by J. D. Tyler
And unshakable. Whatever the sleek model was the assholes were driving, it obviously had more juice than an ancient Camry held together by wire and duct tape. She was lucky it had crashed the gate and come through in one piece, and from the sound of the gears grinding and the engine wheezing, her dubious fortune wasn’t going to last much longer.
Correction: Her luck had run out weeks ago when she’d started hallucinating visions of a sexy dead guy—was that an oxymoron?—begging for help, and she’d actually listened.
Where in the hell could she go? The police station wasn’t far. She knew a couple of officers, one a detective. And she’d tell them, what? That she was in possession of stolen property and being shot at? That would turn away her pursuers for now, but she’d likely be arrested, the property returned to NewLife, and she’d have nothing to prove her claims. Such as they were.
So the police were out. Which left the airport. If she could just lose these pit bulls, she’d go there, buy a ticket to anywhere. Somewhere random, get a hotel room. Then she’d call a colleague who was a doctor specializing in genetics, arrange to meet him. With someone in the medical field on her side, she might have a chance at getting somewhere with proving what the docs at NewLife were up to.
Which would have been a great plan if the Camry hadn’t given up the ghost. The damned thing coughed, sputtered . . . and died.
“No!” Yanking the steering wheel, she guided the car off the side street and into a darkened parking lot. Coasting to a stop, she put the car in park and took in her surroundings.
She was one street off the Strip, behind one of the casinos and off the beaten path. And the bad guys had just screeched to a stop next to her car, on the driver’s side.
Both of them emerged from the sedan, the moonlight reflecting off the guns in their hands. They exchanged a look and then approached with slow, confident strides, wearing identical expressions of malicious triumph.
The man who’d been the passenger opened her door, grabbed her by the arm, and jerked her out, slamming her back against the side of her car.
“Seems you’ve been snooping where you don’t belong,” he sneered into her face. “The underground level is restricted for a reason. Why don’t you tell us what you hoped to discover down there? Or maybe you did find something you shouldn’t have.” He turned his head, called to his partner. “See what Sweet Cheeks has in her purse.”
Kira took advantage of his momentary distraction and brought her knee up hard between his spread legs, doing her best to relocate his balls. Letting out a hoarse cry, the man clutched his crotch and fell to his knees.
Kira took a deep breath, and released a scream loud enough to wake the dead.
* * *
“Did anyone ask Hammer if he wanted to ride along this trip?”
Jaxon Law studied Zander Cole’s profile as the dark-haired man guided the Mercedes SUV through heavy traffic on the Strip. True to his nature as a Healer, his best friend was always thinking of those who were broken—and how to fix them. Not that Hammer was necessarily broken; the big, quiet man was just . . . scary different. “I did. He said he wanted to go to bed early and read.”
From the back, Aric snorted. “Jesus. Is he going to do his knitting, too?”
Beside Aric, Ryon piped up. “Quilting.”
“What?”
Jaxon craned his neck and eyed the pair, snickering at Aric’s puzzled expression. The big redhead was frowning at Ryon as though he’d uttered a foreign word.
“He doesn’t knit—he quilts,” Ryon said slowly, as though speaking to a three-year-old. “Says it calms him. He’s pretty good at it, too. You should see the detail in his designs—”
“Calms him?” Zan interrupted, brows lifting. “God, if he was any more laid-back he’d be dead.”
Jaxon put in his two cents. “I think what we see on the outside of that guy is a carefully controlled mask. Wouldn’t surprise me if he’s the most dangerous dude any of us know.”
On that point, he got no argument. Jaxon, Zander, Aric, and Ryon had been together since they were Navy SEALs—a promising career cut short years ago when their unit was attacked by rogue weres, more than half of them slaughtered and the rest, including the four of them, turned into wolf shifters. But Hammer, along with their new boss Nick Westfall, had only been with Alpha Pack for a few months. Those two were born shifters, a fact that had the team and the doctors and scientists at the Institute of Parapsychology completely fascinated.
