WHEN JACK AWOKE, he found Grant and Lara leaning over him.
“You okay, man?”
“Fucking awesome.” He rolled to his feet and almost vomited. His head throbbed to the beats of a thousand tiny drums. He put his hands on his knees and breathed slowly. Then he got to his feet. “I was going to get more candles. You didn’t get the electricity on?”
“I got knocked out in the shed. The generator’s busted.”
“Where’s Roxie?” asked Lara. Her insistent tone pricked the hairs on his nape.
The men looked at each other.
“Goddamn it. We left her!”
The front doors burst open. A drenched Elsa carried a big satchel into the house and hurried toward the stairs.
“Jack! Grant!” she said. “You’re okay. How’s Roxie?”
Jack’s heart tha-thumped and sweat pearled his brow. Without another word, he hauled ass up the stairs and grabbed at the door handle. It wouldn’t budge.
“Roxie!”
Grant pushed him aside and kicked at the locked door. It flew open, splintering, no match for the werewolf’s strength.
They rushed inside.
The shadowy creature that smelled like sewage hovered near the French doors. It turned as they burst inside, hissing and rushing toward them. The thing that had once been Crawl easily batted them aside.
The werewolves climbed to their feet, both growling as their inner beasts took over.
“Where’s Roxie?” demanded Jack. He snapped at the darker.
“Dead,” it cried gleefully.
Elsa pinned the thing to the floor. It screamed, trying to escape, but Elsa wasn’t about to let the darker go. Lara pulled items out of the bags.
“Grant,” puffed Elsa. “I need your help. Jack, go to the balcony. That’s the only place she could’ve gone.”
Grant joined Elsa’s efforts to hold onto the creature.
“Roxie!” Jack ran to the open French doors. What had that monster tried to do to their wife? Had she escaped? Or was she … oh, no. Now! He leaned over the balcony. “Roxie!”
The storm’s frenzy had dissipated. The rain fell softly now, and the velvet black of the sky peeked through the gray clouds. He looked everywhere, around the balcony, above him, at all angles of the roof, and finally, at the sandy ground three stories below. Tears pricked his eyes. “Roxie!”
“Jack?”
Her voice came from the right. He leaned as far as he could over the railing, and saw her hands grasping the rain gutter that ran under the balcony and along this section of roof. “Hang on, baby! Just hang on!”
“I’m already doing that. Any other swell advice?”
He choked on the laughter. She sounded scared, but strong. Yes, she was strong, his Roxie. He clambered over the railing, his feet sliding on the tiles. “Shit!”
“Be careful!”
“Yes, dear.” He crouched low, slowly stretching onto his belly. He inched toward the gutter, sweating and cursing, until his hands grabbed hers. “Thank God. Are you okay?”
“Almost.”
He slid his arms down on hers, offering his strength, until he reached her armpits and pulled her up. She grabbed onto his arms and struggled upward, grateful when her knees hit the roof. She slowly turned and sat, watching as Jack rolled over and did the same.
“Did it hurt you?”
She cuddled into his side. “It pushed me over the railing, but I grabbed the rain gutter.”
His heart nearly beat out of his chest. He’d almost lost her. Relief made him giddy.
“Where’s Grant?”
“He’s helping Elsa oust that bastard.” They crawled to the balcony and climbed over, reaching the French doors. Grant met them there, hugging them both.
The creature screeched. The Earth Pack triad turned and watched Elsa and Lara blow blue smoke at Crawl and chant in an ancient language. The darker writhed and shrieked…then it burst into a shower of red and black sparks, and disappeared.
“It’s over now,” said Grant.
“You’re safe,” added Jack.
Roxie held onto her mates, soaking in their warmth, their love.
“Well,” said Elsa, “I expect one of those little girls to be named after me.”
“And me, too,” said Lara.
Roxie let go of Jack and Grant, and turned to stare at Elsa. “One of my little girls?” She flattened her hand against her stomach. “Twins?”
