Otherworld Protector

by Jane Godman

  “Vivian, right?”

  “Yeah, and this one is Skye, with an e.” With his free hand, Max pulled his phone from his other pocket, and flicked a look down at the screen, where the info that had been emailed to them by Jared Monroe—a Fed who was friendly with the pack—was displayed. “Skye Hewitt.”

  “What kind of person names their kid Skye?”

  Max snorted. “Probably some nature-loving hippy who wears daisies in her hair.”

  “Yeah,” he murmured distractedly, his thoughts already drifting back to the hunt that had brought them there, and away from the human’s unusual name.

  For the past three weeks, he and Max had been hunting a...puzzle. A monstrous one, but a puzzle no less. One they wanted solved so badly they could taste it.

  It had all started with a string of missing persons’ reports that Monroe had asked them to look into. Some unusual happenings around the disappearances had caused Monroe, whose sister was married to a Lycan from the Silvercrest pack, to suspect that there was more to the case than his human agents would be able to handle. Something dark and sinister and predatory—like an animal on the hunt for its prey—and Monroe had been right to be suspicious.

  When Elliot and Max had worked over the crime scenes, their sharper-than-human senses had picked up clues that the FBI had failed to notice. Things like the faint, musky scent that clung to the locations where seven different women had simply vanished.

  That was the killer part of the case right there. All of the victims were female...and human...and exceptionally beautiful. And now they were just gone, with no trace of them left behind for their loved ones to cling to.

  There had been no bodies recovered, which meant that if the psychopath responsible was killing them, he was smart enough to hide the victims where they were difficult to find. But Elliot didn’t think that was the case, and Max agreed with him.

  Instead, they believed the women were being kept. Imprisoned. And undoubtedly used. Though at this point, they couldn’t be sure of anything. All Elliot knew for certain was that he and Max planned to find those women, set them free and make the one responsible pay. With blood and pain...and ultimately death. That bastard deserved no less, and he sure as hell wouldn’t be shown any mercy.

  “Okay,” Max murmured, drawing Elliot from his thoughts. “Let’s do this thing.”

  The late-afternoon sun glinted against the shiny metal as Max tossed the coin into the air. It spun, then fell into his waiting hand. Max flipped the coin onto the top of his other hand, then revealed the outcome.

  “Congratulations!” the jackass said with a smirk, knowing the noisy diner would grate on Elliot’s nerves. “Looks like you get to go in and meet the mysterious Skye.”

  Shaking off the cold chill that had started to settle over his shoulders, he jerked his chin toward the front of the retro-styled diner. “Guess it’s a good thing it takes a hell of a lot to poison our guts, huh?”

  “Hey, you never know,” said the guy with a cast-iron stomach. “It might taste freaking fantastic.”

  “Or like shit.”

  “That, too,” Max agreed with a laugh. “But look at it this way—at least you get to relax for a while, while I’m off to venture even farther into this shit-stain of a town in search of her friend.”

  “Just hurry and get back here,” he murmured, shoving his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans. “I don’t want to be waiting all night. We don’t know how much time we have before they try to take them, and Mase’ll kill us if we have a showdown in the middle of a human town.”

  “Mase would understand.”

  This time, Elliot was the one who snorted. “After he kicked your ass.”

  Max laughed as he pulled out his crumpled pack of cigarettes. “The old man could try.”

  “Yeah, right,” he muttered, enjoying ribbing his friend. “Even you’re smart enough to know not to mess with those guys.” At twenty-seven and almost twenty-nine, he and Max were by far the youngest of the Runners. But while Mason and the other guys were into their forties now, they were in their freaking prime. As lethal and powerful as they’d ever been, and some of the dirtiest fighters Elliot had ever seen.

