The Wolf Princess: The Wolf PrincessOne Eye Open (The Pack)

by Karen Whiddon

  It appeared to be five feet tall at the lowest point, well over eight at the highest. With its varying height and width, the wall had only one constant that Carson could see—the flat stone top was inlaid with broken glass, bright colors sparkling in the winter sun. All the shards pointed outward, sharp and deadly.

  “Hell of a deterrent,” he said. “I’ve seen a few walls like that before, but only in Mexico and Brazil.”

  Though she nodded at his words, Brenna continued to study the wall. Too tall for her to leap in her wolf form, impossible to climb as a human, the barricade seemed insurmountable. No doubt that had been the builder’s intention, she thought with a wry smile. She would have to figure out a way around it.

  “How do they open the gate?”

  “By remote.” Carson pointed to a small speaker box set into the stone. “You have to be admitted. And they have cameras, see?”

  Not one but two cameras were aimed at the gate.

  “They probably have motion sensors, too, don’t they?” Her heart sank. “The place is well guarded.”

  “Yeah.” His gaze searched her face, as if he knew what she was considering. “Of course it is. They have too much to lose to be careless.”

  She studied the wall again. Somewhere there had to be a spot low enough for her to jump. As a wolf, if she took a running start, she might be able to leap over. Of course, the consequences were she to fail could be deadly—or merely a scraped wolf belly. Either way, she had to try.

  Just thinking about changing brought the urge so strongly that her mouth went dry. For a moment Brenna battled herself, hoping Carson wouldn’t notice. It had been far too long since she’d assumed her wolf form.

  “Okay, so that’s it.” After making a U-turn in the road, he accelerated back toward town. “We can’t drive in there unannounced. And with the cameras aimed at the gate, they’d spot us. We’re just checking the place out. I don’t want them to know I was here.”

  “We,” she corrected automatically. “We were here.” She craned her neck for one last look, marking the stately oaks that guarded the gated drive. Though a good distance from the motel, the Hell Hole was not too far for her to run in a single night. To lope there and back would certainly be exhausting, but such a distance was well within her capabilities once she’d changed. Breaching the wall would be her main problem.

  He broke into her chain of thought. “What are you thinking?”

  Suddenly aware of his scrutiny, she turned in her seat and said the first thing that came to mind. “This bar you want to check out, do you think it will be safe?”

  He shrugged, watching her from the corner of his eye. “No place is safe for us. Especially if they know we’ve been out here, casing their hideout. If you’re worried, you can wait in here.”

  “Right.” She drew the word out in a sarcastic drawl. “Since they’re shooting at you, why don’t you wait in here and let me check out the bar?”

  To her surprise he laughed. Not the cynical, no-humor sound he’d been prone to since she’d met him, but a deep peal of belly laughter that made her smile in return.

  “You didn’t dress in your biker-babe outfit,” he reminded her. Amazed at the way humor lit up his craggy face, she was so busy staring that she nearly didn’t respond.

  “Didn’t feel like it,” she said. Noting again the sharp tug of sexual awareness, she tore her gaze away from him.

  “With you wearing that DEA jacket—” she touched the brim of her cap “—and me in this DEA hat, we don’t need to look like bikers anymore, do we?”

  He laughed again. “No. Now we look like targets.” Still chuckling, he reached over and took the hat from her head. “I think we’ll leave the DEA gear in the Tahoe.”

  Bringing one hand up to comb through her flattened hair, she smiled back. “Okay. Now let me in on the joke?”

  He shook his head, the grin fading, though traces of humor still sparkled in his eyes. “I just had this mental image of you in a packed biker bar, doing a Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon routine and taking them all out.”

  Since that was perfectly within her capabilities, Brenna still didn’t see what was so funny, but she let it go. The shadows had lifted from Carson’s eyes. However briefly such a thing might last, she wouldn’t question it.

  Suddenly conscious of biting her lip so hard it throbbed, she tilted her chin up and pretended intense fascination with the sun visor.

  “Do you think that bar serves food?”