Elsa chuckled. “No, honey.” She grinned widely. “Triplets.”
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Michele Bardsley is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of paranormal romance. When she’s not writing sexy tales of otherworldly love, she watches “Supernatural,” consumes chocolate, crochets hats, reads on her Kindle, and spends time with her husband and their fur babies.
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Bear Witness
1
RAFE PEARSON LEANED against the doorjamb and stared at the falling snow. Ominous clouds roiled in the night sky, stealing light from the moon and stars. The December weather ventured into the cabin only to be repelled by the crackling fire in the hearth and the soft comfort of candlelight. He felt the winter chill through his thick, long sleeved shirt, but he couldn’t blame his shivers on mere cold.
He was afraid.
Where was she?
The wind answered his silent question with swirling dead leaves and rattling naked tree limbs. Usually, he was very satisfied with this view—the forest all around his home, pure nature just steps away. It soothed his human need for solace and his animal need for primal connection. These ten acres were his small part of Mt. Charleston. His house was the only one around for miles, and he liked it that way. The highway that led to the nearby ski resort was a good thirty-minute walk—if he were only using two legs.
Rafe cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Wolf!”
The old girl meant the world to him, his only company in these lonely days—days that had somehow turned into years. Nearly three years, if anyone kept count. He tried not to, but his brothers and sisters certainly had. The family consensus seemed to be it was time for him to move on.
Yeah? How the fuck was he supposed to do that?
Unfortunately, the Pearson clan was all stubborn resolve wrapped in fierce love. He had to admit that his siblings’ visits and his mother’s casseroles were beginning to have the intended effect. But he wasn’t ready. His wife Samantha and his unborn child had died—and with them, a part of his own soul. He would decide when to stop grieving, not them.
The log cabin protested the incoming snowstorm—its creaks and groans as familiar as a favorite song. Rafe crossed the porch, leaning out over the railing to study the tree line. He understood the irony of a bear shifter befriending a forest animal. An irony that increased a hundredfold when one counted all the wolf shifters who lived in the surrounding areas. Hell, the Shadow Pack headquarters was three hours northeast of Las Vegas. And the Blood Pack was closer than that. Blood Pack. He scowled. Now there was a bunch of mangy assholes.
The one o’clock hour chimed from the Grandfather clock in his front room. One a.m. and she’s still not home. Rafe had no chance in hell of finding Wolf in the dark, much less in the storm, but the bad odds didn’t stop him from putting on his coat and snow boots. She had never given up on him, and he owed her. He stomped out to the porch an
d shut the door behind him.
Her howl stopped him from taking another step. Relief rushed through him and dissipated the tension bunching his shoulders. He waited, watching the edge of the woods. Since he was a bear shifter, his other senses were better than a human’s, including his vision. He saw the trees sway, their scraggly branches reaching up as if to touch the thickening gray clouds. There. Her gray fur was nearly invisible against the snow, but the big purple bag clenched in her teeth stood out like a beacon.
What had she found?
Wolf ambled to the porch and lowered the bag at his feet. He knelt and hugged her, running his hands along her thick fur. She allowed his affection for a moment, then slipped out of his embrace and nosed the bag, looking at him expectantly.
“Okay, girl. What did you bring me?”
Rafe noticed the holes cut in the top. What was in here that had gotten Wolf’s attention? Foreboding clenched his stomach as he unzipped the bag.
Shock electrified him.
An infant. He studied the frilly blankets and pink crocheted hat. A girl, he thought, probably three or four months old.
“Holy shit.”
Startled by his fervent exclamation, the baby curled her rosebud lips and wailed, shaking her tiny mitten-covered fists at him.
Rafe looked at Wolf. She offered him a solemn, unblinking gaze. “Where the hell did you find a baby?”
