Savage Retribution

by Lexxie Couper

  Fuck, Reggie. I’m sorry…

  He burst through the front door, staring wildly up and down the night-shrouded footpath. Empty. He spun about, sprinting to his car, hope and fear crashing over him, through him.

  It sat, exactly where he’d parked it. Locked. Empty. No Regan. No Yolanda. Nothing.

  Snapping about, he stared up the street again, pulse thumping in his neck, blood roaring in his ears. Where was his sister? Where was Yolanda? An icy fist squeezed his heart, his throat. “Reggie?”

  “She’s gone. Your partner’s taken her to Epoc.”

  Peter spun around and glared at the man standing behind him. Cold fury and burning guilt consumed him. “Where is she?”

  Hooded, angry grey eyes bored into him. “I told you. Vischka’s taken her to Nathan Epoc.”

  “Give me my gun,” Peter demanded. “I’m going after them.”

  “You don’t have a ch—”

  “She’s my sister, mate,” he snarled through gritted teeth, cutting O’Connell short. “I’m going after her.”

  “You’ll be killed before you get past the gate.” O’Connell shook his head again, his pale torso almost ghost-like in the engulfing shadows of the night. “What is it with you Thomases? Didn’t you hear me say werewolf? Didn’t you just spend the last fifteen minutes fighting to stay alive as one tried to kill you?”

  Peter stared hard at the man, keeping his voice low, controlled. “That one being you.” He stepped forward, clenching his fists to stop jabbing a finger into O’Connell’s chest. “Now listen to me, mate. She’s my sister. My sister. I’m not going to trust her life to someone, something, who just tried to kill me.” His knuckles cracked and he shook his own head. “You obviously don’t have one or you’d understand.”

  Dark rage rolled over O’Connell’s features, before—with a blink—his grey eyes grew lost, swimming with a grief so intense Peter found them almost too painful to look at. “I do,” he whispered, shoulders slumping slightly. “I did.” He took a step back. “And I understand completely. Let’s go.”

  Gut churning, Peter narrowed his eyes. “What? Am I to trust you now? A man standing naked in the street with a bullet wound in the heart, who only seconds earlier tried to tear my throat out?”

  The man gave him a wry grin, his pale, muscled body already taut and sprung for action. “I plan on becoming your brother-in-law someday soon,” he answered, holding Peter’s gun out to him, butt first—an offering of peace. Of partnership. “If we both live through the night. Does that help make up your mind?”

  * * * *

  Muffled voices wafted through her head. Indistinct. Distant. Like the speakers spoke through cotton wool from the other side of the world.

  Awareness returned slowly. A slow incoming tide bringing with it a world of pain. Dull pain in her jaw. Hot, angry, terrible pain in her shoulder.

  Regan moaned, her head lolling to the side. A low roar vibrated through her aching body and she shifted, her hip grinding against something cold and hard.

  Vivid images ripped through her mind and she snapped open her eyes, staring in horror at the bare white, metal wall before her. The sound of an engine changing gears filled her head and fear sank into her gut. Shit. She was in a van.

  Shit! Declan! Peter!

  The vehicle hit a pothole in the road and she bounced, head and shoulder and hip smacking the metal floor in a sharp series of agonizing thumps.

  Fuck, that hurts.

  Warm liquid seeped from her shoulder and down across her chest. Blood. Her blood.

  Anger rolled through her and she tried to move.

  Slicing pain cut into her wrists and ankles and she bit back a curse. Cable-ties. The blonde bitch had cable-tied her. What the hell was she to do now? How was she to get back to Declan? To Peter? Where the fuck was the blonde taking her?

  Epoc.

  The name floated into her head and she sucked in a swift breath.

  Oh, no.

  “So you are awake, yes?”

  The woman’s voice came from Regan’s left and she twisted on the van’s floor, pain shooting into her shoulder. The blonde looked at her from the passenger seat, her face composed, the fingers of her right hand loosely gripping a Glock nine-millimeter. Her eyes however, looked uneasy. “I thought I may have hit you too hard.”

  Regan glared at her, struggling against the thin strips of plastic cutting into her wrists and ankles. “Untie me, bitch and I’ll show you what a hard hit feels like!”

  “Told you she had spirit.”