  He glanced at his watch, a black-banded Timex. “Are you hungry already? We just ate breakfast.”

  She nodded. With the urge to change came fierce hunger, a strong need for red meat to sustain the body. Glad he hadn’t noticed her inner struggle, she settled back in her seat.

  Then Carson cast her the sort of sideways look males of all species can give, and she knew she hadn’t entirely fooled him. He knew something was up. He just didn’t know what it was.

  “I’m starving.” As if on cue, her stomach rumbled.

  “It’s a biker bar,” he said. “A lot like the one upstate, where you found me. Greasy hamburgers are probably the best they have.”

  “A greasy hamburger sounds wonderful.” She meant every word. Her mouth watered thinking about it.

  “And about the bar being safe, if any Hades’ Claws are hanging out there, I doubt they’ll expect us to walk right in among them. They’re used to terrifying their prey. So going in there will probably be a lot safer than if we sat on the bench in front of our motel.”

  Unnerved by his use of the word prey, she nodded.

  A few minutes later he made a right turn into an unmarked lot. “Here we are.”

  Barely four miles from the gated compound, towering pine trees surrounded the uneven parking lot. A faded, hand-painted sign hung on the weathered gray building, proclaiming they’d arrived at a bar called—appropriately enough—Dante’s.

  If she were simply driving by, she wouldn’t even take a second look, so unassuming was the structure. Most notable about the place was the way the winter sun reflected off row upon row of gleaming chrome handlebars and exhaust pipes. Only two cars and a pickup shared the parking lot with the sea of motorcycles.

  “There must be fifty.” Brenna couldn’t take them all in. “When you said biker bar, you weren’t kidding.”

  Flashing her another quick smile, he parked as far from the rows of bikes as the lot would allow.

  “In case we have to make a quick getaway.” This time his brittle smile took on a sharp edge.

  Stepping from the Tahoe, Brenna inhaled deeply, searching for the scent of trouble. This time the chilly afternoon air carried only a vague promise of snow, nothing more. Cocking her head, she listened, but heard only the faint sound of music and raucous voices from inside the bar. Maybe Carson was right. Maybe Hades’ Claws wouldn’t bother them here, so close to their den. She bared her teeth. The violence of the urge to change had her spoiling for a fight.

  “Are you okay?” Carson’s deep voice broke into her thoughts. He’d been watching her. Again. Had she been too careless, revealed too much of her true nature? Chastising herself under her breath, she gave a curt nod. When he opened the heavy wooden door, she squared her shoulders and swept past him into the dim, smoky interior.

  Wincing at the acrid odor of cigarette smoke, she glanced around. The rolling swagger with which she walked had taken weeks to perfect.

  At her entrance, several men looked up with interest. Two of them immediately headed her way, their eyes gleaming. Neither noticed the other, so she braced herself for the inevitable clash when they both reached her at the same time.

  Immediately Carson slung his arm across her shoulders and pulled her close. The possessive message was plain. Back off.

  Both men stopped, sized Carson up and turned back to their companions.

  Brenna turned to glare at Carson. “What the—”

  “Shh.” His breath warmly tickled her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. “I want the
m to know you’re with me.”

  “I won’t learn as much,” she growled back. Still, she forced a smile. Odd how his touch seemed to be able to take her mind off the need to change. Usually nothing and no one could do that. The urge would lessen only once she’d given in.

  “Hey, you look like you want to fight me. Relax,” he said, keeping her close.

  As if. Across the crowded room, she spied two empty chairs and a rickety round table. “There’s a place.”

  “Great,” he said. “We’ll order a drink.”

  “I want something to eat,” she reminded him. He left his arm around her as they slowly crossed the room. She found it much more difficult to do her stroll this way and, after two steps, gave it up. As they wound their way through the crowd, though some continued to watch them, most people paid them no mind.

  Checking for danger, she continued to breathe deeply. Mingled with the yeasty scent of beer and ever-present cigarette smoke, the air smelled of male sweat. A quick glance around told her she was one of maybe five women to fifty or more men.

