by Kari Cole
Freddie guided the glossy Bell toward the airfield. The helipad sat on the edge near two gray-sided hangars and a squat office building. As he adjusted their angle of descent over the postage-stamp airfield, a tall blonde in black darted out the office door and shielded her eyes from the dust whipped up by the rotor wash.
“Ah. There’s my girl,” he said.
Izzy had never heard that tone from him. The love and longing in his voice awed her and a mammoth wave of protectiveness rose inside. This woman better be worthy of her brother.
The Bell touched down with a slight bump. Rissa waited twenty feet away as Freddie rushed through the shutdown procedures. The draft from the rotors blew tendrils of hair around her delicate face. She waved, flicking a quick smile at Izzy. Izzy waved back, telling her territorial inner bitch to pipe down. She was going to make this perfect for Freddie.
And her creepy appetite and special brand of crazy were not invited.
Two large men stood near the office building watching them. One wore a cop’s uniform and looked like an NFL linebacker. The other had messy, short dark hair and a several-days-old beard that framed high cheekbones and a strong jaw. Heat rushed into her face as she noted how his broad shoulders stretched the fabric of his blue button-down shirt.
A slap on the arm startled her out of her admiration. “Come on, Iz,” Freddie said. He hopped out of the Bell and swept Rissa into a passionate kiss.
Blushing again, Izzy stepped onto the tarmac, right into the cold shock of winter in Montana. It felt good, crisp and fresh. It reminded her of home.
Wind pushed at her back as she walked around the nose of the Bell. The dark-haired man stepped out of the shadows and her heart jackrabbited. She stumbled. But it wasn’t the cold breeze that nearly knocked her to her knees. The man was staring at her, and the weight of that gaze set off a new kind of fluttering in her belly.
Cocking his head, he inhaled so deeply she could almost feel the air rushing toward him. His body shook as if straining against an immovable force. His eyes flashed greenish-gold in the light of the setting sun.
A low growl sounded in the gathering dusk.
The cop grabbed the dark-haired man by the arm and got snarled at for his trouble. The cop seemed surprised but didn’t let go. He hissed something Izzy couldn’t make out over the whoosh of blood in her head. Obviously, the man didn’t care what the cop said, because he never took his hungry gaze off her.
As she stared into those glinting eyes, another hot flush rushed over her skin, tingling like electricity.
The man’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t look mad.
He looked like he wanted to eat her alive.
She must have tipped over the edge into insanity, because her own hunger intensified, shifting into something primal, something sensual. Instead of running away from him, she wanted to run toward him, wanted—
The shifting wind blew in her face, carrying a scent she’d hoped never to encounter again. Terror weakened her knees and sent icy pinpricks across her over-heated flesh.
In Izzy’s mind, her grandmother’s voice shrieked, “They’re evil! Run, hide, fight.”
Oh God.
The beautiful, dark-haired man. He was one of them. The cop, too.
Her already-primed muscles screamed at her to flee. But she couldn’t leave Freddie and Ris—
Izzy’s gaze whipped to her brother. He stood a dozen feet away, holding Rissa’s hands.
“No!” Izzy covered the distance without blinking.
Grabbing Freddie, she pushed him behind her, and snapped out a kick that sent Rissa tumbling back six feet.
Not far enough. Nowhere near far enough.
Not when it came to these things.
As she tried to wrestle Freddie toward the helo, a well-dressed woman in her fifties burst from the office. Three men ran out of the hangars.
Izzy whipped the knife from the sheath at the small of her back. Her whole life, she’d hidden from these creatures. Now they surrounded her.
Werewolves.
Like Izzy.
Chapter Two
Luke blinked at the six-inch knife clutched in the small, shaking hand of the female who must be Freddie’s foster sister. She moved fast—as only another lycanthrope could—kicking Rissa and pulling that blade.
“Stop! Stay back!” she shouted in a voice filled with dominance.
