by Moira Rogers
Yet. She stifled a sigh and flipped on the light switch in her bedroom. "And this is my room. Make yourself at home."
Grace hesitated on the threshold, her gaze sweeping the vast room. "This is yours?"
"Yes." No bars on the windows or anything. She swallowed the words, because it really wasn't a joking matter. From what she could tell from Grace's behavior, her situation was, in many ways, even worse than Ashley's had been. "Do you need anything? A drink?"
After a moment, Grace shook her head and edged through the door. She only made it two steps before glancing back over her shoulder.
Ashley held her tongue. It seemed like all she'd been doing, all goddamn day. "Have a seat, if you like."
"Thank you." The girl's voice was husky and soft, but as uncertain as the rest of her. She perched on the edge of the couch, her hands folded together in her lap. "You're like me. Like them?"
"A female wolf," Ashley confirmed gently. "Were you raised with humans?"
She nodded jerkily. "I didn't know what I was. Not until..." Her fingers flexed. "Did you always know?"
"My parents were..." It hit Ashley in a rush, unbidden and paralyzing—the realization of what she'd lost. Not only her mother and now her father, but the chance to ever tell them she was okay, to make them understand that this life was more than fine with her. That it was what she wanted.
"I'm sorry," Grace said softly. "I lost my mom, too."
Ashley took a deep, bracing breath. "It's not easy, is it?"
"No." Grace curled her arms around her midsection. "I don't even know if my parents were...like us. Wolves. I guess they had to be, but—" She broke off, as if she realized she was saying too much. "But you knew."
"You didn't?"
"Not until Tim found me."
The words were flat, blank. Ashley shivered. "You don't seem to like him much," she observed carefully.
Grace didn't answer. "The one who scowls all the time. Is he your—your mate?"
It hurt, more than it should have. "No, I don't have a mate. Not yet. And Blake..." Ashley shrugged helplessly. "He doesn't scowl all the time. He just...doesn't care much for visitors."
"Does he...?" She fretted, her gaze drifting toward the sliding door and the deck beyond. "Will they come up here to check on you soon?"
Her meaning was crystal clear. "To see if I've run away? No."
"You don't want to?"
Her pain was a tangible thing—and so was her confusion. "No, Grace. I'm here because I want to be."
"Then you're lucky." Grace rose, pacing toward the window with nervous energy. "I need to get out. While they're not watching me. They're always watching me."
Ashley stood, as well, careful to keep her movements slow and easy. "If you're in trouble, Lucas can help you."
She went stiff, but at least she didn't bolt. "That's what Tim said, too. That Emmett could help me."
"Lucas is different. He wouldn't make you stay." Ashley knew it in her gut, with every fiber of her being. If Grace needed help, she'd get it, even if what she wanted was to get as far away from all of them as possible and never see them again. "He wouldn't make you do anything, I swear."
For the longest time, Grace didn't reply. When she moved, it was only to press her head to the glass door and close her eyes. "I'm tired of fighting."
"I've been there." Ashley eased closer, but she didn't touch the other woman. "I've been trapped, but now I'm not. Because I let them help me. I didn't know them, and I didn't know what they were going to do...but it had to be better than staying where I was."
Grace shuddered. "Tim won't just let me go."
Ashley's chest ached, not only for Grace's fear, but for her certainty that things couldn't get better. "Let Lucas handle that."
"Promise me." It was a whisper, so soft her breath barely fogged the glass. "Promise me they won't make me hurt them."
What she really meant was defend herself, the way she'd obviously had to with the others. For a single, blinding moment, rage clouded Ashley's vision, and she clenched her hands into fists.
She relaxed them by sheer force of will and exhaled shakily. "I promise."
Chapter Eleven
In the end, Lucas gathered them around the fire pit with beer to loosen the visitors' tongues, and set about drawing the truth out of them.
It took a patience Blake wasn't feeling anymore, so it was a damn good thing he wasn't expected to do the talking. He settled for gripping his beer and glowering as Lucas led the meandering conversation closer and closer to the fucking point.
