by Kari Cole
Cover. He snorted. He’d like to slam his fist through the wall, but they had to live in this shit hole a while longer. For weeks they’d been cooped up, biding their time. When the moment came to act, they did, and they’d paid for it. The phone’s plastic casing creaked.
Oh, how they’d paid.
He swallowed back the roar building in his chest. “Did you want Branson dead or not?”
“That was the whole point of this little exercise. But thanks to you and your brother, Wyland now knows the crash wasn’t an accident, and that he has outsiders in his territory.”
Markes’s snarl rattled the lone, filthy window. The cabin’s other occupant, a literal bear of a man, didn’t take his eyes off the rifle he was carefully cleaning. LeBlanc curled a lip at the disrespect he could hear coming from Markes’s caller.
“Be careful what you say about my brother,” Markes said. His voice, filled with his beast, came out in a guttural growl. He could barely comprehend the loss he’d suffered. How would he go on without Curt?
A female voice whispered on the other end of the line, too low for Markes to make out.
“Of course, your brother’s death is a terrible loss,” the caller said with fake sincerity.
Markes might be muscle-for-hire, but he was no fool. He knew his caller and the bastard’s bosses thought he, his brother, and LeBlanc were nothing but vicious, disposable tools, loaded weapons they only had to point in the right direction.
“I want Curt’s body,” he said. This point was non-negotiable.
“We’ll take care of it.”
“You’d better.”
Their contact sighed. “This tragedy could have been avoided. You were only supposed to make sure Branson was dead. The others are meaningless.”
He prowled the room, his cougar itching to be let out to hunt. “You said Dodd had to die, too.”
Another bad-tempered growl echoed through the cell. “Dodd is Rissa’s ultimate stupidity. She’s contaminating the pack with that human.”
Markes couldn’t have cared less about Freddie Dodd. He was a human, weak and easily broken. But the little bastard had brought that female here. “His bitch sister killed my brother.”
And for that, they would both pay.
Painfully.
Another sigh. “Again, our deepest sympathies. Be thankful Izzy Meyers has Wyland tied up into so many knots he doesn’t know which end is up. Instead of hunting rogues in his territory, he’s holding vigil at his injured mate’s bedside. That won’t last long, though. Once they complete the mating bond, he’ll be back on the hunt. He’s not some horny kid, easily distracted by his dick. Mate or no mate.”
“He’ll be distracted if she dies.”
A laugh chuffed over the line. “Yes, he would be. Confirming Wyland’s suspicions about rogues acting within the territory rearranges our timetable a bit. I have no problem getting rid of the scrawny bitch if the opportunity presents itself, but we have to proceed with caution.”
A cold smile formed on Markes’s face. “Oh, trust me, the opportunity will definitely present itself.” He’d make sure of it. “Meyers is mine. Anyone else thinks of touching her, I’ll skin ’em and feed ’em their own tongue. Don’t like it? Take it up with Caine. He’s given me vengeance rights.”
The male sucked in an audible breath. “You spoke with Caine?” Markes almost laughed. No one wanted to go up against a male like that. Too bad Caine hadn’t been in charge of the sabotage plan. Not only would all their targets be dead without anyone realizing it wasn’t an accident, but Curt would still be alive. “I wasn’t aware you were reporting to him now.”
“Seemed like the thing to do, since Caine and his boss are the ones who’re really calling the shots around here.”
Another intake of air and another murmur from the female.
“We all have to do what we think is right to honor our families,” the caller said. “But remember, Izzy Meyers is not important to our plan.”
“Yeah? Well, plans change.”
Chapter Twenty
Golden lights twinkled and danced in the dark woods as their car sped along the winding road. It looked like the lights were following them.
Izzy clapped and giggled. “Look, Daddy! Look at the lightning bugs. Do you see the pretty lights, Mommy?”
Bess bounced in her seat. “I see ’em, too. There’s lots on my side! They’re so big.”
Daddy didn’t answer and Mommy made a scared noise.
Izzy didn’t like that. “Daddy?”
The engine revved and Izzy was pressed back into her seat. They went around a corner so fast that if they hadn’t been wearing seat belts, she and Bess would have tumbled all over. As one, their hands shot out, seeking the other’s. They grabbed onto each other, tight.
Something big and dark raced alongside the car, and Izzy gasped. Bess pulled on her hand and they huddled as close as they could while buckled in their belts. Mommy would be mad if they undid them.
More inky shapes melted from the trees, and Daddy said a very naughty word. The lights still chased them, but Izzy didn’t think they were so pretty anymore.
“Go home, Daddy!” Bess shouted. Izzy nodded, feeling her twin’s fear like a shadow in her own chest.
One of the black shapes jumped toward their car. Mommy and Bess and Izzy screamed. Mommy’s window shattered, spraying them all with hard, sharp pieces of glass. The car swerved, spinning on the road. Daddy yelled something, but Izzy couldn’t understand him over their scared voices and the horrible scratching noise on the roof.
Suddenly, they tumbled upside down, like when Daddy tossed them in the lake in the summer, weightless and flying. Unlike in the soft, cool water, when they landed, it rattled Izzy’s bones, the sound so loud it hurt her ears.
She tried not to cry. She wanted to be a big girl, but her arm and tummy hurt. She sniffled. Her everything hurt.
The crashing sounds gave way to big, loud, scary growls that rumbled in her head and chest. The lights surrounded them, leaping over the broken car, peering in the smashed windows.
Bess screamed. Then Izzy did, too.
Not lightning bugs.
* * *
Choking on a scream, Izzy lashed out at those menacing gold eyes, but her legs and arms were trapped. She couldn’t move, couldn’t get free.