  A low chuckle followed the accented words and Regan’s blood froze, her heart leaping into her constricting throat.

  The van’s driver swung his head around, leering at her from behind the wheel, his red-gold eyes glowing with a hunger Regan recognized all too well.

  God, no. No no no no.

  “I’m so glad to see you again, lass,” McCoy drawled, lips stretching into a cold grin, long, sharp teeth glistening in the dim dashboard light. “We’ve got some unfinished business to attend to, don’t we?”

  Chapter 13

  The table pressed against her back, butt and shoulder like a block of ice, its chilly surface biting at her hot flesh. Ignoring the dull ache in her shoulder from Peter’s gunshot, sweat trickling into her eyes, Regan tugged at the thick metal shackles locking her wrists beside her. They didn’t budge an inch. She wasn’t going anywhere.

  She pulled in a deep breath, staring at the high ceiling.

  McCoy had dragged her from the van after what felt like hours driving through the streets of Sydney, his hands mauling her breasts as he did so. He’d thrown her over his shoulder, chuckling at her struggles. His long fingers had found her ass, squeezing at each cheek with punishing pressure until tears stung her eyes.

  She ground her teeth, trapped immobile on the table. She’d be damned is she’d cry out though. She wouldn’t give the bastard a single sound. No matter what he’d done to her.

  Studying the ceiling, she gnawed on her bottom lip, unease churning in her stomach. Apart from carrying her from the van and fastening her to this table inside a mansion that made the one she and Declan hid in at McMahon’s Point look like a shack, McCoy had done nothing to her. Not even given her a leering grin. The moment he stepped foot inside the quiet, mausoleum-like building, he’d become different. If he’d been a dog, Regan would’ve said he was almost cowering. As if a more dominant animal lurked nearby.

  A chill rippled over her flesh and her nipples pinched into tight points of fear under the light sheet covering her. A more dominant animal…Epoc.

  Neck straining, shoulder throbbing, she lifted her head from the metal surface and looked around the room as best she could. Harsh overhead fluorescent light bleached all color from the space, making it hard to see anything. Apart from the table she lay strapped to and two smaller, stainless steel ones on either side, it seemed empty. And very inhospitable.

  Sudden movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention and she rolled her head to the side. Anger crashed through her. Cold and absolute. The blonde.

  The woman walked toward her, a small metal tray in her manicured hands, the same apprehensive expression in her cool blue eyes. She stopped by Regan’s table, giving her a troubled look. “Your shoulder hurts, yes?”

  “My shoulder?” Regan creased her forehead in mock confusion. “No. Not at all. Why?”

  The blonde cocked one perfectly arched eyebrow, pursing her lips. “Just as stubborn as your brother, it seems.” She deposited the tray on a bench beside the table before turning back to Regan, a cloudy-filled syringe in her hand. She lifted it, examining its contents in the glaring fluorescent light. “This will not hurt,” she murmured, flicking at the glass tube with one blood-red nail. “In fact it will give you a small…” She paused, as if searching for the word she wanted, “…buzz.”

  Before Regan could react—and really, strapped to the table like she was, what could she do?—the woman plunged the needle into the crook of her
arm. A sharp sting, like the prick of a pissed-off wasp, punctured her flesh and she bit back a hiss. “What was that?’ she demanded through gritted teeth. The inside of her elbow tingled.

  “An experimental concoction designed to heighten your physical awareness of stimuli.” The blonde returned the now-empty syringe to the tray. “Epoc wants to see how a human responds to it.”

  Regan narrowed her eyes. “So, Declan was right. Epoc does own the police.”

  The woman tilted her head to the side a bit. “Not all the police.”

  “But obviously my brother’s Command Area. What happened to his real partner? Is he dead?”

  White-blonde eyebrows rose. “I don’t kill indiscriminately, Regan. I’m not a monster.”

  Regan snorted. “Sure about that?”

  “I see you share your brother’s trust issues, yes?”

  Hot anger tore through Regan’s veins, and her skin tingled. Pulling at her restraints, she glared up at the woman. “He didn’t trust you? What a surprise.”

  Cool fingers pressed to her shoulder, sending tiny licks of rippling ice down Regan’s arm. “You need to stay calm,” the woman murmured. “Remember, you’ve just been injected with an experimental sensory accelerant.”