2
GRETCHEN MYERS WOKE to an endless and rhythmic beeping. She was strapped to a bed—the only thing she recognized in the cloying darkness. Her head throbbed and her chest hurt. He’d found her. Her stepsister’s demented husband had found Gretchen and imprisoned her. He would kill her.
Just like he’d killed Vivian.
Gretchen bit back an anguished wail.
A swath of white cut through the room’s utter blackness. Fear awakened inside her, but it was dull and thick, like chilled honey. Through heavy-lidded eyes, Gretchen watched a stocky female figure walk briskly to the bed and reach above her head. A light flickered on. She blinked into the harsh brightness, attempting to focus on the woman hovering above her.
Gretchen noted the kind face, the short silvery gray hair, and the blue scrubs. She squinted at the plastic rectangle pinned on the woman’s top. Sally Shake, R.N. She moved her arms and realized her what she believed to be a strap was actually an IV line inserted into her right wrist.
“Where am I?” Her voice sounded like the metallic squeal of a rusted hinge. She tried to wet her mouth, but it was like swallowing cotton. She coughed, and pain pulsed in her ribs. Ouch.
“Hello there! I’m Sally. You’re at Summerlin Hospital. They brought you in last night.” Sally seemed to intuit Gretchen’s dire thirst. She poured water from a pink plastic jug into a cup. “Here you go, sweetie. Just a little bit. Enough to get your mouth wet.”
Gretchen lifted her head and took small sips, resisting the urge to gulp. The cold water was pure nirvana, and in the moment, better than any liquid she’d ever tasted. After a few moments, she sank back onto the pillow. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I feel so tired.”
“It’s the meds.” The grandmotherly woman patted Gretchen’s arm. “You’re banged up, but you’ll be okay. Do you remember anything about the car accident?”
Memory flickered. The dark winding road. Twin dots of light appearing in the rearview mirror. Fear knotting her throat. Her hands shaking. Metal crunching. Tires screeching. Terrified screams. Hers. Kaylie’s.
Oh, my God. “Is the baby all right?”
Sally turned from checking the monitors. “Baby?”
“Yes. My … uh, daughter. Kaylie. She’s almost four months old.” Gretchen’s heart thudded. Had Kaylie been hurt when the sedan crashed into the trees? No. She had to believe the baby was all right. Gretchen couldn’t let Vivian down, not when her stepsister’s final act on this earth had been to protect that sweet baby girl.
“I’ll go check on your daughter. The doctor will be here any minute.” Sally’s smile offered reassurance, but Gretchen knew better than to trust anyone. Especially people hiding behind masks of being friendly professionals. Her hazy memory seemed to go in and out of focus—sharp one second, blurred the next. She couldn’t think straight. Please, please, please let Kaylie be okay.
In last twenty-four hours, Gretchen’s entire world had been turned upside-down with one run-in from a woman she hadn’t seen or heard from since they were teens. It was only by chance that they had re-connected. Or so Gretchen had thought. She realized now that running into Vivian at Caesar’s hadn’t been coincidence.
Vivian’s father and Gretchen’s mother had been blackjack dealers at the Drift Resort. It was a whirlwind courtship and an impulsive marriage. The relationship lasted less than five years. When Gretchen was fifteen and Vivian was seventeen, their respective parents divorced. Mom took her to Michigan so they could live closer to her grandparents, and Vivian and her father stayed in Vegas. Gretchen hadn’t been back to Nevada since … until yesterday.
How had her stepsister known that she was in Las Vegas? She’d unexpectedly won a vacation getaway a month ago, one that was only good for the first weekend in December. Gretchen was headed to a spa appointment when she spotted Vivian striding down the hallway. Their brief interaction consisted of a hug and a “How have you been?” conversation that lasted maybe two minutes. Vivian left with a smile and a wave. Later, after Gretchen went to her hotel room, she discovered a note in her jacket pocket.
