“Price you pay as the new Alpha Female.”
“I understand all that, but running from the room every time I walk in seems a tad harsh, wouldn’t you say?”
“You do have a point.”
Irene spotted Jack’s bright red Mercedes-Benz but held her friend back before she could head toward it, her eyes locking on the black four-door with dark windows parked right in front of it.
Jackie sniffed the air. “Irene, I smell ti—”
“Hi, Dr. Conridge.”
Irene glanced over her shoulder and carefully pulled her arm from Jackie’s. “Oh. Hello, Jenny.” She turned to face the woman completely. “Do you need help with something?”
The corn-fed Iowan gave that bright smile Irene hated. “You know what I need, don’t ya, professor?”
Irene nodded. “Of course, I do.” She stepped toward the woman and let her take firm hold of her arm while three men, trained killers by the look of them, stepped out of the car and walked toward them. “I have to admit, though, I always thought it was Mark.”
Jenny laughed. “Not nearly smart enough, that one. I’ve got her,” Jenny said in Russian and motioned behind Irene with her head. “Kill her friend.”
Reaching for his gun, one of the men turned but immediately froze. “Where is she?”
Irene didn’t dare show any emotion. She simply stared straight ahead.
“Forget her.” Jenny pushed Irene toward the car. “You’re not going to give us any trouble, are you, Professor?”
Resting her hand against the car door, Irene turned back to Jenny Fairgrove, all-American girl. “Why would I do that?” she flatly asked. “We both know my only emotional investment is in my creations.” She smirked. “For the right price, anyone can have me.”
With a smile, Jenny followed Irene into the car. “Good to know, professor. Because I think you’ll find our people quite accommodating.”
Van went out on the back porch and stared out at the woods. He felt unsettled and had no idea why, but he did know he didn’t like it. His fangs slid out of his gums and his vision changed from that of a human’s to a wolf’s. He watched restless wolves roam Van Holtz territory and he knew the rest of the Pack felt it too. Something wasn’t right. In fact, something was horribly wrong. They just didn’t know what yet.
His sister walked out on the porch and stood next to him.
“Any word from Irene?” he asked.
“Not yet.”
“Jackie?”
“No.”
Van stepped down the stairs, Carrie right beside him.
“What do you need us to do?”
He glanced down at her and said, “I need—”
The distinct, high-pitched howl stopped every wolf in a ten-mile vicinity. It wasn’t a wolf howl. It was jackal.
He didn’t even realize he’d shifted until he looked down and saw his four paws tearing through the darkness, heading for that howl, his Pack right behind him.
The large men in the car jumped and looked out the windows.
“What the hell was that?” one of them asked.
“Jackal,” Irene stated quietly while watching city streets turn to suburb. They weren’t taking her to a main airport but a small airstrip. One built exclusively for private planes.
“Did she just call us jackals?” one of them joked.
Irene grinned, which wiped the smile off the man’s face. “No. I said the howl you heard was jackal.” She looked at Jenny. “They’ll be coming for you.”
Jenny glanced at the men and back at her. She looked terribly concerned that she had a lunatic in the car with her. “The jackals will be coming for me?”
“No. The wolves.”
Jenny sighed. “Why oh why do I always get the nutcases?”
“Oh!” Irene pointed excitedly. “See that spot up there?”
“What about it?”
“That’s where it all started. Where I crossed the Rubicon.”
Exasperated, Jenny snarled, “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“It’s feeding time,” Irene whispered.
“That’s it.” Jenny threw up her hands. “We’re so medicating her.”
Irene heard the high-pitched howl again and she moved, bringing her elbow back and into Jenny’s nose. The crunch of cartilage had never sounded so beautiful before.
Jenny screamed and covered her face, blood flowing from between her fingers. Irene slammed her fist into the balls of the man sitting next to her. He grunted in pain but didn’t pass out as she’d hoped. Instead, his hands cupped his groin but she used the opportunity to reach across the man and fling the door open.
The ground flew by and she quickly calculated the speed at which they were moving, the height of the car, her current weight, the weight of her backpack, and the potential car-to-ground impact.
Adjusting her body twenty-six-point-eight degrees, Irene took a deep breath, hoped for the best, and threw herself out of a moving vehicle.
Eleven
Irene’s body flipped forward several times before landing against the unforgiving road. Gasping, her entire body aching, she lifted her head. It took her a second to realize the fingers of her right hand were numb. Okay, so her calculations were off a smidge. Good thing she was left-handed.
The sound of squealing brakes forced Irene to turn her head. The car had spun around and she knew it would be heading back toward her at any second.
Forcing herself to her feet, Irene stumbled into the woods. She ignored the blistering pain emanating from her wrist and the sticky feel of blood sliding down her face. What concerned her more was the way her vision seemed to be dimming. The last thing she needed now was to black out.
Shaking her head and pushing herself to take each step, Irene kept going, knowing exactly where she needed to be. Exactly where she needed to lead them. It was her only chance and might get her killed in the process. Better to die in her own country, though, than someplace she’d never been before.