  A warm throb pulsed in Regan’s elbow and she fidgeted, growing increasingly aware of the soft caress of the sheet covering her naked body, of the cool touch of metal on her wrists and ankles. She pulled in a short breath and the gentle feathering of air on her tongue felt like a soft kiss.

  The woman watched her, eyebrows dipping into a small frown. She picked up a folded cloth from the tray and touched it to Regan’s shoulder, patting at the bullet wound in almost hesitant strokes.

  A slight sensation whispered down Regan’s arm, like a single sliver of ice and her breath caught. She stared up at the blonde and for a moment her vision blurred, before coming back, sharp and clear. “What did you do to me?” she demanded, lips dry.

  No reply.

  “What did you do?”

  Again, silence.

  Regan shifted on the table, her skin prickling. She felt odd. Like she was standing too close to an immense electrical charge. A biting metallic taste coated her tongue, sharp and bitter. Her nipples pinched into harder, puckered tips, pushing at the sheet draped over her. Squirming twists of heat unfurled low in the pit of her stomach and she dragged in a hitching breath, pulse pounding in her throat. “Please…” She gave the woman beside her a beseeching stare, hating herself for it. “Please, what did you inject into me?”

  The cloth continued to pat at her shoulder, cool and damp, and ripples of delicious chills ran across Regan’s skin. Blue eyes studied her, and once more, even as her body reacted, Regan couldn’t miss the apprehension in their clear, direct depths. The woman was troubled about something. “The wound will heal,” she said softly. “Despite the amount of blood, the bullet was shallow. I removed it in the van.” She lifted the cloth from Regan’s shoulder and touched the flesh there with gentle fingers.

  Ribbons of delicate pleasure spiraled out from the contact. Made Regan’s breasts swell with a base response.

  “It seems to have an aphrodisiac affect, doesn’t it, Yolanda.”

  Icy alarm rolled through Regan as a gravelly male voice filled the room. She turned her head, staring at the short man with the gleaming scalp and amber eyes crossing the floor toward her. “You’re a dreadful host, Epoc,” she stated with a sarcastic reproaching tone, trying to ignore the sinful sensations licking up her limbs from the cold, hard manacles. “I’ve been here for ages and no one’s offered me a drink.”

  His shining golden gaze bored into her, making her flesh crawl. “Regan Thomas, animal-rights activist and all-round annoying female. You’ve made this day quite entertaining.” A wide smile stretched his mouth and his stare grew malevolent. “Hasn’t she, McCoy.”

  Regan’s heart froze. Oh, no.

  She twisted her head, trying to see the man Epoc spoke to. Overwhelming dread and hate crashed into her. She did not want to be trapped on her back. She couldn’t be trapped on her back. Not with that bastard walking toward her. Her blood roared through her veins and she tugged at the restraints on her wrists. Exquisite ribbons of slicing pain shot up her arms, made her nipples pinch harder again. The sheet slithered across her body, and Regan’s flesh—fuelled by whatever Yolanda had pumped into her—responded, rippling into tiny bumps of delicious pleasure. Shame and rage consumed her. “Come near me, McCoy and I’ll rip your balls off, you bastard!” she snarled, twisting her head from side to side, trying to find him. If he touched her now, with the shit in her veins perverting her system…

  Epoc smirked. “I don’t think she’s that happy to see you, McCoy.” He pressed his hand to Regan’s shoulder, forcing her shoulder blade to the metal table and her pussy constricted at the chill of the surface on her hot flesh. “Do not worry yourself, Ms. Thomas. McCoy will not touch you unless I say he can.” He drew small circles on her skin with the tip of a finger, sending shards of sinful sensations down into her breasts. Amber eyes locked on hers. “Believe me, he has been reprimanded for his inappropriate behavior at the farm.”

  “And I should believe you because?”

  “Because I am the Alpha of this clan. And as such, my word is law. Yolanda can vouch for that. She was meant to bring your brother in at sunset for…Ah, ‘questioning’ but failed to do so.” He lifted his head and studied the blonde standing beside the table. “She was punished for failing to follow my orders.”

  Regan watched Yolanda’s high cheeks fill with pink heat before the woman dropped her stare from Epoc to the floor.