  “Such odds,” she murmured. “Ten men to every woman.”

  He leaned his head close, still carrying on the charade, she supposed. “Some women would like it.” He licked her ear.

  Damn the man. Even here, he could still make her knees go weak.

  “Stop,” she hissed. “Let go.”

  They’d reached their table and finally Carson released her. With a sigh, she dropped gratefully onto the hard wooden seat.

  A waiter, his gray braid longer than Brenna’s, leaned close. On his forearm he had a shotgun tattoo, and his hand bore the insignia of a large, hairy spider. This time her shudder was from distaste. She despised spiders.

  “What d’ya want?”

  “I’ll have a hamburger.” Steeling herself, she let her gaze wander over him, as though she found him attractive. He lifted an arm, and she discovered he’d neglected to put on deodorant that morning.

  “And water,” she added, unable to keep from wrinkling her nose at the odor.

  “Budweiser.” Beside her, Carson smelled it, too. She could tell from his choked tone.

  The waiter managed to leer at Brenna and smile at the same time. “Gotcha. Be right back.” He lurched off toward the bartender.

  “Why’d you check him out?” Carson asked gruffly. “If you say he’s your type, I’m outta here.”

  Was he making another joke? “Are you all right?”

  He frowned. “Why?”

  With a shrug, she lightly touched his hand. “Nothing. You seem different, that’s all.”

  His frown deepened, making her sorry she’d mentioned his mood. Now he would probably revert to the surly, bitter Carson she knew.

  “Thank you,” he finally said, looking off into the roomful of people.

  “For what?”

  He leaned back, crossing one booted foot over his leg. She was struck by how well he fit in here, despite his lack of tattoos or earrings.

  “For reminding me who I am. And who you are.”

  His words stung. “You’re welcome,” she retorted.

  He continued to ignore her. She watched as he scanned the crowd.

  Some demon drove her. “So…you forgot who I am?”

  At first she didn’t think he would answer. He didn’t turn his head, even when the waiter reappeared with his beer and her water. The few cubes of ice were already melting in the large plastic glass. Once the waiter had threaded his way to the next table, Carson took a long, deep drink of his beer. When he met her gaze, she saw that the self-reproach was back in his.

  “I never forget,” he said. “Anything.”

  His words sounded like a threat.

  A moment later the waiter brought her hamburger. The tantalizing scent of meat drove all other thoughts from her mind. Seconds after he’d deposited the full plate in front of her, she grabbed the burger and began to devour it. Though she preferred meat slightly rare, and this had been cooked until it was nearly rubbery, she ate half in three bites, washing it down with gulps of lukewarm water.

  Well on her way to finishing, she became conscious of Carson—and several other men—watching her eat. She ignored their avid interest—and Carson’s speculative stare. She didn’t much care if human women ate as quickly. The protein filling her blood with a rush of power felt good. The energy coursing through her—red meat, without the hunt—empowered her with optimism.

  The hamburger went too quickly, so she started on the fries. Carson had barely finished half his beer by the time she’d cleaned her entire plate.

  A reluctant smile pulled at one corner of his mouth. “Hungry?”

  “I was.” Smiling back, she licked her lips. His gaze, following her tongue, intrigued her. With fresh energy flowing through her veins, she felt the sensual connection between them much more strongly, supplanting even the ever-present urge to change.

  His pupils darkened, and she knew he felt it, too.

  He leaned forward. She scooted her chair closer.

  “Brenna—”

  Behind them, glass shattered. She jumped. The entire room erupted. Men scrambled to their feet, a few heading for the door, more heading for the knot of bodies in the back corner of the room.

  “Fight!” someone shouted.

  Pushing back his chair so hard it clattered to the floor, Carson stood, blocking her view.

  “Don’t move,” he ordered. “Things could get dangerous. I’ll be right back.” Pushing through the crush of bodies, he disappeared into the crowd.

