It’s killing Abby not to be there to handle it.”
“That’s understandable.” Abby had been far closer to Richard’s age, whereas Brynn had barely known him. “I think what upsets Brynn the most is that she’s not as upset as Abby.”
“She was about ten years old when Richard left for college. I got the impression she didn’t see much of him after that, not even when their parents died. He was making too much money where he was, or something like that. Sent home checks, but otherwise it was Abby trying to make a home for both of them.”
“It’s a mess, Keith. Start to finish.”
Keith thunked his beer bottle on the railing so hard the glass cracked. “I’m worried, Joe. I am seriously fucking worried. Alan Matthews is waging goddamned psychological warfare against Abby, and I can’t protect her. I can’t do anything.”
And he would keep trying to take Brynn away from Abby. The knowledge burned in Joe’s gut, a knot no amount of preparation or confidence could dissolve. Matthews seemed willing to send—and sacrifice—a steady stream of his people, and it didn’t take a mathematical genius to know he might get lucky sooner or later.
But Joe had known Keith for years, and one look told him his friend was remarkably close to the edge. So he quelled the angry, protective worry. “Okay, let’s look at it. What does Abby have left?”
Keith brought the rage and fear back again with one tight, snarled word. “Brynn.”
“Yes, and you.” He waved his bottle at Keith. “That’s what you can do. You keep yourself and Abby safe, and you leave Brynn to me.”
The beer bottle hit the ground and shattered as Keith spun on him. It wasn’t just his friend staring at him now, but a protective, territorial alpha werewolf. When Keith spoke, it was in the quiet, deadly voice that made most people flee in terror. “Leave her to you?”
It took a concerted effort for him not to bristle in challenge. “You’ve got your hands full.”
“And you want your hands
full?”
Joe choked on his beer. “Not exactly how I’d put it, but all right. Do you have a better solution?”
Keith clenched his fists and dragged in a deep breath. When he let it out, he gave Joe a wry smile. “I think that was me losing my fucking shit.”
It was no wonder, what with everything that had happened to Abby and Brynn both. “I get it. A lot of bad stuff has been going down, and the last thing you want is for anyone else to get hurt.”
“You’re not going to hurt her. I know that.” Keith speared him with another of those pointed looks. “Not on purpose, anyway. Just use your brain. Please.”
“I will, I promise.”
Keith opened his mouth but snapped it shut without a word at the sound of soft footsteps inside the house. A few seconds later the door creaked open and Brynn peered out. “Hey.”
Joe’s heart stuttered, skipping a beat before settling into a strong, fast rhythm. He cursed silently, fully aware Keith could hear the frantic pounding of his pulse. “How’s Abby?” How are you?
“All the arrangements are set, but Abby’s…” Her voice hitched. “I think she needs you, Keith.”
Keith nodded and slanted a look at Joe. “Don’t be an idiot, or I’ll shoot you somewhere painful.”
He played it off as a joke out of habit. “Again?”
“Yeah, and this time it’ll be on purpose.”
Brynn’s eyebrows came together as her gaze jumped from Joe to Keith and back. “Do you guys need a moment or something?”
“Nope. Keith has to get inside to Abby.”
Keith turned to look at Brynn. “You can stay here if you want, kiddo.”
“I know.” Brynn’s heart was doing the same thing his had, and Joe could see Keith’s jaw clench as she turned him down with casual words that weren’t casual at all. “It’s okay. Abby needs me gone if she’s going to get it out. Joe was going to give me shooting lessons in the morning, anyway.”
“Okay, then. Joe’s got a walkie at his place. Call if you need anything.”
“I will.” Brynn slipped past Joe and held open the door until Keith grudgingly stepped past her. “Take care of Abby.”
“Of course.” Keith caught Joe’s gaze over her head, the warning clear in his eyes. Keep your hands to yourself.
Joe lifted one hand in a lazy salute and cursed himself all over again when he saw his hand was shaking. “Come on, Brynn. Let’s go.”
She let the door go, and it bumped into Keith’s hip. Keith heaved a sigh and moved back into the house, letting the door whisper shut after him. Brynn raised one eyebrow. “What’s got him pissy?”
He thinks I’m going to take advantage of you and break your heart. Given Joe’s track record with women, it was hard to fault Keith for the assumption. “Nothing. Typical guy bullshit.”
“Uh-huh. Well, if I’d seen that back home, I’d assume you’d made a pass at Keith’s girlfriend in a drunken stupor or something. I’m going to trust that’s not the case, seeing as everyone’s still alive.”
“I haven’t been hitting on your sister.”
“Obviously.” Brynn took the first two steps, then turned to glance at him. “Like I said, everyone’s still alive. You coming?”
Joe set his bottle on the porch railing. “Yeah, sure. We’ve got a lot to cover before you start shooting.”
“I could use something to think about.” She squinted in the direction of the setting sun, which had already dipped below the tree line. “You guys need a path between your place and his so I don’t keep tripping over branches. Though I guess if I’m going wandering in the woods in the dark, it’s good to have the big bad wolf on my side.”
Screw you, Keith. He looped an arm around her shoulders and dropped a kiss to the top of her head. “I’ll clear one after I teach you how to shoot, yeah?”
She made a noncommittal noise, and her galloping heart wasn’t the only proof of her arousal now. A moment later she acknowledged the fact with what he imagined was supposed to be a joke, even if it came out sounding snappish. “If you’re going to do it with an axe and no shirt, don’t invite me.”