They were behind her, closing in fast, although she could hear one of the men telling them not to follow. Irene still had the backpack on and it had become a dead weight. But to take it off now would lose her even more time, so she kept pushing forward.
Her memory steered her, told her where to go. A gift and a curse, her memory. Without it right now, she’d be dead. With it, she might end up slave labor in the Soviet Union. Nice choices.
Irene saw the clearing through the trees and focused her will on making it through those trees to the clearing. She had to.
Big hands grabbed her hair and backpack, yanking her back. Irene swung her arms and slammed her foot into his instep, causing a healthy grunt of pain before he threw her face-first into a tree.
Stunned, Irene used the tree for leverage and maneuvered around it. She stumbled forward, tripped, and hit the ground. But she’d made it to the clearing. She’d crossed the Rubicon.
“You fucking bitch!” Jenny Fairgrove spit at her as she dragged Irene up by her hair. “Where were you running, Professor? Where did you think you’d go? You’ll never get away from us.”
Male hands yanked her from Jenny and Irene waited for it. A slap, a punch. The reminder that they controlled the situation, not her.
Unable to put up much more of a fight, Irene waited. But she knew that if they didn’t knock her out, she’d still fight. She’d fight until they killed her.
Unfortunately that was in her nature too.
Yet the big hands in her hair were the only thing keeping her from falling to the ground.
She looked at the other angry male striding toward her, spitting curses at her in Russian. He was only about five feet from her when they all heard that laugh and he stopped.
Irene grinned. “Welcome to my country, comrade.”
Quickly wiping the blood from her eyes, Irene watched the agent turn toward the sound as one of the Dupris Clan slammed into him, jaws wrapping around his head.
The big Russian screamed, going for his weapon, but h
e never counted on how large the Dupris family and its Clan were. “They breed like rabbits,” Van would always complain. And she’d never been so grateful.
They grabbed hold of parts of that agent he probably didn’t even know he had, and an ugly tug-of-war started. The whole time, as they ripped the flesh from his bones and the limbs from his torso, they laughed—the sound they made when excited.
Clearly they were quite excited.
The other agent raised his gun and tried to pull Irene back into the woods even as he watched the carnage in front of him. But by then the wolves were there, tackling him from behind.
Pushed by the momentum and the fact that he still had her hair, she went with them all, right into the middle of the battlefield. He got off a shot, but a giant gold paw slammed the man’s hand down, crushing it under its weight. The agent’s high-pitched scream so loud it could be heard above the growls, roars, and howling.
Irene untangled the man’s fingers from her hair and pulled herself away. But before she could make a run for it, the barrel of a gun pressed hard against her throat.
“Get up.”
She almost groaned. The third male agent. The driver. She’d forgotten all about him. He dragged her to her feet, spun her around, and wrapped his hand around her throat.
He snarled, his fingers tightening against her neck, his gold eyes reflecting in the dark. “I should kill you now.” And she thought he just might, but he stopped when that angry male face leaned up close to his and growled low and long.
The agent looked over at a very naked Niles Van Holtz. But it was most likely not the nudity that concerned him, but those fangs.
Van didn’t even have to tell the motherfucker to let his female go, he simply knew it was the smart thing to do. Irene stumbled back and Van focused all his attention on the male who didn’t belong in his territory.
“And what are you going to do about it, little doggie?” the male sneered.
Christ, he hated Siberian tigers. Always had. They could be worse than the lions.
But he didn’t have to make the first move. His sister did. Carrie used to date a tiger and she still hated the bastards. She slammed into the back of him as he shifted from human to tiger and Van followed them down. A few more of the Pack joined in. The big bastard had to be topping at least seven hundred pounds and ten feet long once shifted. But then two of the Löwe breeding males grabbed hold.
The fight didn’t last long once the hyena pulled one of the tiger’s legs off. But Van heard the slide of a gun yanked back. He turned and saw the barrel of a .45 aiming right for him, held by a blond piece of ass with what looked to be a shattered nose.
He bared his fangs, ready to go for her throat, but then there was Irene, who he’d ridiculously believed had run home like a frightened girl. Instead, she came up behind the blonde and wrapped her right arm around the woman’s neck, her forearm hard against that slim throat. Her left arm slipped under the blonde’s, lifting it and the gun up while she raised her left hand, showing the other woman the syringe Irene held.
“You want to know what I’m working on, Jenny?” Irene demanded. “Well, here it is!” She slammed the needle into the woman’s jugular and compressed the plunger with a vicious growl worthy of any She-wolf.
Gasping for breath, Irene stumbled back and the blond female dropped to her knees. She yanked the needle out of her neck and stared at it. But within seconds, whatever Irene had used on her went to work, eating through the blonde’s neck and ravaging her face.
The woman’s screams became choked sobs, her skin festering and dissolving right in front of them. Blood no longer kept in by human flesh poured to the ground. And by the time Jenny’s rotting bones hit the dirt…she was long gone.
“What…what did you do?”
Irene opened her eyes. She didn’t know she’d closed them until she opened them. That’s when she realized they were all staring at her.
“Don’t worry,” she said to one of the Pride females. “That was the last of it.” Irene didn’t bother to mention she could easily make it again with a few basic household products and a wad of gum. Nope. Not a good idea to mention that.