  “But never mind,” he continued, returning his attention to Regan. “It is of no consequence. Fortunately for her she delivered you instead. A much more valuable subject.” His hand lifted slightly from her shoulder and smoothed along the line of her collarbone, her body thrumming with a charged electrical current at the contact. “Such lovely bone structure,” he murmured, his stare following the path of his tracing fingers. “So delicate. Fragile.” He flicked his gaze back to her face. “Surely the Onchú piece of filth told you how order is kept in our kind? The Alpha has the right to anything in the clan.” He dropped his head lower to hers, his lips almost touching her cheekbone as he stared into her eyes. “Whatever I want is mine.”

  Pussy clenching, stomach churning, Regan spat at him.

  A shocked gasp cut the air and from the corner of her eye, Regan saw Yolanda take a step back, looking more uncomfortable than before. Epoc however, only chuckled, slowly lifting his hand to wipe the spittle from his face. “Now, now, Ms. Thomas,” he smirked, straightening at the hip. “I thought you were an intelligent, articulate woman?” He stared at her for a moment, before—abruptly—cold anger twisted his expression and he grabbed a fistful of the sheet covering her body and yanked it away.

  “You stink of O’Connell, Ms. Thomas,” he snarled, drying his hand on the bunched strip of material. “His mark lingers on your flesh like a stain.” Dropping the sheet, he raked her naked limbs with a golden-yellow stare, teeth glinting in the light as he sneered his appreciation. “I must admit though, now I see you stripped, I understand the Irish conriocht’s attraction. For a human you are quite—” He placed a pointed finger on Regan’s chest and ran it slowly down to her navel in a lazy line, “—delectable.”

  Regan jerked away from his touch, the table refusing to let her move far. Shivers of traitorous response trickled through her body, radiating from the still-felt contact of Epoc finger, and she choked back a sob of disgust. “The Lord help you, Epoc,” she growled. “If you’re ever stupid enough to let me off this table…”

  Epoc laughed, removing his hand and looking to his right. “Remember how O’Connell reacted when he smelt you on his precious sister, McCoy? How he lost control?”

  “Yes, Epoc.”

  McCoy’s voice reverberated above Regan’s head and she forced it back as far as she could. Nothing. Her mouth went dry. Whereve
r he was, he was still too far away for her to see.

  Epoc returned his hand to Regan’s stomach, his fingertips brushing over the soft edge of her pubic hairline. “I wonder how he will react when he smells me on this bitch?”

  Regan’s stomach lurched. “Get your fucking hand off me!” She bucked her hips, panic biting into her anger, desperate to be free of the restraints and Epoc’s vile touch.

  Savage amber eyes fixed on her. “No.” He rammed his hand down hard, flattening her ass to the table, plunging his fingers between her spread thighs. “Do you know what my mating with you will do to O’Connell, Ms. Thomas?” He pushed at the folds of Regan’s sex with a brutal finger. “It will destroy him. After he’s finished tearing your brother limb from limb he will come to save you, the noble bastard he is. When he comes for you—and he will come for you—he will smell my mark on your flesh.” He buried his finger deeper, wriggling it in slow, cruel circles. Pain shot through Regan—pain and hideous, drug-induced pleasure—and she whimpered, writhing her hips in a futile attempt to be free.

  Epoc’s eyes flickered and he laughed lowly. “He will smell my seed as it dribbles from your cunt and he will lose control. He will become more than a wolf. He will become a creature of myth. A creature of incomparable strength. A creature more powerful than any in existence.” He dropped his head to hers, grinding his knuckle against her mons, his eyes slitted. “And when that happens, when that last little link to his humanity is destroyed, I will immobilize him and cage him and drain every last drop of his croí from his body and make it my own.” He pressed his lips to her ear, his breath hot and wet on her skin. “The last of the Onchú devoured. Rendered an empty shell. By me.”

  * * * *

  The mansion loomed before them, huge and imposing.

  Rubbing at his wrist where the manacle from the hobby farm had been, Declan stared up at it, counting the number of windows blazing with light and the number shrouded in darkness. He studied the immediate area. Night claimed most of it, the low mottled glow of expensive garden lighting the only relief from its concealing blackness. The breeze cooling his skin only moments earlier now pushed against him, aggressive and insistent. A bad omen. Declan scowled. If he were a superstitious man, he’d be worried.