Losing Myself in You
By Heather C. Myers
Text Copyright © 2014 Heather C. Myers
All Rights Reserved
To Frank,
The newest chapter in our life starts TODAY and it’s MAGICAL
I wouldn’t want to be here with anyone else but YOU
* * *
Chapter 1
For going on a new mission that involved one of the biggest werewolf packs in all of Somerset, Bridgette Barker was remarkably calm. Currently, she sat in the back of a black Ferrari, driven by one of their associates, Kendall Menton, her ice-blue eyes glancing out the window as he briefed her on what this particular mission entailed. Apparently, members high up in ranking in the Sterling pack were accused of embezzlement of various businesses they were associated with, as well as turning humans into werewolves without their consent.
Bridgette worked for the NDS – Nocturnal Defense Society – a government agency that regulated equal treatment among humans, werewolves, and vampires. She loved her job, especially when she brought someone – regardless of who that was and what race they were from – to justice.
“The target is Marcus Sterling,” Clive Shereen, another associate sitting next to her in the back, continued, causing Bridgette to rip her eyes away from the scenery that encased the outskirts of Somerset. The trees cast unforgiving shadows in the darkness, and not even the glow from the moon could ease them up.
“The Alpha?” she asked, furrowing her brow together.
Clive gave her a mischievous grin. “Ah, I see you are paying attention, my love,” he chided in what was supposed to be a charming English accent. It was rich and clear, like a church bell or a car alarm.
“Cut the crap, Shereen,” she said, in no mood for his flirting. “I didn’t realize Sterling himself was up on these charges.”
Clive flipped through the sheets of paper in the manila folder currently residing in his lap. He glanced over at Bridgette from his seat in the back and nodded his head, handing her a picture of the wolf in question.
“Apparently, he’s the one giving the orders,” Kendall said.
Bridgette reached over to the compartment embedded in the driver’s seat, and pulled down a lever that caused a flat tool case to spring down. In it, there were various tools and contraptions, including a hammer, screwdriver, anything one might need to fix something when they were in a bind. Clive liked to work with his hands – in more ways than one, he would keep saying with a wink – and always kept at least three different kits somewhere in his car. He had the seats especially designed for this purpose. To Bridgette, it came off as rather flamboyant, but every now and then, like tonight, it came in handy. She grabbed a mini-flashlight and clicked it on so she could see the photos more closely. Tugging on her bottom lip, her eyes took in the target. On the bottom of the photo, a name was scrawled in Kendall's swirly handwriting: Marcus Sterling. He stood in front of his grandiose manor, his hands clenched into fists at his side, as though he was trying to control his anger. He appeared tall, probably a couple of inches past six feet, and he had incredibly broad shoulders. In fact, he was really strong, or, at least, looked as such. He had thick, chestnut brown hair that was styled sort of like Elvis Presley's hair, except it was messier and lacked gel. His sideburns actually crawled down the side of his face until they reached the beginnings of his chin, where a deep imprint rested. His lips were thin, pulled into a scowl, and his nostrils were flared as his hazel eyes narrowed at something off screen.
What was he looking at? she silently wondered, twirling the end of her ponytail around her index finger.
He was wearing what appeared to be a white wife beater underneath a leather jacket with two thick yellow racing stripes heading horizontally across it. Over the wife beater and under the jacket was a brown vest, fitting snuggly on his broad frame. Jeans occupied the lower half of him, while a brown belt wrapped around his waist and interlocked with a golden belt buckle resembling those that were worn by cowboys from the eighteen hundreds. And finally, on his feet, looked to be very worn brown boots.
He looked… like a beast, Bridgette finally realized. Even though he was in the forest like any lumberjack might have been, it was easy to tell what his true origins were. He looked wolfish, ready to pounce at the photographer. He must not like taking pictures.
Bridgette flipped to the next picture. This one was older, taken from a different time. The edges were turning yellow, and the corners were bent. The picture was of a family painting, probably still in the Sterling family today. Like vampires, werewolves were immortal. However, a shot to the heart with a silver bullet would kill them instantly. It wasn’t uncommon to find members of a pack who have lived in Somerset, since the town was founded in the early eighteenth century. Judging by this photograph of a painting, Bridgette deduced that the Sterling family took shape around the same time as Somerset itself.
The painting was of four people – a husband, a wife, and two boys. Bridgette could easily deduce who Marcus was, thanks to his unruly hair and the perpetual scowl on his face. Next to him, a few inches shorter, was another boy, with auburn hair and clear, blue eyes. Unlike Marcus, he looked much more formal, with an ability to hold himself like he belonged to a royal family. And, being born into an Alpha family, he really was. His shoulders were rolled back, his chin was tilted up, and he was looking the artist dead in the eye. Bridgette had to refrain from flinching.
“His family?” she asked, looking over at Clive.
He nodded, though his black hair still somehow refrained from falling in his face. “His brother, Gerard Sterling. The Beta.”
“Is he part of this?”
“He left the pack at least seven years ago,” Kendall responded from the driver’s seat. “Rumor has it that he didn’t like being second to his brother.”