He knew where it was going. In his gut, he knew. Emmett could spout all the bullshit he wanted, talking himself in circles about alliances and allegiances and strengthening the bonds between packs, but greed seethed under every word.
These interlopers wanted his pack's territory. They wanted his pack's resources. But, most of all, they wanted Ashley.
"What we're proposing is a trade." Emmett leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. "Your girl is unmated. So is ours. It only makes sense—"
Rage flooded Blake, boiling his blood. He could barely hear the rest of the words, all so easy, so smug, because this bastard thought of Ashley as a thing, something replaceable, interchangeable. Property.
Lucas held up a hand—to calm him, or to stop the flow of the other man's words, Blake couldn't tell. "No."
"It's a perfectly reasonable solution to both our problems."
"He said no," Blake snarled. "Ashley's pack. We don't trade pack."
The young one they called Leo snorted. "She's hot for it, man. I could smell it all over her. And apparently none of you are giving it to her. Not good enough, anyway."
Blake didn't decide to move. He didn't remember it at all, just the shatter of glass as the bottle in his hand broke against the fire pit. Then he had Leo on his back, one hand locked around the ignorant puppy's throat.
Shouts and then snarls rose in the night, echoing as if from miles away. The wolf beneath him flailed, kicking and scratching at Blake's face and arms in an effort to free himself.
Blake tightened his grip, fighting for control. His wolf was bleeding through, urging him to shed his useless human shape. To form teeth and claws to shred their enemies, to protect what would be theirs. Pain screamed in his joints, in his bones, his body starting to give in to the call.
"You're dead," he growled, rolling away to tear at his clothes. The boy scrambled to his feet and bolted—on human legs, like stupid prey—and Blake embraced the agony of the change, rose from the shredded ruins of his clothing, and surged in pursuit.
Chapter Twelve
When the first howl split the night, it raised goose bumps on Ashley's skin.
They could be running, she told herself, but it had to be a lie. There was no trace of joy or revelry in that sound, just a shrill note of attention and warning that chilled her blood in her veins. She understood what it meant, deep in her gut, in that place beyond thought or reason.
Fight.
Grace lurched from the couch, her hands curling into fists. "We should run. We should get away. One of the cars—"
"No." Ashley headed for the exterior door to the deck. If there was trouble, she needed to find the others. "I have to help them."
"You can't—" The words cut off in a muffled shriek.
Ashley spun around. Tim had one hand locked around Grace's throat, the other pressing a wicked looking blade to her cheek. For a moment, all Ashley could do was stare, horrified.
Tim stared right back.
"Don't make me hurt her," he muttered. "Don't make me hurt you."
Ashley swallowed hard, steeling herself against the terror twisting Grace's features. "What's going on?"
"They're fighting over you." He sneered and took a step back, dragging Grace with him. He lowered the knife to his side, but his grip on Grace only tightened as he dropped his lips to her ear. "No one's fighting for you. No one but me."
Ashley couldn't let him get out the door. If she did,
he would flee, and then Grace would be alone with him. Whatever tiny, ineffectual bits of control that had kept him restrained before would vanish, and Christ knew what would happen to her.
Nausea churned in Ashley's stomach, threatening to overwhelm her. She could have been her, all too easily. If someone other than Blake had found her, someone sent by an alpha less scrupulous than Lucas. And she would have been completely, utterly at their mercy.
"No." She took a step forward, clenching her hands in her skirt to hide their trembling. "Grace wants to stay."
Tim laughed harshly and licked the woman's cheek, and something feral flashed in her eyes. He swiveled, tossed her aside with a lazy flex of muscle, and Grace collided with the wall with a sickening thud.
She slumped to the floor in a heap, but Tim was already moving, his knife catching the light as he stalked toward Ashley. "Grace wants to do what I tell her to do, she just doesn't know it yet. No one ever taught her where a bitch belongs."