And damned if they all didn’t freeze and ease back. Even him. But it wasn’t because he felt compelled to obey. Sucker punched was more like it, by the sight and scent of something he hadn’t expected.
Mine.
His beast delivered the growling declaration in feeling more than words, but Luke got the message loud and clear.
He tried to focus, but the female’s scent—sweet, almost spicy, like cinnamon sugar, and utterly intoxicating—filled his head and muddled his thoughts. Case in point: a stranger just assaulted one of his pack, and what did he want to do?
Claim her. Mine.
Within, his wolf paced a furious arc, bumping against the human confines of Luke’s body, trying to break free to take what it wanted. And Luke wanted to let it. He wanted to leap across the distance separating him from the small woman with the dark hair and pale skin and bury his face in her neck; wanted to roll around in that heady essence and see if she tasted as sweet as she smelled; wanted—
“What the hell, Izzy?” Freddie’s voice hit Luke like a bucket of ice water to the face.
Patience, Luke told his beast, as he clenched his fists against the flexing of claws. Nothing good could come from letting a lust-mad werewolf out to play right now.
The female—Izzy—grabbed Freddie by his shirt and shoved him behind her.
Freddie pushed his sister’s hand away. “Rissa, are you all right?”
Rissa eased to her feet in a move full of lithe grace. “I’m fine, babe.”
The little female pointed the knife at Rissa, then at Luke and Dean. “Stay back.”
Freddie scowled. “Seriously, Iz. What. The. Fuck.”
Rissa’s hands came up in an appeasing way. Her expression radiated cool, but Luke smelled her fear and anger.
The wind gusted, punching him in the gut with desire before the sharp note of terror within Izzy’s scent registered in his addled brain. His wolf demanded he gather the ashen-faced female close and shelter her from the world. His skin tightened until claws pricked at his fingertips, the instinct to protect her nearly overwhelming.
Why the hell was she so scared?
Izzy’s gaze darted between them. “There’s no time,” she told Freddie as she herded him toward the helicopter. “Trust me. Get in right now. We gotta go.”
A haughty voice interrupted Freddie’s response. “What are you doing?”
Luke restrained a groan.
Rissa didn’t. “Mother.”
Marianne Townes ignored her daughter and stalked toward the frightened little wolf. Her high heels clacked on the tarmac like gunfire. “How dare you!”
It didn’t seem possible, but Izzy paled even further. Couldn’t blame her, really. Full-grown, dominant males cowered under Marianne’s withering stare.
Freddie’s sister didn’t back down, though. Her chin came up and she pointed her blade. “Don’t.”
The restrained menace in the quiet command stopped even a ballbuster like Marianne Townes in her tracks.
Damn, Luke liked that.
“Quiet, Marianne.” He growled, silencing her protest, and earning a huff of indignation.
Izzy’s wide, panic-filled eyes fixed on him. It was like a jab to the throat and his wolf whined in misery. He would do anything so this female never looked at him like that again.
He held up his hands like Rissa had. “Sorry, Izzy—Isabelle. It is Isabelle, isn’t it?” Yeah, that fits her better. When she gave a cautious
nod, he continued. “It’s okay. No one is going to hurt you.”
She snorted. “Right.” To Freddie, she said, “If you ever believed anything I said, you’ll trust me on this. We need to go, right now.”
“What? Why? This is ridiculous. You’re holding a knife on my fiancée and her friends and family. They would never hurt me or you.” Freddie reached over her shoulder for the blade, and she nudged him back.
“You don’t understand.”
“Why don’t you explain it to us?” Luke said. He took a step toward the pair.
Isabelle’s hand jerked as she gestured him back with the knife. “I won’t let you hurt him.”
Marianne scoffed. “You’re the one with the knife. A silver knife.”
Luke growled again, silencing the older woman. “Not helping.”
Marianne might be a pain in the ass, but she was right. Now that he had a modicum of control, he smelled the silver in the blade, too. If he didn’t manage this right, someone could be seriously hurt. Lycanthropes could heal almost any wound, except those inflicted by another of their kind. Or silver. Then they would heal human-slow—if at all.