He told himself another joke was the easiest way to change the subject. He almost believed it too. “Nah. This time, I think I’ll leave my pants at home.”
“You’re a smartass, Joe Mitchell.” The words were harsh, but her hand found his, clinging to it as if his presence was the only thing keeping her steady.
He held her hand and ignored the feeling of warmth that overwhelmed the constant arousal he felt in her presence. “That may be. But at least I’m a cute smartass.”
“That’d only help if you didn’t know you were a cute smartass.”
“For you, Miss Adler, I’ll fake some modesty.”
Her laughter sounded both relieved and guilty. He tightened his fingers around her hand as she leaned into him, her body soft and warm against his side. “Thank you.”
“Anytime, sweetheart.” He inhaled the scent of her hair and wished like hell he didn’t mean the words quite so sincerely.
*
Hope, already a fleeting, faltering thing, gasped its last breaths as Brynn watched two of Alan’s men drag her sister from the room. Two days of emotional torment were coming to an end now, two days spent listening to her captors describe in loving detail the fate that would befall her as soon as they’d captured her sister.
And Abby had walked into their midst.
Brynn pulled her legs closer to her chest and fought a shiver as Pierce closed the door and turned to smile at her. “Just you and me now, sweetie pie.”
No, no, no… It was the only word left in her mind, a broken litany she couldn’t stop. Her fingers clenched around the torn fabric of her khaki pants, and she jerked her gaze away from him to fix on a broken desk across the room. Pierce loved it when she flinched, and refusing to do so was the only silent defiance she had left.
“The alpha’s going to have fun with your sister,” he murmured as he walked around Brynn in a wide circle. “He likes them like that. Strong. Sure.”
Guilt flooded her, almost strong enough to drown out her terror, but it didn’t last. Blaming herself for this was pointless. Abby had chosen to walk into a trap. It might have made her angry, if only she’d had enough emotion left to feel such things. Now instead of suffering alone, she had to watch her sister break along with her.
Or be used to break her. They’d left her with no illusions as to her relative importance in the grand scheme of things, after all. Brynn was a tool. She was a pawn.
From the way Pierce was looking at her, she was about to be sacrificed.
He knelt in front of her, his smile blossoming into a grin. “She thinks he’s going to let you go, doesn’t she?”
The last time she’d refused to answer him at all, she’d earned a blow that left half her face bruised and aching. “No. She’s not stupid.”
He slapped her anyway, snapping her head to one side, though it hardly seemed to cost him any effort at all. “If she knows he’s keeping you both, why did she come?”
Brynn choked on a pained whimper and fought back tears. “I don’t know.”
He leaned in, his breath hot against her stinging cheek. “She’s not planning some grand escape, is she? That would sincerely fuck up my plans for you, sweetie pie.”
Brynn would have preferred being hit again to listening to the low, pleased cadence of his voice. It was impossible not to flinch now, but she’d already backed against the wall and there was nowhere to go. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything.”
Pierce mocked her as he rose, his fingers freeing the buttons of his shirt as he moved. “I don’t know if I believe you. Then again, I suppose it doesn’t really matter.” His shirt fell open, and he shrugged out of it. “Not much does anymore. It’ll be too late.”
Her first thought was that he meant to rape her. It had been a popular threat over the past two days, delivered by an assortment of men who seemed to be engaged in a competition to see who c
ould get the most terrified reaction out of her. Once she’d stopped reacting at all, most of them had gotten bored.
Not Pierce. The more she refused to respond, the more obsessed he became. But the sick fantasy he whispered in her ear when he had her cornered and sick with dread had nothing to do with sex.
Terror gripped her again, the sort of fear she’d thought beyond her reach. She whimpered and scrambled back until she hit the corner, forgetting that her fear only aroused him. “N-no, you can’t. No one’s supposed to—to do that—”
“Right,” he whispered, kicking off his shoes. “Until he had your sister. And now…he does.” Pierce lowered his hands to his pants.
“No. No.” The frantic, hysterical words sounded far away, and she wondered if they’d finally succeeded in breaking her. I’m scared he’s going to turn me into a werewolf. I am so far past broken…
The door exploded in a shower of splintered wood. A man stepped inside and quickly surveyed the room, a pistol in his lowered hand.
Her attacker spun with a confused noise. Before he could say anything, the man raised his arm and shot him twice in the chest, hesitated for a moment, and fired another round at his head.
Brynn watched as time slowed to a crawl. Pierce hit his knees and toppled over. There was blood everywhere, blood and things that were a lot more disturbing than blood, things she couldn’t think about too closely. Her civilized brain recoiled in horror, but what was left was intense satisfaction. Glee, and a tiny bit of regret that Pierce hadn’t suffered more, hadn’t faced death and been forced to stew in it until it made him ill.
The man at the door stepped forward, and the world snapped back into painful, blinding clarity. He held a finger over his lips and knelt to search through Pierce’s pockets. “My name is Joe. Your sister brought me.”
She tried to think back to what Abby had said. Had there been something about friends? Everything was distorted by that numb detachment she’d cultivated, her only defense against the taunts and threats.
“Joe.” Her lips formed the name, and it felt oddly familiar. She studied his face, the firm, handsome features, the short, messy dark hair and the hazel eyes that were somehow fierce and gentle at the same time. “Joe, you’re here…”