  Which meant Max would undoubtedly get his pretty ass handed to him, seeing as how the guy’s conscience was still a bit more human than wolf. He could be just as deadly as the rest of them, but there was always a subdued edge to Max’s brutality. A sense that he was doing what his head told him had to be done, rather than his heart. It made Elliot worry that his friend might hesitate a second too long one day, instead of fully trusting the instincts of his wolf. And those types of delays could be costly...especially when dealing with the kind of monsters they came across.

  They chatted for a few more seconds, while Max lit his smoke and took a deep drag. Then they said their goodbyes, and Max turned to head back to his truck.

  Unable to shake the sense of foreboding that was climbing up his spine, Elliot shouted, “Watch your six!”

  “You, too, man,” Max called back over his shoulder, before disappearing around the corner.

  Instead of heading straight into the diner, Elliot decided to stay outside for a while, where it was quiet. He propped his back against one of the gray lampposts that ran down the snowplowed street, content to simply have a few moments to himself while he watched what was going on in the place through its massive front windows.

  There were three waitresses working the floor, but none of them matched Hewitt’s age or description. Not that they had all that much to go on. He and Max caught a lucky break back in Philly, where the last abduction had taken place. A drug addict, who had been sleeping under some cardboard boxes in an alley behind the club the victim had been taken from, had listened to a group of what he described as “big, badass-looking men” as they’d discussed their next “targets.” The jackass hadn’t done a goddamn thing to help the woman who was dragged into the alley, bound and gagged, and tossed into the back of a white delivery van. But he’d at least been able to tell Elliot and Max fragments of the conversation he’d overheard.

  According to the addict, who had never come forward to the police officers who had canvassed the area, the men were meant to drop off the woman they’d taken from the club with their employer, and then head to Charity, where they would track down two young roommates by the names of Skye Hewitt and Vivian Jackson. And while Vivian certainly seemed to be in keeping with the employer’s taste—lean and brunette and exotically beautiful—Skye was the exact opposite. A so-called “wholesome, pudgy blonde.” She sounded more cute than drop-dead, in-your-face gorgeous like the other victims had been. But Elliot didn’t give a crap what she looked like. He just wanted to find her, and protect her, while hopefully getting a lead on where the other women were being held.

  With Skye and Vivian’s names, as well as the town they lived in, it’d been easy for Monroe to track down their current address and places of employment. A few carefully worded phone calls, and the Fed had even managed to get the Runners both of the women’s schedules, which was how they knew Skye’s shift would be starting any moment now.

  As if he’d managed to make her appear by simply thinking about her, the swinging door that Elliot assumed led to the kitchen was pushed open, and a woman walked through, coming into view. A young woman who looked to be in her early twenties, with thick, lustrous hair falling down past her shoulders, a curvy body and a smile that made him suck in a sharp breath, just before his body jolted like he’d been kicked in the stomach.

  Son of a bitch, he thought, pressing his hand against the center of his chest. The sight of her smiling face had just knocked the air out of him so hard that it hurt.

  Elliot narrowed his eyes as he stared at the woman, eating up every detail like his wolf with a bone. With his keen eyesight, he could see the letters on her nametag: S-K-Y-E. It was really her, Skye Hewitt,
and Jesus, she was...different. But in a good way. In an “I can’t stop staring, would probably kill to get closer to her” kind of way. And, um, yeah...that was unexpected.

  As Elliot stood there like a friggin’ statue and watched her, it became easy to see what—beyond her physical beauty—had captured the interest of the man responsible for the kidnappings. She was...soft. Soft and sweet and inviting as hell. Standing outside in the chilly evening air, shrouded by the deepening darkness, the faint flicker of the scattered Christmas lights too weak to reach him, Elliot couldn’t take his damn eyes off her as she started serving the tables in her section. There was an addictive, undeniable warmth in her gaze, and in the bright smile she gave to those around her, even while working her ass off. It was completely out of place in the dingy town, and impossible to resist. A lure...and it was calling to him, making him want, when he hadn’t wanted anyone in what felt like forever.