Nick, a rare white wolf, had replaced the deceased Terry Noble and brought Hammer with him to the team when they both left the FBI, and Jax had to admit the newbies were working out pretty well. Nick was tough-as-nails, but fair, and knew how to laugh at himself when the situation called for it. Unlike Terry, he wasn’t above having a beer with the guys, and he sometimes joined them when their wolves needed to run and hunt. He had their backs, always.
Hammer was cut from the same cloth as Nick, though he was more of a mystery. The huge gray wolf preferred to keep to himself and remain ensconced with their leader at their compound deep in the Shoshone National Forest rather than make the trek to Vegas to blow off steam and get laid.
“Quilting,” Aric muttered with a short laugh. “Man, I’m gonna give him hell about this.”
Zan shook his head. “Probably not a good idea to harass a guy who can kill you with one blow from his fist. Ease up, Savage.” Zan made a right, toward the Bellagio, and grinned. “Here we are. Reservations are under my name. We’ve got four nonsmoking rooms with king-sized beds and the weekend off, boys. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
This prompted a round of cheers and whistles.
As Zan found a parking space, Jaxon addressed the group. “Keep your cell phones charged and handy. Is anybody besides me going off by themselves?”
Aric laughed. “Are you kidding? I don’t know about these two,” he said, indicating Ryon and Zan, “but if I don’t find a hot woman with loose morals PDQ, I’m going to self-combust and torch half the Strip.” Considering his particular Psy gifts, the man was only half-joking.
“No shit,” Ryon eagerly agreed.
“I’m going to hit the casino for a while, just relax, maybe play some blackjack,” Zan put in. “There’s something to be said for going slow and anticipating the ride.”
“I’ll go slow the second time. Or maybe the third. Let’s go, ladies.” Jaxon got out of the SUV carrying his duffel bag, scenting the air. His blood thrummed hot in his veins, his cock already half-hard at the prospect of burying himself between a pair of silky thighs, sliding deep. Fucking all night long, in every position. It had been weeks since they’d been able to make it to Vegas, and like his friends, he was feeling the burn.
Inside the hotel, Jaxon and the others checked into their rooms and dropped off their bags, but didn’t linger. Zan had booked them all on the same floor, so they rode down together again and then split up. Zan went looking for the blackjack tables, Aric and Ryon heading for the front doors and disappearing into the night. Jaxon skirted the gaming area and strolled to the nearest bar, ordering a Jack and cola. He sat with his back to the bar, sipping his drink and scanning the crowd, waiting.
She’d be here. Right on the dot, like before.
Jaxon wasn’t one to waste valuable time searching for a “date” when he had only two nights off, and Alexa had been not only reliable on their two previous weekends together, but extremely talented in bed. The blond call girl had taught him naughty things he’d never considered doing or allowing to be done to him, and some of those tasty memories had him squirming on his stool. Damn, the woman loved her job. Lucky me.
As if he conjured her, she stepped around an older couple and came toward him wearing a wide smile, a little black halter dress, matching heels, and nothing else. He knew that from experience. Her long blond mane tumbled over her shoulders, full and teased, in a dramatic style that never failed to call to mind an eighties rocker. But the fluff framed a pair of nice full breasts, the ni
pples even now peeking through the thin material of her dress and awaiting his tongue. Her face was overdone with makeup in his opinion, and she had the hard look of a girl who’d already seen too much of the crap life had to offer. But even so, she was still attractive.
“Hey, hot stuff,” she greeted him in a sultry voice. Stepping between his knees, she twined her arms around his neck, pushed her breasts against his chest, and captured his mouth with hers.
Her tongue slipped inside and dueled with his, seeking and tasting. Her nipples grazed him though his dark T-shirt, begging to be appreciated. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he broke the kiss. “My room.”
“Not yet.”
He frowned. “Why not?”
“I have an idea.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Let’s go for a walk.”
“I’m not paying you to take me for a stroll down the Strip, gorgeous.”
“There’s plenty of time to play in your room, but this is different. Just trust me.”