  For the space of two seconds she sat, staring after him. Shouts—egging the two combatants on—and the splintering sound of a chair breaking. Danger brought exhilaration, mingled with the trailing remnants of lust, all fueled by the fresh vigor in her blood.

  No way she could simply sit and wait while everyone else got in on the action. She jumped to her feet, getting ready to duck and dodge in Carson’s general direction, and found her way blocked by a tall, male form.

  “’Scuse me.” She attempted to skirt around him without making eye contact.

  “Brenna,” a deep and achingly familiar voice said, “what the hell are you doing?”

  She froze. Looked up. And met brown eyes so much like her own. “Alex?”

  Chapter 10

  “Alex.” Her heart thumped so hard she feared it might burst from her chest. “I can’t… I’ve been—”

  “Shh.” He enfolded her in a tight hug. “You always worried too much.”

  Normally those were fightin’ words. And he knew it.

  She held on to his forearms with a death grip. “Where have you been? What have you done? You disappeared. You scared the hell out of me, you know. You’d better start talking.”

  A crash—the back corner again. Two more men ran to join the fray. Alex glanced back. Then, apparently satisfied that they weren’t being observed, he shook his head in warning at Brenna. He wore his blond hair long, the cut shaggy. The shadow of a beard darkened his chin and cheeks. He looked like Brad Pitt gone bad.

  “I don’t have much time. Shh,” he said, when she opened her mouth to speak. Tension radiated off him.

  “I just need to know—”

  “Questions can wait.” He grimaced, his expression dark. “It’s bad here right now. Deadly. I want you safe. Gone. Go home.”

  “But—”

  “No.” His eyes blazed. “Leave, Brenna. Now.”

  “Well, well, well.” From behind them, a bitter voice. Carson. “I thought you might show.”

  Releasing Brenna, Alex turned to face the other man. Brenna noted Carson’s set jaw, clamped mouth and intent gaze. Her brother’s expressionless face she could not read.

  Her insides clenched. Though it seemed as if she’d been waiting for this moment forever, the roiling emotions inside her made her feel ill.

  Carson. Alex. She looked from her beloved brother to the man she’d come to care for.

  “Not here,” Alex said, his harsh words a clipped or
der. “Not in front of my sister.”

  Carson laughed. His hand hovered near his shoulder holster. Near his gun.

  Both men glared at each other.

  “You’re coming with me,” Carson growled. “I’m placing you under arrest.”

  “Don’t pull your gun in here.”

  “If I have to—”

  “No.” Expression unchanged, Alex glanced once more around the crowded room. “I’m not going anywhere. Not yet. Not today. Friday we’ll talk. I want you to get out of here. Take Brenna home.”

  “Brenna!” Carson exploded. “This isn’t about your sister, damn you. This is about my wife, my little girl. I’ve been looking for you for eighteen months. I saw you there—the day Julie and Becky died. I saw you, Alex, you…my partner. You killed them, and then you tossed the gun away. Right after you shot me in the back.”

  Chest tight, holding her breath, Brenna prayed for her brother to deny Carson’s horrible accusations.

  Instead, he shook his head, his narrow-eyed gaze revealing nothing.

  “This is not the time to talk about what you think happened that day. Take Brenna home, Carson,” Alex said. “They meant to kill you then. They failed. You might not be so lucky this time. They want you dead. And they’ll take my sister with you.”

  “Lucky?” The single word shook with rage. “I want answers.” Carson stood his ground, one hand now resting on the handle of his gun.

  After glancing around once more to make sure the rest of the room remained occupied by the fight, Alex shook his head. His next words came in staccato bursts. “Not now. It’s big…huge. I’m on it, man. The killer— I’m gonna bring him down. Don’t mess it up. And don’t involve my sister.” He took a step closer. “Get her out of here before she gets hurt.”

  “You’re serious?” Carson’s lips twisted in an imitation of a smile. “You expect me to believe you’re worried about your sister when you can’t even tell the truth about what happened?” He looked at Brenna. “How does it feel, knowing your brother is a coldhearted murderer?”