  Not since Marly. And never... Shit, never like this.

  When he glanced down at the thick watch on his wrist and saw that nearly an hour and a half had gone by since she’d walked through that swinging door, he cursed under his breath. What the hell? Had she put some kind of spell on him? Then he lifted his head, catching sight of her as she playfully stuck her tongue out at a toddler who was giggling and doing the same, and Elliot found himself giving such a loud bark of laughter that it made the old woman shuffling past him on the sidewalk jump.

  “Sorry,” he murmured, when the old lady huffed at him. He gave her an apologetic grin, then glanced back into the diner, and instantly scowled at the sight of some jerk checking out Skye’s ass as she bent over to clear a table. The bastard. Thinking it was time he finally went inside, he pushed off from the lamppost and walked over to the door.

  The first thing that hit him when he walked into the diner was the scent of the place. It was strong, especially for someone with his heightened sense of smell. A heavy mixture of greasy food, strong coffee, even stronger perfume and an underlying layer of whatever cleaning products they used. He was trying to search out Skye’s scent in the midst of all those odors when an older woman chewing bubble gum and sporting an actual beehive hairdo popped up from behind the hostess’s station.

  “You want a table or a booth, pretty boy?” she asked, coming around the side of the station with a plastic menu in her hand.

  “Whatever you have free in Skye’s section.”

  The woman gave a low, knowing laugh, and started leading him over to an empty booth. “Skye’s slammed at the moment,” she told him, handing him the menu as he sat down, his long legs barely fitting in the cramped space under the table. “But she’ll be over to take your order in just a few.”

  “No problem,” he murmured, barely aware of her setting down a bowl of peanuts, his attention already captured by Skye. She was delivering food to a table only about ten feet from his booth, and he couldn’t look away. The damn building could have caught fire, and he would have still been sitting there, completely mesmerized by her.

  She was even more beautiful without the distance between them, though he would have preferred to have her right there with him, in the booth. Or even better, straddling his lap, polyester skirt tugged up around her generous hips, and his hardening cock pressed tight against the warm seam between her legs, while he shoved his hands into all that thick, wavy hair and kissed the hell out of her. She had the figure of a 1940s pinup girl, all lush curves and feminine swells that were making his mouth water. She looked vibrant, even in the ugly pink uniform, her skin all creamy and flushed, and those green eyes flashing with her emotions, constantly shifting from humor to kindness as she talked to her customers. Each feature of her beautiful face intrigued him, from her full, succulent mouth to the cuteness of her nose.

  And then were the freckles. Tiny, dark little pinpricks scattered over her nose and cheeks. Christ, he wanted to touch his tongue to each one of them, then strip her beautiful body bare and search for more. Wanted to learn this woman’s taste and scent and the kinds of sounds she made when she came. He didn’t know her, beyond her name and the fact that he was there to protect her from an evil they knew far too little about. But he wanted to.

  He wanted to know every goddamn thing there was to know about Skye Hewitt. Including what it would feel like to drive himself deep inside her, and lose himself in her soft, sexy body, until their skin was slick with heat and their throats were raw from the husky, unrestrained sounds they were making.

  He wanted to fuck her. And he wanted to fuck her hard.

  “You need anything, honey?” The question came from the skinny waitress who’d just stopped beside his table, blocking his view of Skye. The woman’s perfume was so heavy it almost made his eyes water, the hungry way she was looking him over so blatant he was surprised she didn’t lick her lips. “Because I’m willing to offer you something a heck of a lot better than anything you’ll find on that menu.”

  “I’m good, thanks,” he said in a low voice, just wanting her to move on so that he could keep watching Skye.

  She instantly scowled. “Your loss,” she muttered, before cattily adding, “Especially if you’re saving it for Skye. That girl wouldn’t know how to please a man even if she had a sex manual for fat chicks.”