He hesitated. Inside, his wolf growled suspiciously, not trusting her or any situation that was “different.” The man, however, was ready and willing to be led by his cock, especially if she came through once again with her love of the daring and kinky.
“All right.” Sliding off the stool, he offered her his arm. “Have it your way.”
Raking him up and down with her eyes, she ran her tongue over her lips in an exaggerated come-hither gesture. “If you insist.”
Pushing down another ripple of unease, Jaxon let her pull him away from the bar and through the front doors, outside. He wondered what game she had in mind as they walked in silence, away from the Bellagio and down a side street to the next block, leaving the hordes of people behind.
He didn’t have long to speculate. Tugging his hand, she led him across a dark parking lot dotted with only a few cars, toward the back of small abandoned building that used to be a club or something. At the back wall, she pulled him around the corner to where the side of the store was shielded from view of the neighboring business by a tall wooden fence. She backed him against the brick, attacking the fly of his jeans. Which, admittedly, was bulging with excitement.
“Alexa,” he began, shaking his head.
“Shush. This is gonna be so good.” Expertly, she freed him, stroked his erection. “You ever had public sex? It’s quite a thrill.”
“Yeah, but who’s going to see us? There’s nobody around.” There was something wrong with her logic in this, but damned if he could think what it was.
Because at that moment she sank to her knees and manipulated his aching balls with clever fingers tipped with bloodred nails. Swiped the head of his leaking cock with that pretty pink tongue. Began to lick his shaft, laving him like he was the last ice-cream cone in the Mojave Desert. He moaned, burying his fingers in her hair, not caring about the gallon of hair spray making the strands stick to his palm like a damned spiderweb. All that mattered was her mouth, sliding down over his rod, the heat, the suction, taking him deep—
A scream ripped through the night, shattering the mood. Jaxon straightened with a gasp, disengaging himself from his date more abruptly than he intended, pushing her back. He listened, ignoring the hooker’s muttered protests. Another scream went through him like a bolt of electricity, the sheer terror in the female’s voice calling to something primal within him.
Quickly, he tucked his flagging erection into his jeans and zipped up, and then pulled Alexa to her feet. “I have to see about this. Go back to the hotel, where it’s safe.”
“Oh, come on,” she began, pouting. “It ain’t your problem. Let someone else deal with it.”
Spinning her around, he gave her a push toward the corner. “Go, now, and don’t follow me. I’ll call you.” In that moment, he knew he never would, but the reason eluded him.
Digging his iPhone from his jeans pocket, he took off at a jog, wincing at the stab of pain in his mangled leg. In human form he could walk with barely a limp, but more strenuous activity such as jogging, running, or sparring with his teammates still caused the injured limb a great deal of agony.
Ignoring the pain, he scented the air. Fear. The unknown woman’s panic clawed at his chest, more than a stranger’s should. He had to get to her, make sure she was all right. Following the scent, he slowed long enough to ring Zander. Thankfully, his friend answered right away.
“What’s up?”
“My hookup, Alexa. You’ve met her.”
“Right.”
“We went for a walk, but something’s going down and I had to send her back. She’s coming your way.” He gave Zan her location and the intersection he’d just passed.
“I’ll call the others and send them as backup. After I make sure she’s safe, I’ll head there myself. What’s going on?”
“Not sure, but I heard a woman scream twice.”
“Be there soon.”
“Thanks, man.” Ending the call, he stuffed the phone into his pocket again and picked up the pace. He didn’t understand this driving need to hurry, to get between this woman and whatever threat she faced. He ran full out, knowing by the sweet scent that must be hers that he was almost there. She was nearby.
His route took him farther from the Strip, across another parking lot and past more darkened buildings. Not an area where anyone should wander alone. What had brought the woman to such a desolate part of the city? He’d learn soon enough.