Meet me at the address below at midnight. Park at the end of the driveway and go to the side door. Be as quiet as possible. I’ll explain everything when you arrive. I’m sorry to burden you, Gretchen, but you’re the only one I can trust. Please help me save my daughter.
A normal person would’ve called the police and handed the matter over to them. But Gretchen knew Vivian wasn’t a normal person—she knew her stepsister’s secret. Vivian was a werewolf. She had revealed her other self to save Gretchen. So, if Vivian was in trouble, Gretchen was more than glad to re-pay the debt.
At her stepsister’s instructions, Gretchen followed her rental car’s GPS directions to the address, which turned out to be an unbelievably luxurious mansion tucked onto the side of Mt. Charleston. The moment Gretchen arrived at the side door, Vivian opened it and handed her the purple bag that contained her most precious treasure.
Kaylie.
I don’t care about me, but my daughter deserves better. You have to take her. Please.
We’ll all leave together, Vivian.
There’s no escape for me.
Don’t say that. Come on. Let’s just go.
You don’t understand. My husband is Rand Blackthorne.
Blackthorne! Is he related to—
It’s complicated, Gretch. I don’t want her last name to be his. I don’t want his legacy to belong to her. When he’s … he’s distracted, you hold onto my baby and run.
Distracted? What’s going on?
Take Kaylie to Bleed City, Nevada. Ask for Aunt Lila. She’ll know what to do.
Gretchen had protested, but Vivian paled and whispered, “Rand’s coming.” She pushed the door closed between them, and Gretchen heard the lock click. The pretty square window sparkled in the moonlight. Its charming lace curtain gaped in the middle, offering a slivered view into the mudroom.
She stood frozen on the tiny concrete porch, hand raised to knock, desperate for Vivian to change her mind. Then a large man, who had to be Rand Blackthorne, stormed inside yelling and pointing a gun, so enraged he didn’t notice a witness. Gretchen would never forget his face. She would never forget the savage monster that appeared so quickly as he raised the gun and shot his wife point-blank in the head.
Gretchen swallowed a jagged, hollow scream.
Tears streaming down her face, she clutched the baby to her constricted chest … and ran.
“Miss?”
Startled, Gretchen blinked away the memories and looked at the man who
stood in the doorway, a chart in his hand. He was tall, lean, and wore a white lab coat. He had short brown hair and a nondescript face. “Who are you?”
“I’m Dr. McClure.” He crossed to the room, his expression polite and professional. However, his brown eyes were confident and kind. Gretchen relaxed. “You’re Ms. Myers?”
“How did you know that?”
“From your driver’s license. Your purse was among the items EMS collected when they took you from the accident scene.”
“Oh. Of course.”
“Do you remember anything?”
“Bits and pieces. How did I get here?”
“Frat boys on their way to the ski resort found you right after the accident. You managed to leave the car, but then you passed out. You’re very lucky. You didn’t suffer any negative effects from lying in the snow—no hypothermia or frostbite.”
“What about the baby? Is she okay?”
The doctor frowned. “I’ll check with pediatrics after we’re done, okay? Now, let’s see how you’re doing.”
He’d barely started his examination when Sally returned, anxiety and concern apparent in her expression. “Sweetie, I checked with the nurse who was on shift when you came in. You were alone. They didn’t find a baby.”
“Call the police,” said Dr. McClure. “We’ll need search and rescue out there immediately.”
Sally bustled away to do as the doctor directed. Dr. McClure patted her hand. “Don’t worry, Ms. Myers. We’ll do everything we can to find your child.”
Gretchen felt the blood drain from her face. Images and sounds filled her mind. She’d put Kaylie in the built-in pull-down child seat and harness in the back of her sedan. At the time she’d rented the car, the agent had mentioned the feature among many others when selling her the upgrade. She was glad she’d gone for luxury instead of practicality.
The Pack Rules Boxed Set: The Complete Series of Wolf, Bear, and Dragon Shifter Romances Page 30