His words scrambled her brain with anger, but it didn't matter. He was moving too fast for her to think anyway, so she reached out and snatched up a heavy stone candle holder from her desk. "Stay back!"
"Really?" He laughed again, mockery dripping from him as he circled closer. "That's all the fight you've got in you? Pathetic."
He lunged, and she swung the candle holder at the side of his head. It connected with a crack, sending hot bolts of pain shooting down her arm as Tim stumbled back.
The stone slipped from her nerveless fingers, and she watched in horror as he swiped blood from the side of his face and stared at his reddened fingers. "Useless bitch," he rumbled, wiping his fingers on his shirt and leaving gruesome streaks behind. "I was going to make it fast, but not anymore."
As he lunged at her again, this time locking those bloodied, steely hands around her neck, Ashley panicked. All the things she could have done—should have done—flashed through her mind. Hit him harder, run out the door, screamed for help.
And now it was too late.
Chapter Thirteen
The wolves were stupid, but they were fast.
Not Leo. He went down first. Easy, while he was wrestling with the door to the SUV, probably going for a gun. They were fast and they were cheats, so steeped in human corruption that they couldn't face an honest challenge.
Blake didn't give him a chance to fight dirty. He tore through the younger man's leg, bringing him down, and ripped out his throat just as fast.
Another wolf slammed into Blake, knocking him to the ground. They rolled and came up snapping. The other wolf was large, almost as big as Blake, and fast. Bryce, judging by his scent, which meant he was younger, too.
He was cornered, desperate. But Blake was fighting for Ashley.
They clashed again, Bryce twisting in fast and angling for Blake's throat. Blake turned at the last moment, and those heavy jaws closed on his shoulder, instead, lighting him up with a pain he ignored.
When he didn't go down, Bryce broke away, panting and circling. The sharp scent of blood filled the air, a warning that Blake couldn't afford to play games. Bites from werewolves healed human-slow, and bleeding would weaken him.
He didn't have time to be weak.
But he could fake it, just a little. A step back, a stumble, as if his injured front leg couldn't hold his weight. He started to sag and Bryce was on him, lunging in for the kill so recklessly that all Blake had to do was spin at the last moment and close his teeth around his enemy's throat.
The wolf gurgled and thrashed as blood poured. By the time he fell still, Blake heard quick footsteps advancing at a run.
It was Mac. He called out Blake's name before skidding to a halt in front of him. "Emmett's dead," he panted. "But we've got a fucking problem."
It was hard to get control of himself. To find any shred of calm, or the will to regain his human form. He was stronger like this, faster like this. Deadly like this.
But he could be deadly in any skin.
It hurt more, shifting back. His shoulder screamed with it, and he ended up on his knees, sucking in a shaky breath as his arm tingled. It was a struggle to force out human words. "What's wrong?"
"Connor and Jud headed back to the house." Mac pressed his lips together in a grim line. "We can't find Eyepatch."
Tim. The one who'd glowered in silence. The one who'd watched Grace with an absentminded dedication that would have been familiar if there'd been anything tender in his eyes. A man with an obsession wouldn't let anything stand in his way.
Blake lurched to his feet, shoved past Mac, and ran for the house. Mac thundered after him, yelling something, but all of Blake's attention was focused on one thing.
One person.
Ashley's door stood open, a dark smear marring the polished wood. His heart stopped, just stopped, a blackness rising up to swallow him.
He'd fucked up. He'd lost control. He'd gone running after an enemy who had taunted him with stupid, meaningless words, and left everything that mattered unprotected.
Blake stumbled through the door, fear tunneling his vision. For an endless moment, all he saw was Ashley. Jud had her head tilted back and to one side, and light fell on dark bruises ringing her throat. Connor said something to her, and she looked over and nodded, then froze as her gaze clashed with Blake's.
Alive. Bruised and scared, but whole. He needed to go to her, to run his hands over her, press his ear to her chest and listen to the steady thump of her heart. He needed it more than anything...