As he rounded another building, he spotted her. The woman whose scent would likely drive him mad if he had a few seconds to savor it. The petite blonde was struggling in the hold of a man in a dark suit, fighting like a rabid wildcat, biting, scratching, and kicking. A second man rose to his feet, gun in one hand, cupping his crotch with the other, and Jaxon felt a surge of pride knowing she’d put him on the ground. Then the first man slammed her against the side of a car and delivered a blow to her face that snapped her head back and made her cry out in pain and terror.
Tear out his fucking heart and feast on it while it beats.
Jaxon’s beast rose with a vengeance, burst from his skin without conscious thought. His roar shook the earth, brought the tableau before him to a complete standstill. He stripped off his shirt, was barely aware of the rest of his clothes falling away as skin became fur, muscles and bones contorting and reshaping, the usual pain little more than a whisper in his mind. Hands changed to paws, fingernails to claws, man to pure, raging gray wolf.
All zeroed in on the man who’d struck the small, pretty blonde.
The soldier in him knew the smart move would be to go for the man with the gun; the beast demanded blood from the one with his hands on her. The one who’d hit her.
The one who now let her go, twisted around to confront the new threat . . . and stared at him in horror. The predator in him felt a surge of satisfaction. His wolf wasn’t nearly as hampered by his leg injury as the man.
The wolf sped across the distance, leaped, and the man screamed, the last sound he’d ever make. His forepaws struck the bastard square in the chest, knocking him backward, into the side of the car. Off-balance, the man stumbled and fell, and Jaxon took him to the ground. Lunging, he went for the kill, snapped his jaws around the vulnerable neck, teeth sinking into flesh, through muscle and bone. The man’s scream ended in a rough gurgle, his hands grabbing desperately at the wolf’s fur, trying to dislodge him. To no avail.
The struggles weakened as blood filled the wolf’s mouth, rich and sweet, and he was hardly aware of the man’s companion shouting in terror. The beast longed to linger over his prize, to rip into the savory meat and take his fill. To howl his triumph over the man who’d dared to strike his—
A muffled pop and a searing pain in his shoulder brought him around snarling, his kill abandoned as he faced the remaining threat. This asshole had also wanted to harm the woman, and for that he was fucking dead. The wolf launched himself at the second man, who backpedaled with a yell, pointed the gun and fired again. His shot went wide, and Jaxon took him down as easil
y as he had the first goon, tearing out his throat. The urge to feed was strong, almost unbearable, now that they were no longer a threat to the woman.
The woman.
Again, the scent of her invaded his senses. With the danger past, he let his limp prey drop from his jaws and finally took stock, letting the aroma of citrus and vanilla fill him, the crisp, clean essence of her imprinting on every cell of his being. A strange rush fired his blood, as though the man inside the beast had mainlined a load of coke, a comparison he could honestly make. A much younger, more reckless Jaxon had flirted with the edge of no return before he’d gotten his act together and joined the Marines.
Instinct told him that the effect of this woman’s scent had the potential to be twice as intoxicating as any drug, and much more dangerous to the man and to the wolf.
Turning, he saw her. Edging around the front of the dilapidated car with her hands on the hood, eyes wide with shock, trying to put the vehicle between them. The predator in him tensed, focused his attention solely on the woman, and he moved forward slowly. Began to stalk her—but not for the reason she might think.
She was slim and small, fine-boned, with a delicate face that was all angles and dominated by big sky blue eyes. Almost an elfin face, especially with the shoulder-length pale blond hair framing those sweet features. He doubted her head would reach his chin, and all things considered, she’d tuck against his chest and mold perfectly against his much bigger body.
Mine.
And why the hell would he go all possessive over a woman he didn’t know? His irritation with himself emerged as a growl.
“N-nice puppy,” she stammered, stumbling as she kept moving backward, around the car. “Good puppy. Aren’t you p-pretty?”
The wolf snorted, which came out like a sneeze. He’d been called a lot of things, very few of them complimentary, and certainly never pretty. But from her? He could live with that.
She grabbed for the passenger door handle and tugged, only to find it locked on that side. Eyes round with fear, she stared at him, and he recognized the moment she realized she was trapped. There was nowhere to go, no escape.