  Elliot had to bite back an angry, snarling growl as the waitress flounced away, his protective instincts shooting straight into overdrive. He knew it was pure, seething jealousy that had the woman mouthing off, but he hated the idea of Skye ever having to put up with those kinds of bitchy remarks from her coworkers.

  As if she knew he was thinking about her, she looked over from where she was standing, about two tables over, her hand busily jotting down a family of four’s order. She gave him an apologetic smile, misreading the anger in his expression as frustration that he was having to wait for her to take his own order. Forcing himself to relax, he shot her a lopsided grin as he leaned back against the booth, his grin widening when her full lips parted with a gasp. She blinked, as if the sight of his smile had left her feeling a bit dazed, and he couldn’t help the surge of hot, masculine satisfaction that swept through his long frame, tightening his muscles.

  That’s right, beautiful. You’ve hit me exactly the same way.

  Looking adorably flustered, her cheeks bright with color, she shook her head a little as she turned her attention back to the family. Elliot took a handful of the roasted peanuts from the red bowl the hostess had left for him, and absently chewed as he continued to watch the delectable Skye. Deep inside, he could feel his wolf slowly stretching its way into awareness, curious about what had snagged his attention so thoroughly, while his brain finally kicked into gear, trying to figure out what the hell was going on with him.

  He’d never reacted this strongly to a woman—not even with Marly—and the logical side of his nature wanted to know why. Why her? Why now? But the rest of him was simply too buzzed to care. His blood pumped heavily through his veins and his cock was as hard as a friggin’ rock, as he fought the instinctual urge to go and toss her over his shoulder, carrying her off—caveman style—until he could get them away from the crowded diner and he could have her all to himself.

  The bell that signaled that an order was up dinged, and she hurried across the restaurant, collecting the plates of burgers and fries. Elliot found himself nearly panting as she headed toward him, or rather, the booth right beside his. She was coming so close, that sexy lower lip caught in her white teeth as she blushed and avoided his gaze, and he swore he could feel the searing attraction between them actually sizzling on the air. He growled low, tossing another couple of nuts in his mouth so he hopefully wouldn’t look too threatening. God only knew what kind of expression he had on his face. Then he caught a hint of something unbelievably mouthwatering on the air, and he sucked in a deep breath through his nose as she drew closer, only to find himself rocketing into a ground-shaking, mind-shattering state of shock.
>
  Holy...shit! Just, um, yeah. He couldn’t... He didn’t... Shit! He didn’t know anything in that moment but one blinding, brain-melting fact:

  She. Was. His.

  This woman... Skye... She fucking belonged to him. With him. She was his life-mate! The one person in the entire world who was meant to be his and his alone.

  Jesus, he was so stunned that he sucked in an even deeper, hungrier breath of her sweet, telling scent, this time through his mouth, his wolf ravenous for the smell of its mate, and that’s when it happened. The peanuts he’d been getting ready to chew lodged deep in his windpipe, making him choke.

  Son of a bitch! Here he was, a powerful, deadly Lycan who had survived harrowing situations, and he was choking in the middle of some god-awful diner, right in front of the woman nature had chosen as his perfect match. It was like some twisted cosmic joke. After everything he’d survived, he was going down because of some stupid salted nuts!

  With his beast howling in his ears and his lungs burning, Elliot was about to hurl himself against the table, hoping to expel the little demons, when someone suddenly whacked him hard on the back. He coughed so violently the peanuts shot from his throat, clear across the table, where they pinged against the opposite padded seat and scattered over the floor.

  Heart pounding, Elliot sucked in a much-needed breath of air, and turned his head to thank whoever had helped him.

  Then he wished he’d just choked on the damn nuts.

  It was Skye. She was the one who’d hit him on the back—saving him when he was there to fucking save her—and he felt the heat rise in his face. Christ, he was blushing like some gangly teenager!

  “Hey, are you okay?” she asked in the sweetest, huskiest voice he’d ever heard, before giving him a shy smile.