And he didn't deserve it. Hadn't earned it.
"Grace." The pleading tone in Connor's voice finally dragged his attention away from Ashley.
Tim's body lay on the other side of the room, sprawled face down in a spreading pool of blood. Grace straddled his hips, her bloody hands clutching the hilt of the knife she'd jammed repeatedly into the man's back.
Her eyes were feral. Unseeing. Her hands shook as she lifted the knife again, and she bared her teeth when Connor reached out to her.
Mac took over, sliding one hand down her arm. She whipped around, slashing the blade blindly across his shoulder before he managed to secure her wrist. "He comes back," she snarled, her voice breaking on fear so intense it hurt. "Nothing kills him. I have to—"
"Not this time," he said soothingly. "He's over, honey. You got him good. Now give me the knife, okay?"
Grace open her hand one shaky finger at a time, relinquishing the weapon with a choked sob. It was heartbreaking to watch, yet another failure digging hooks into Blake's heart. If he'd been where he belonged, Ashley wouldn't be decorated in bruises and Grace wouldn't have blood on her hands.
"Blake." Ashley's voice, hoarse and pained.
He didn't deserve to go to her, but he had to. At least one more time.
He sank to Ashley's side and wrapped her in his arms. "Are you okay?"
Instead of answering, she shook her head and buried her face in his shoulder.
He hauled her closer and rested his chin on top of her head. "You will be. We'll take care of you, sweetheart. I promise."
"I heard the howling. I tried to come out, but Tim—he—" She shuddered. "He was so angry."
"He was fucked up." And they should have seen it. He should have seen it.
"I hit him, but it didn't faze him. But Grace..." Her shaky voice hitched into borderline hysterical laughter. "Grace took a knife during dinner."
Another thing he should have seen—a girl desperate enough to steal silverware because she knew she might need to defend herself. But he'd been too busy dragging Ashley into a fucking closet to rub all over her, like a human pounding his chest. "Shh, it's okay, honey. We can talk about it later."
"I need to get out of here." She clutched at his shoulders, her hands sticky-slick with blood. "Help me."
Blake gathered her and rose, holding her tight to his chest as he carried her from the room. His bedroom door stood open, and he nudged it wide with one foot. He carried her through it, past the bed, straight to the bathroom with it
s wide-tiled shower. "Can you stand up for me?"
She did, swaying only slightly as she stared down at her ruined clothes. "My dress..."
It was sweet, the top hugging her curves, the skirt swaying around her legs. And it couldn't be salvaged. "Connor will get you another one," he promised, guiding it over her head. "A dozen just like it, if you want."
The dress cleared her head, and her eyes locked with his. "I was worried about you."
He barely felt his shoulder now. Physical pain was inconsequential compared to the fear that filled her eyes. "You don't have to be, Ashley. I'm tough. I'm fine."
"I can't help it," she whispered. "I love you."
His heart didn't stop this time. It damn near beat its way out of his chest.
I love you too. The words were there, on the tip of his tongue. He could say them, be selfish, accept everything he didn't deserve and bind her to him before he'd earned the right.
And the next time he lost his fucking mind and put her in harm's way, she might not have a broken girl with a stolen steak knife to save her.
I love you.
He couldn't say it, but he couldn't hold it back, either. So he sank his fingers into her hair and kissed her, silencing himself this time.
Chapter Fourteen
It had been a long time since Lucas had been in charge of burial detail.
But Joshua had taught him well, and he remembered his lessons. At least four feet, too deep for scavengers. Six was better. But the season was on their side, with warm weather and pliable soil, or it would have taken more than two werewolves with strong shovels and even stronger backs to get it done before daybreak.
The sky had just started to lighten when he left Jud to finish covering the bodies. He trudged back to the house—grimy, sore from the fight and the bone-wrenching terror of having his territory invaded and then dishonored—only to see Blake slipping out the side door with a duffel slung over his uninjured shoulder.
