Savage Lust

by Desiree Holt

  “Like I said, you’ll have to get a read on her and decide how much she can handle.”

  “I’m going to call her when we get back to the ranch.” He stopped for a moment and took another swig of his water. “I figure if I tell her I’m a cop from Chicago who’s dealt with something like that before, I can at least get one foot in the door.”

  “We’ll all meet and discuss what we’ve found. Then you’re on.”

  Yes. I am. And I’ll do whatever it takes.

  * * * * *

  The creature usually avoided sunlight. Any bright light made its head burn on the inside and shot incredible pain through its body. The forestation had been so thick where it had found the last prey, however, that there were huge areas where sunlight couldn’t break through. And finding two targets at the same time had activated a signal in its brain that said These two. Take them.

  The beast had no recollection of how it arrived at any particular spot, only that it had woken up hidden away in a tiny, cave-like hollow, protected on all sides by the abundance of trees and the thick growth of vegetation. Whatever was sending signals to its brain apparently deleted unnecessary information. The passage of time was immaterial to the devil beast so it had no idea how to register the length of time it had been in its hidey-hole.

  It scented prey not long after it had been placed in the area. Crawling out of the shelter and moving with superhuman speed, it had overtaken its prey within seconds. The indicators from its brain had prompted its actions, leading it to destroy the one and capture the others. The excessive speed of which the beast was capable got it to the clearing it was programmed to find within seconds. The big black machine that dropped from the sky took the live prey before taking off again.

  Standing there, watching it disappear in the sky, a sharp pain had sliced through its head as its artificial intelligence program fed it more instructions. Willing itself to change shape, it had left the mountain behind to head for its next hunting ground.

  Three. That’s what it was programmed for. Three kills.

  The AI had also been specific about locations and types of prey. That was why today it found itself in another location like the last one, only more isolated. More caves to use for concealment. Heavier forestation.

  Fresh prey!

  Curled up on its side, hidden in the small cave-type space in the rocks, it waited until the sun disappeared. This kill was programmed to happen in the dark. Tonight he would scout this new area and select a target. Tomorrow it would happen.

  * * * * *

  The meeting in the war room to share what they’d learned at Jones Spring was over and Dante was anxious to get moving. They not only needed as many details as possible about the current situation, but they had to try to identify optimum locations where the beast could strike next. Additionally, they’d learned Parks and Wildlife hadn’t sent a chopper into Pedernales Falls anytime recently. So if their lunatic theory was correct, whoever it was had gone to a lot of trouble to set this up.

  That told them a couple of things. One, whoever it was had more money than maybe even Craig. And two, based on the chips Craig’s scientists had retrieved from the carcasses of the beasts they’d killed, it seemed the creatures had the ability to identify targets. Someone had scouted the area and programmed the monster to find a couple, then to kill the man and capture the woman. Lisa and Reed seemed to have just been unlucky enough to fall into the target range.

  “I have to talk to Regan Fortune before I do anything else,” Dante said, leaning against the long table and scanning the notes in his tablet. “I want to know what the police have told her and get her own reaction to the situation.”

  “That’s if she’ll see you,” Ric warned.

  “She won’t have a choice. Not if she wants to find out the truth about what happened. But before I go knocking on her door, I’m going to call her.” It was the middle of the afternoon and he knew he had to talk to Reagan Fortune before he did anything else. “Let her know who I am and try to get her to meet with me. Can you get me her phone number?”

  “Does it snow in Maine?” Ric snarked. “Just give me a second here.”

  As it turned out, getting the woman’s number wasn’t easy. She apparently had discontinued her landline recently and was only using her cell.

  “The media is probably hounding her,” Ric said as his fingers flew over one of the keyboards. “She’s been busy, changing phones and numbers,” he commented. “Let’s see if I can find her newest cell number.” More tapping on the keyboard. “Okay. Got it. You’re lucky. She lives not far from here, just outside San Antonio.”

  Ric rattled off the number. Dante entered it into his own cellphone, then tapped the newly recorded contact and waited while it rang, wondering if she’d even answer.

  When she did, it was with an angry explosion of words.

  “How did you get this number?” she demanded. “Don’t call again.”

  The call ended.

  Dante ground his teeth in frustration and touched her name in his contacts once more.

  “If you’re another damn reporter,” Regan Fortune snapped, “the next time you call, I’ll hunt you down and shoot you. I’m changing my number. Again.”

  And she disconnected the call a second time.

  Dante just stared at the screen.

  Well. I probably should have been prepared for this. Let’s try another angle.

  He really didn’t want to just show up on her doorstep.

  Text message. He’d try that next. And hope she read it.

  Carefully, he punched in his message.

  “I’m a cop from Chicago who can help you with your brother’s death. My name is Dante Martello. You can check me out.”

  He included the name and phone number of the lieutenant who had been his boss. Then quickly texted the man himself, to tell him he might get a phone call and to ask if he’d verify him.

  In seconds, his phone rang. He’d hoped it would be Regan but it turned out to be his old boss.