The fresh wave of fear pouring from Isabelle sickened him.
Luke took another slow step toward her. “Listen, I understand some territories are hostile to strangers, but that isn’t the case here.”
“Luke, what the hell are you talking about?” Freddie asked. “Has everyone gone nuts?”
Rissa kept her voice calm as she said, “Freddie doesn’t know, does he, Izzy?”
The glare Isabelle sent her way could have skinned a rabbit.
Dean’s deep voice joined the fray. “Well, that ship’s sailed, sweetheart. No keeping it from him now.” He slid two steps closer to Rissa, surrendering his flanking position, a calculated risk meant to calm Isabelle by giving her a little less to worry about. Dean also waved back Marianne and the others hovering in the background. “Let’s all settle down.”
Freddie’s back came up against the helicopter door and Isabelle finally let go of his shirt. He peered over her shoulder to look at her face. “Iz? What’s going on? What don’t I know?”
“That she’s like us,” Rissa said.
“Like you,” Freddie said slowly. Another time, Luke might have laughed at the expression on the human’s face as the light bulb clicked on for him.
Fury distorted Isabelle’s delicate features. “I am nothing like you,” she snapped at Rissa. Shaking, she held her hand out to the man she’d grown up with. “I’ll explain everything later.”
Freddie stumbled back. “What? Izzy, you can’t be. No, I would’ve known.”
Before she could reply, she gasped, hunching over like she’d taken a blow to the gut. Luke started forward, no longer able to withstand the need to go to her. When Dean’s arm snaked around his chest to hold him back, Luke nearly tore it off.
“Freddie, please,” Isabelle said in a voice laced with pain.
Luke groaned as his wolf thrashed against his shields.
Dean sucked in a pained breath but held on. “I know, man. But wait. Wait.”
A growl thundered in Luke’s head. His frustrated beast bared its teeth in a snarl, hunkering down on its belly.
Ready.
Waiting.
A hunter through and through, it understood the importance of patience when stalking prey.
Especially when that prey was its mate.
* * *
“Freddie, please,” Izzy said, forcing the words past the lump of fear and regret clogging her throat. How the hell had they ended up here, surrounded by werewolves? Creatures Freddie seemed to not only know about, but care for.
Hell, he’d just been kissing one.
Bile rose in her throat. She wasn’t sure which was worse: the empty, clenching pain in her stomach, or being socked with her brother’s look of betrayal.
There weren’t many options for escape in the tiny airport. It only had a few buildings they could use for cover. And there were too many werewolves to fight. Everything in her screamed at her to run, to get as far from these beasts as she could.
But Freddie wanted to stay.
She’d have to leave without him.
She shuddered. No. No freakin’ way.
Not once had he abandoned her or Bess. Even when he should’ve. He’d taken beatings from all sorts of bullies in defense of the “Freaky Twins.”
Izzy had already failed her sister. She’d be damned if she failed her brother, too.
Straightening, she lowered the knife, and made a show of sliding it back into its sheath. She covered it with a sharp tug of her sweater before facing the hostile crowd.
As soon as she did, the dark-haired were pushed off the cop’s arm. The descending sun cast one side of his face in gold, hiding the other in shadow. The irony of that dual image wasn’t lost on her, and she shivered in the frigid February air.
The were walked toward her, slowly, as if afraid she might bolt.
Too late for that.
Freddie threw her a look filled with unpleasant promises as he raced to Rissa’s side. Izzy shook against the compulsion to stop him. Her lip curled at the sight of her brother’s hands on Rissa’s face and hers on his.
“Wow. You really don’t like us.” The were stood in front of Izzy, close. So close she could feel the heat radiating off his body.
She threw herself back against the side of the Bell, the stench of werewolf sending her already-racing heartbeat tripping in her chest.