Holtz walked up to her, his sister and Jackie right behind him. He stared at her face. “What is it?” he asked softly.
“Broken wrist, I think.”
He winced for her and motioned to a few of the Pack who charged off into the woods. “We’re going to have to take you to the hospital, baby. Our doctor can’t fix this here.”
Irene shrugged, then wished she hadn’t. She again closed her eyes until the nausea brought on by pain passed. “That’s fine.”
“And what about her remains?” Another Pride female demanded. “Our children play here. We hunt here and—”
“What remains?” Irene asked.
She watched them all stare at the spot where Jenny Fairgrove had died such an agonizing death. Not a piece of bone or speck of blood remained.
Which was exactly the reason the Russians wanted it. A nice, clean, efficient way to kill.
“Don’t worry. It leaves no residue, nothing unsafe. Tomorrow there will be flowers on that spot.”
Van grinned as he pushed stray sweaty hairs off her face. “Flowers?”
“Don’t judge.”
“I’m not. It just seems such an ‘Irene’ kind of thing to do.”
Irene glanced at her arm. “I really think I should get this taken care of. The pain is becoming quite unbearable.”
“You’re in unbearable pain right now?” one of the She-wolves asked. Irene hadn’t bothered to learn the Pack members’ names yet.
“Yes,” Irene answered simply. “I’m just not much of a screamer…shut up, Holtz.”
“I didn’t say a thing,” he laughed.
Holtz took hold of her uninjured hand. “Come on, baby. Let’s get you to the hospital.” He easily lifted her into his arms, careful not to jostle her wounded limb.
Never before had Irene felt so safe or cared for. And his body heat soothed her like nothing ever had….
“Irene!”
Irene opened her eyes. “What?”
“Don’t pass out on me, baby. I need you to stay awake.”
Irene didn’t know what he meant until she looked around and realized they were almost back to the house.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. Just keep those pretty blue eyes open.”
She chuckled. “You are the only person I’ve ever met who likes my eyes.”
“I think they’re gorgeous. And what I say is all that matters. Haven’t you learned that yet?”
“Yes, I have. I’ve also caught you chasing your own tail, so excuse me if I’m not ready to sign you up for a think tank just yet.”
He growled when a few of the wolves looked back at them and started laughing. “Is nothing sacred between us?” he demanded. Then he added against her ear, “Besides, it was harassing me again.”
She laughed and felt his smile against her cheek. Yeah, that was definitely one of the things she loved about Holtz…that, in his own way, he was as weird as she was.
Of course, that also meant their children would be absolute freaks.
Van paced the hospital hallway while the doctors worked on her. Since the hospital had a Van Holtz pediatric wing, he had no doubt they’d give Irene only the best care. Still, he wouldn’t feel settled until he saw her. Until he knew she was okay.
“You’re making me nauseous.”
Van ignored his sister and walked back toward the double doors leading to the emergency room.
“Niles Van Holtz, don’t you dare.”
Swinging around, Van stalked back over to his sister.
Irene had passed out on the ride over. Nothing he did could wake her, which really worried him. He knew he couldn’t lose her now. She meant everything to him. Absolutely everything.
Which was why he’d never wanted to fall in love in the first place! And, to be quite honest, he blamed her for his current bout
of unhappiness. How dare she make him fall in love with her! How dare she be so damn cute and adorable and absolutely clueless about anything remotely normal and human so that he had no option but to fall in love with her.
“Stop panting or I’m getting you a dog bowl,” his sister snarled.
The doctors walked out into the hallway and if his sister hadn’t gotten to the men first, he would have tackled the first one he could get his hands on.
“How is she, Dr. Bennet?” she asked while holding Van off.
“She’s actually doing quite well. She informed us of the proper way to put on a cast and we had a nice long debate about whether medication of any kind was necessary for her particular problem.”
At that point, Van stopped fighting his sister and stared at the doctor. “She didn’t.”
“Oh, but she did.”
“So I can assume she’ll be just fine?”
“Oh, that you can. We’ve checked her from top to bottom and performed an MRI.”
“An MRI? Why?”
“Because she had concerns about blood clots.”
“Does she have a blood clot?”
“No.”
“Then why—”
The doctor held his hand up while his colleagues kept their heads down and their laughter in. “Please, Mr. Van Holtz. I believe I’ve had all the questions and unasked-for information that any man can tolerate. We’re going to keep her overnight for observation. Strictly a precaution. Tomorrow…preferably in the morning…you can take her home. Or simply far, far away.”
There were more snorts from aborted laughter as the other doctors began to move away and Van nodded his head. “I understand.”
“Good. Now give them a few minutes to get her into a room and then you can see her. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go far, far away.”
The doctor walked off and Van looked down at his sister. She gave him what he now knew to be the Van Holtz smirk. “And you were worried.”
Irene stared down at her cast. Thankfully a clean break—the doctor only had to set her arm and put a cast on. No surgery necessary. Although she did debate with the man whether that was the correct way to go. Her past research had shown…ahhhh, morphine. What a lovely drug.
When He Was Bad Page 13