  “First things first,” Nick Roman said. “You doing okay, out there wherever you are?”

  “I am,” Dante assured him. “But I need to speak with someone who’s worried I’m a reporter.”

  He went on to explain, briefly, the situation. Roman had never fully bought into the Chupacabra theory, but he had accepted Dante’s resignation because he was in such emotional pain.

  “I can’t say I believe in what you’re doing,” Roman told him, “but I’m happy to tell her she doesn’t have to worry about you.” He paused. “Keep in touch, okay? We miss you around here.”

  “I will,” he promised, although going back to Chicago wasn’t an option. “And thanks for this.”

  Pressing End, he went into the kitchen to pour yet another mug of coffee. If the Chupacabra didn’t get him, he was pretty sure caffeine might, but it was the glue that held him together. He was looking out the kitchen window at the vast, empty land beyond the ranch house when he received an incoming call.

  He looked at the screen. Regan Fortune’s number popped out at him.

  “I hope you checked me out,” he told her.

  “And I hope you understand the necessity.”

  Her voice was edged with strain. Not unexpected, considering what she was dealing with. But even despite that, her voice had a husky quality that did something to his nerve endings.

  Nerve endings? He didn’t think he had any left. What the fuck?

  “I do. Look. I really don’t want to get into this over the phone. And your house is probably still surrounded by media. Can you get away without the troops following you?”

  “I’ll figure a way. What did you have in mind?”

  Yes, what, mastermind?

  “Are you familiar with a bar in Rosario called The Black Wolf?” he asked. “The town’s just a spot on the map but—”

  “Strangely, I am,” she interrupted. “I’ve driven through that town a few times researching locations.”

  “Resear
ching locations? For what?”

  “I’m an illustrator. I do artwork for children’s books. Mostly westerns.”

  Interesting. What else might she have seen?

  “Okay, then it won’t be a problem for you to find it. If you can slip away from the media circus, let’s meet there.” He checked his watch. “In about an hour. That work for you?”

  “I’ll make it work. See you then. Oh, and this better not be some kind of scam.”

  She was gone before he could think of an answer.

  * * * * *

  He spent the next hour with Ric going over everything they had—maps of the park and the county, population densities, anything that might be a factor in helping them. Ric had even hacked into the Ranger database and pulled the crime scene photos—with a tinge of bitterness, considering none of his old friends would even talk to him. Randi Turner sat behind them, sketchpad in front of her, studying the photos on one of the screens and working on simulated drawings of what might have happened. She’d helped them recreate some of the scenes in Montana and she was tasked to do the same thing here.

  By the time Dante headed out for the bar, he was as prepared as he would ever be. And wound so tightly he was sure he vibrated.

  It was one hour later exactly when he walked into The Black Wolf. He spotted Sophia sitting in a booth to the right, busy working at her laptop. He knew she often came to work with Clint, lugging her laptop and cellphone. Despite his own circumstances, it pleased him that the couple had found each other. He almost envied what they had.

  Today, though, he guessed Sophia wanted him to know they were both there to back him up. When he walked in, she smiled and gave him a friendly wink.

  We’re a team.

  Sometimes he had trouble remembering that, despite his emotional isolation, these people still had his back.

  Clint was busy prepping the bar for early evening customers. He looked up as Dante walked by and pointed to a corner booth on the other side of the room. Okay, she was early. Good. Dante nodded his thanks and made his way past the tables.

  Regan Fortune was sitting with her hands clasped in front of her, head bowed. Her body was rigid with a tension he was far too familiar with. She turned her head as he approached.

  And out of nowhere, a shocking bolt of lust zapped through his body. A tidal wave that slammed into every one of his senses.

  What the fuck?

  He didn’t know what he’d expected her to look like, but whatever it was, this wasn’t it. Even seated he could guess she was fairly tall. A quick glance told him she wore very little makeup, but with her coloring, she didn’t need it. Her rich golden hair was pulled back in a tail that accented high cheekbones and the sculpted lines of her face. The deep purple of her sweater brought out flecks of that color in her hazel eyes. Eyes framed by sweeps of thick lashes. Rich, full lips completed the lovely vision.

  In the five years since Felicia’s death, he had been a completely asexual creature. The sexiest women in the world could have stood naked before him and his dick would have hung like a dead appendage, his body cold to any attraction. As far as he was concerned, his libido had died and was buried with his wife.

  So how did it happen that this woman, someone he’d never met before, could elicit such a reaction? And now, of all times?

  His teammates who were shifters would have said she was “calling to his wolf”. That she was destined to be his mate. But he was one-hundred-percent human. Was it possible the same type of connection existed outside the shifter world?

  Making a deliberate effort to push all those thoughts from his brain, he pulled himself together. “Regan Fortune?”

  She looked up at him. “Yes. And you’re Mr. Martello?”

  “Dante. Please.” He reached out a hand to shake hers. And was nearly knocked off his feet by the bolt of heat that shot through him. It took every bit of control he had not to react.

  But she felt it too. He saw it in the widening of her eyes, the shocked look on her face. She withdrew her hand at once.