“Why? I thought that was wolf tradition, and all wolves respected it.”
“There has always been sibling rivalry between the two,” Clive said, taking the picture from Bridgette’s hand so he could look at it himself. He let his fingertips brush her skin as he did so. “They both fought in wars together, beginning with the American Revolution. Gerard always outranked Marcus.”
“Just not where it mattered,” Bridgette guessed.
“Exactly.” He handed the picture back to her. “So he left on some mission of his own. No one really knows why, but to answer your question, no, he’s not thought to be involved.”
“The only thing we know of him is that he’s very pro-wolf,” Kendall said, pushing the brakes gently to make a left turn down a dirt path. “We have pictures of him at rallies promoting werewolfism as the right species, the one other species should aspire to be.”
“Good thing he’s not around, then,” Bridgette murmured.
“Exactly.”
“Parents?” She turned to look at Clive.
“Killed by a hunter about a hundred years ago,” he explained. “The guy thought he could make money on the mother’s fur – they were both wolves at the time – and killed her instantly with a silver bullet. Father attacked him, got him pretty good, until the guy killed him too.”
Bridgette pressed her lips into a thin line. The story almost reminded her of how her mother died. A vampire had drained her when she was out shopping for groceries. Bridgette had been eleven. He just took her without asking, and then left her body there for everyone to see. It was why she was so intent to be an NDS agent. To extract justice in a world where vampires and werewolves roamed the earth, where humans weren’t at the top of the food chain anymore. She wasn’t looking for revenge, per se, but she wanted to ensure such a thing was never allowed to happen again with repercussion. The vamp had never been caught, either.
&nbs
p; Bridgette was still bitter about it.
“We also want a Ryan Carlyle and a Brandon Simon,” Clive continued as he handed Bridgette more pictures. “They’re the ringleaders of the embezzlement. There’s a list of their various cohorts, too, but Carlyle, Simon, and Sterling are who we want.”
Bridgette nodded her head as her eyes skimmed the text, took in the information, processed it. Clive continued to talk, but Bridgette’s mind was already planning the attack. Her eyes went back to the window. It was too dark to make out the forestry, which was a shame because it really was beautiful, especially in the winter covered in snow. It was Bridgette’s favorite place to be, because the city tended to get overwhelming at times. Now, it was intimidating, foreboding, warning Bridgette away from their intended destination. Why, she couldn’t be sure. She had always been a top agent, and wasn’t easily frightened. But something about this mission in particular had her senses on high alert, like something life-altering was about to take place.
"We're here," Kendall announced in her usual, soft-spoken voice. She turned around to glance at Bridgette, her grey eyes pooling with concern. "Are you sure you're going to be all right, Bridge? This isn't some wolf, this is the Marcua Sterling."
If it had been anyone else voicing their concern, Bridgette would have been offended. But Kendall was her friend and was just looking out for her well-being.
"I'll be fine, Kendall," Bridgette assured her. "I'll have the team with me. I'll be okay." She flashed a confident grin and Kendall seemed to relax a bit.
With that, she and Clive exited the car, leaving Kendall alone in the vehicle. Kendall was a driver, a transporter. She didn't exactly fight, but she provided transportation to and from a destination. She was the fastest driver Bridgette knew, and she trusted Kendall immensely. Bridgette watched as Kendall drove away until the black car blended itself in with its environment.
When she was gone, Bridgette surveyed the square mansion with sharp eyes from her position. She and Clive were still a ways away from the manor, but she knew the other two members of their team were already in position on the opposite side, doing their own sweep of the grounds. It was necessary to do as much intel as possible before making their presence known, especially since werewolves had heightened senses. She could hear someone stepping on tree branches as they circled the property – a guard no doubt. And a lone owl pierced the night with its melancholy cry. There were no trees directly surrounding the place, which allowed the moon to hang low and cast its light on the manor. It was spooky, Bridgette realized, and a shiver slid down her spine.
The manor was white with three stories. Thick pillars surrounded a wooden porch, and Bridgette noticed that every single window was closed. She cocked her head to the side, looking for any kind of entrance besides the door. If her mother was still alive, she probably would have reprimanded Bridgette for not fully appreciating the architecture of the house. If she had to guess, it was built in the early eighteen hundreds, maybe even earlier.
But it wasn't her place to guess. She needed to get this Marcus Sterling, and she needed to get him now.
* * *
Chapter 2
* * *
He could smell her even before she entered his home. Her scent was heavy, alluring, and sensual, with the faintest hint of vanilla embedded into her own feminine musk. It was almost as though she was drawing him to her, by the way of smell rather than sight.
Oddly enough, Marcus Sterling did not appear to be upset at the fact that people – humans – were trespassing in his home. Though he had always been quite protective of his territory and his pack, he wasn't too worried about what may or may not happen concerning these… people. He didn't see them as any sort of threat. If anything, he saw them as obnoxious flies he couldn't quite get rid of, but would, sooner or later.
It was her that he was interested in. He clenched his jaw as her scent stimulated his senses, and for a moment, he closed his eyes, allowing himself to momentarily succumb to her wiles. He had never felt that way about any other woman he had come in contact with, and he had yet to even see her face.