Her involuntary response seemed to upset him. “Easy. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Damn it. This was no time for a panic attack, but she felt one rising. Panting, she turned her face into the wind and tried to put a lid on it. Slow down. Slow breaths. With each exhalation, her heart rate steadied a little more.
Another note in the scent, stronger than the wolf, caught her attention and quelled the maddening alarm. She sniffed. Caught it again. Like sunbaked stone and grass. Nice. Instinctively, she started to lean toward the man before she remembered he wasn’t a man at all.
“No,” she whispered.
Her grandmother’s shrill voice filled her head. “You must never let them find you. You’d be better off dead.”
The werewolf towered over her. Dark green eyes flashed with gold as he growled low in his throat. She flattened herself against the helicopter, looking for a way out. There must be—
“Get the hell away from her!” Freddie shouted, spinning the werewolf back and stepping between them.
The creature growled again, loud enough that it rumbled through her chest. Her knees quaked, but she couldn’t let Freddie fight this thing. It would break him into bloody bits without even trying. When she moved to intervene, her brother pushed her behind his back. He didn’t even flinch when the werewolf bared its bright white teeth. “Back the hell off, Luke. You’re scaring her.”
The were winced like Freddie had slapped him. Taking a step back, Luke raked his hands through his hair, tugging at the dark strands. “Sorry. She’s upset. My wolf—” He shook his head, looking miserable. “I couldn’t stand it.”
Izzy’s mouth dropped open.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Rissa said. “Really, Luke? Really?”
The werewolf—Luke—leaned to the side to peer at Izzy since she was still mostly hidden behind Freddie. Refusing to cower, she stepped up next to her brother. Luke stared at her, appearing...dazed. His eyes glassy, he nodded.
A hot shiver zipped through Izzy, raising goose bumps all over her body. Confusion and revulsion warred with a shocking sense of longing so profound tears welled in her eyes.
Rissa swore.
“What now?” Freddie asked.
The big cop strode up next to Luke. “It’s not like he can help it, Ris. You know that.”
Freddie
huffed in exasperation. “What are—” His eyes popped wide. He turned to look at Izzy then back to Luke. “Oh, hell no, man.” Jaw clenched, he pointed a finger at Luke. “No.”
When Luke’s eyes narrowed on her brother, Izzy said, “I don’t want any trouble.” She ignored the indignant snort from Rissa. “I—” But she had no idea what to say now. No idea why her brother and Luke were glaring at each other, only that a battle between them would end with Freddie in pieces.
Since Freddie obviously had no intention of getting back into the helicopter and leaving, and she wouldn’t leave without him, she needed to get the lay of the land and de-escalate the situation. Fast.
“Freddie, do you really know what they are?” she asked.
He nodded, stealing the air from her lungs. “Werewolves. Shifters. Lycanthropes. Yeah, Rissa told me when we got together. I’ve known since before I moved out here to be with her.” He bent over to look Izzy directly in the eyes. “The question is, how come I didn’t know the same about you?”
Guilt made her look away while her mind raced with questions, strategies, and contingencies. Freddie didn’t understand. Packs were violent—fighting among themselves for position and dominance, attacking interlopers. They must be hiding things from him. Though that didn’t feel right. Her brother was no fool. Before being placed with Hank and Abby, he’d been homeless for a while. He had street smarts to spare. It was almost impossible to hide anything from him. She knew that better than anyone.
Izzy fought the renewed sense of danger that teased her flight response. She’d survived the death of her parents, her grandmother, the foster care system, combat in Iraq, and worst of all, the loss of her sister. No more running. No more cowering.
She’d rather fight.
Squaring her shoulders, she faced the three werewolves. She may be small and outnumbered, but she could be a real bitch—just ask some of the soldiers who’d served under her.
“I’m not leaving without my brother. As long as he stays, you’re stuck with me, too.”
Rissa glared daggers and Izzy knew there’d be a reckoning between them. The big cop observed her with cool eyes that seemed amused. Luke, though...his response knocked the aggressive bite right out of her and sent her heart racing again.