  Hoping nothing showed on his face, he slid onto the seat across from her. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. Would you like something to drink?”

  “No.” Anger vibrated from every line of her body but what he noticed more was the combination of fear and anguish in her eyes. “Thank you, but this isn’t a social event.”

  “As you wish.”

  She drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, a movement that called attention to the outline of her breasts beneath the sweater. Dante’s long-dormant cock once again decided to make itself known. Thank god for the barrier of his jeans and the protection of the booth. But he needed to get control of himself.

  Think of Felicia.

  “I checked with your boss in Chicago,” she began. “He vouched for you, which is the only reason I’m here. But I’m sure you can understand why I still need to see some identification.” Her lips twisted in a bitter expression. “Although I wouldn’t put it past some reporter to buy phony credentials to get to me.”

  Anticipating something like this, Dante had taken his badge wallet from the drawer in his suite where he still kept it. Now he pulled it out of his pocket, opened it and placed it on the table in front of her.

  “I assure you, this is the real thing. You can even take my picture with your phone and send it to Chicago, if you’d like.”

  Giving her a moment to study his shield, he took out a Night Seekers business card and placed it beside the badge.

  Craig had decided they all needed to carry something to identify themselves, to give them an air of legitimacy. The card contained only each individual’s name, cell number, email address and, in italic script, Night Seekers.

  Regan picked it up, frowning. “What’s this?”

  “I have a slight confession. When I identified myself as a Chicago cop, that was only half true. I—”

  “Damn you!” She started to slide out of the booth. “And damn your boss who lied for you!”

  Dante closed his fingers over her wrist. Again, an electric shock zipped through his arm, stunning him once more. From the shock on Regan’s face, she felt it too. He had to steel himself not to pull his hand away from her, from the heat of her skin nearly burning his fingertips.

  What the hell?

  “Stop. Wait.” Reflexively, he tightened his hold on her. “He didn’t lie. Exactly. I’m not a reporter. I promise you. Give me five minutes to explain myself. After that, if you want to leave, you can. Please. Just five minutes.”

  She didn’t look happy but she did as he asked, body rigid, eyes flashing.

  Make it good and make it believable.

  He peeled his fingers from her wrist, hoping it would help his body return to some semblance of normalcy. If he even knew what normal was anymore.

  “The first thing you should know is, I’ve seen pictures of your brother’s body—and he isn’t the first to die in this manner.”

  She looked at him through narrowed eyes. “The police said it was an animal of some kind. I made them let me see the body.” She shivered and rubbed her forehead, where lines of stress creased it. “It was horrible. They insist it’s some rabid animal.”

  “In a manner of speaking, it is,” he agreed. “But not like anything they’ve seen before. My wife was killed exactly the same way.” He sat back in the booth and closed his eyes for a moment, banishing the image of Felicia that came unbidden to his mind. “Her death is the reason I left Chicago, the reason I’m no longer a cop. What I have to tell you is going to sound totally off the wall, so please, try to listen with an open mind.”

  Keeping his voice as even as he could, he laid it all out for her—the killings that brought Night Seekers together, the recent slaughter all over the country, the research they’d done. Before he left the ranch, he had taken the time to load pictures from the previous cases Night Seekers was involved in, to show her the condition of the bodies. Now he scrolled through them on his tablet one by one. He kept his voice level
and even, uninflected, forcing back the pain that stabbed through him as each body reminded him of Felicia.

  Regan stared at his tablet as he flicked through the photos. The look on her face was one of horror, and when he finished, every bit of color had leached from her skin. But for some reason, he had a feeling the condition of the bodies wasn’t new to her, and not because of her brother. But how could that be? This was the first Chupacabra killing in the area.

  Maybe he was just imagining things.

  “I-I’ve seen pictures like this before,” she told him, as if reading his mind. “Well, drawings. But not in living color like this.”

  Dante’s body went on alert. He was right. “You’ve seen pictures of Chupacabra kills? Where? How?”

  “Just…” She pressed her fingertips to her eyelids as if trying to erase the images. “Give me a minute, okay?”

  Dante’s uncanny instincts were doing a fast step in every one of his nerves right then. Something was off and he had to find out what.

  Clint suddenly materialized at the booth with two mugs of coffee and two glasses of water.

  “Can I get you anything else?” he asked her politely, concern etched on his face. Dante knew Clint had seen the evil presence up close and personal, and the image never left his mind.

  Regan shook her head. “No. Thank you. Nothing else for me.”

  ”Me, either,” Dante told him. “Not right now. Thanks, Clint.”

  When Regan lifted the water, her hand was shaking. She managed a few sips before setting the glass back down.

  Dante watched her fight to steady her breathing and pull herself together. Whatever was bothering her, it wasn’t just the sudden information about a so-called mythical beast.

  “You’ve heard of the Chupacabra before,” he guessed.

  “Of course. I live in San Antonio, so I’ve heard the legend all my life. But I always thought it was just some crazy myth someone had made up.” She took a moment for another sip of water. “But…”

  “But?” he prompted.