Not yet, at least.
He cocked his head to the side as his hazel eyes looked down at the wooden floor beneath his booted feet. He could literally follow their transparent presence with his eyes. Currently, they were in the mansion's built-in basement. This was where the pack kept anyone going through the change – a painful process, but necessary nonetheless. It was one of the most comfortable rooms in the mansion, furnished with lush accessories, stocked with food, and nurses available at every hour.
Marcus Sterling had a ruthless reputation – he had to be, as the Alpha male of his pack. That didn’t mean, however, that he was entirely made of steel. Family was incredibly important to werewolves, and even more so to Marcus himself. If somebody had chosen a mate that needed to go through the change, he wanted them to be as comfortable as possible. As of yet, no vampire polluted the pure wolf genes, and Marcus was thankful for that. But he had no problems with humans deciding to become one of them; he thought they were naïve, of course, but if the Elders approved of them, then it wasn't exactly in his power to refuse their presence.
But, he, himself, was destined to be with a wolf. As Alpha, he was responsible for keeping his bloodline pure. That meant no breeding with humans, no changing humans to be werewolves, and certainly no vampires. At least, that was what tradition stated, and every Alpha before him did not go against tradition. He hadn't exactly found the woman he wanted to settle down and breed with, but he wasn't too worried. In fact, he honestly didn't want to feel such pressures when it concerned the opposite sex. He was sure she was out there somewhere, and when he found her, he would worry about it then.
Now, he had other things to take care of, such as the people trying to break into his home. Burglars were rare because everyone in Somerset knew who lived at this particular mansion, which meant everyone knew not to fuck with Marcus's property. Either these people were ignorant, or they were there for a purpose. Regardless, he had to put a stop to it before things got out of hand.
At that moment, a knock snapped him out of his thoughts.
"Enter," he commanded.
A familiar young woman, Abigail Bowmen, walked through the door. Fear was clearly written in her dark brown eyes as she regarded Marcus quite intently.
"Intruders," she said in a voice just above a whisper. "In the basement."
Marcus nodded cryptically. "I know," he told her. His voice was firm, his face, impassive. "Have Ryan and Brandon get them. But, Abigail, make it clear that they are not to be harmed. Not until I see them for myself. Have them wait for my command."
She nodded in understanding before disappearing behind the door and shutting it behind her.
Now all he had to do was wait.
It didn't take long for someone to report that all the trespassers had been captured, and were currently being held in the ballroom of the mansion. Marcus took his time before he left his room, slipping on his favorite leather jacket and stomping out a cigar he had been smoking. With every step he took, her scent got stronger.
He had no idea who this woman was, and yet he had to see her. He was intoxicated by her fragrance, and he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
"NDS," a teenage wolf said as Marcus came in contact with the ballroom doors.
"Is everyone alright?" Even though the question itself seemed compassionate, it was firm, as was everything Marcus said or asked. Rare was it to ever detect some other kind of emotion in his low voice.
"Yes," the teenager replied breathlessly. It didn't look as though he had participated in their capture, but had gotten caught up in the excitement of it all. "But she put up quite a fight."
This caused Marcus to pause and raise a brow.
She?
Marcus swallowed and cleared his thoughts before opening the doors and walking through them into the grand ball room. There were four people in total who were all being held by a member of h
is clan, but she was the only one he was interested in. It was quite obvious they were from NDS; their traditional black jumpsuits said enough. But what, exactly, were they doing here?
"What do you want?" he asked in a gravelly voice, his hazel eyes fixed firmly on the young woman.
Surprisingly enough, she matched his gaze with a stare of her own, and from the corner of his eyes he could see her jaw pop, as though she was refraining from saying something.
"We have a warrant for your arrest," one of the other men answered in a feeble voice that the speaker mistook as strong.
"Oh?" This seemed to amuse Marcus, and as a result, he cocked his right brow and the corners of his lips twitched up. "And what is it, exactly, you’re accusing me of?”
"Embezzling," another man – this one with his blonde hair pulled into a ponytail at the nape of his neck, responded, more confidently than the last speaker.
This caused Marcus to tilt his head back and bark out in laughter. How rich, that these humans thought he would waste his efforts and talents on something such as embezzling.
"Let us go," the third man demanded, clearly unafraid of his current predicament. "Let us go this instant! Do you realize you're just hurting yourself by keeping us imprisoned here? New charges will be brought against you and the members of your clan!"
"Enough," Marcus snapped, throwing a dangerous gaze at Ponytail who had spoken. "I do not intend to keep you here, human. In fact, I fully intend to let you go." A dark smile touched his lips, and he glanced over at Ryan, his second in command while Gerard was away. "Bring them upstairs, to the yard."
"Here's the game," Marcus said as he paced in front of his captives. "I'm going to give each of you a two minute head start. If the four of you can escape without one of us capturing you, you're free to go, but you must reach the edge of the property in time. If you don't… well, I can't always control my pack, and they may not be able to control themselves." He paused and looked directly into the young woman's eyes. Even with the threat of death hanging in the air, she still managed to put on an indifferent face. This fact amused him.
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