A hot mouth covered hers in a kiss. It lasted only a second, but the impact, the smacking noise, and the heat all shocked her into stillness. Another kiss, gentle and light, brushed across her forehead and she looked up into eyes the color of sunlit evergreens.
“That’s better,” Luke said, a soft smile curving his mouth.
“Y-you kissed me,” she sputtered.
His smile grew into a full-fledged grin. “Thought it might get your attention. Welcome back, by the way.”
Did I go somewhere? Then, she remembered. The jolting explosion, spinning into the trees, Branson, blood, mountain lions. Wolves. “Oh God. Freddie.”
Her voice came out as little more than a croak and she coughed, wincing as the motion awakened a whole world of pain. Freaking everything ached.
Luke pulled her onto his lap. “Freddie’s fine. I promise.”
“Sw-swear?”
“Here,” he said, holding a bottle of water. Izzy tried to reach for it, but her arms might as well have been tied down with cinder blocks, she was so weak. “Let me help.”
Cool water touched her lips and flowed into her parched mouth. When she finished, he said, “Better?”
She nodded, careful to not move too quickly. “Do you swear?”
“About Freddie? I do,” he said solemnly. “Your brother’s being released from the hospital tomorrow. His leg is broken, but the rest of his injuries are minor.”
Her breath whooshed out. “Thank God. And Rissa? That was Rissa out there, wasn’t it? The
blond wolf?” The wolf who’d saved her and who was hurt bad enough that she almost couldn’t stand up? Freddie would never forgive himself if something—
“That was her. She’s all right. Only needed a few stiches. Okay, well, a couple dozen. But she’s with Freddie, hasn’t left his side.”
Izzy blew out another relieved breath. “Good. That’s good.”
“Careful, Isabelle,” Luke said, a wry smile on his face. “I might think you actually like her or something.”
“Rissa’s important to Freddie.”
“Uh huh.”
“What about Jenny?”
“Ms. Erlington was treated for a broken radius in her forearm and released yesterday. Speaking of...”
He touched Izzy’s left arm and she hissed as it went up in flames. “JesusMaryMotherofGodGoddammit.”
Cradling it in his hands, Luke scowled. “Guess that answers that question.”
A bloodstained bandage covered Izzy’s forearm, the red smudge growing. “I think you tore open your stitches,” he said. His sharp whistle was like a spike in the brain and she cringed. “Sorry,” he murmured as he brushed a strand of hair off her forehead.
Again, she went still at his touch and her cheeks warmed. How did he keep doing that?
A door creaked open and Rissa’s sister entered. “Hey, Daph. We need Sarah, please,” Luke said. “And some food.”
Izzy’s stomach clenched at the mere mention.
“On the way,” Daphne said. She paused and smiled at Izzy. “You’re looking better.”
Izzy could imagine how ragged she must have looked when she arrived. “Thanks. Luke says Rissa’s okay.”
Daphne laughed. “Oh yeah, she’s fine. Being babied and driven completely crazy by our mother. I’d better find Sarah before our Alpha loses his mind. He’s very protective of you.” With that parting shot, she disappeared behind a series of wooden screens. The door opened and closed again. It sounded enormous, like an oaken portal in a medieval castle. Hinges groaned and it thudded shut.
Eyes wide, Izzy took in their surroundings. They sat on a low bed in a large, stone room that seemed bigger than her apartment. Lanterns hanging from the rough gray walls threw flickering light over several mismatched area rugs. A rock-enclosed fire pit burned a few feet away from the bed, and steam rose from a bubbling pool near the opposite wall. The ceiling stretched above, too high to be seen in the low light.
Other than the bed, there were few furnishings. A lone electric lamp cast a cone of light over an end table and a comfortable-looking leather club chair. A small side table stood next to the bed, with a dark wood armoire just beyond.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“My room in Haven,” Luke said. “It’s the pack’s den—a safe house of sorts. We’re in a series of linked caves and larger caverns. The area is extremely hard to navigate if you don’t know where you’re going, and we keep it well guarded. You’re safe here.”
“Safe,” she murmured. She was supposed to stay away from werewolves and packs. Not snuggle up to the Alpha in his den, for God’s sake. Still, moving off his lap seemed like a lot of trouble. He smelled good, like a late summer day, and she wanted to burrow closer to revel in his heat.
Instead, she forced herself to sit up. “Um, can you put me down?” Sitting in Luke’s lap was way too intimate for a conversation.
With a loud, put-upon sigh, he set her on the bed. Fluffing and punching the pillows behind her, he moved her around like a rag doll—albeit a really fragile one. Finally, seeming satisfied with the setup, he eased her back on the pillows.
“Wait,” she said, stopping him before he could pull the blankets over her. Loose bandages covered both her hands and there were more on her feet. She wore an enormous long-sleeved T-shirt that bunched around her bare thighs. Another bandage covered her right leg from thigh to calf. As she moved to catalogue her injuries, adhesive pulled on her hip and side, telling her more bandages must lie underneath the shirt.
Ringing started in her ears as she remembered what had caused some of those injuries. Claws. And wickedly long fangs. She closed her eyes against the stomach-churning memories of what those weapons had done to Alan Branson.
“Isabelle?” Big hands cupped her face.
“I’m okay,” she said through clenched teeth. I will not be sick. I will not be sick. She swallowed back bile. Easing one eye open, she found Luke a few inches from her nose, grim-faced. She ignored the desperate part of herself that wanted to pull him closer. Instead, she waved a mummy-like hand at him. “What’s going on with these?” The splinters from her makeshift bat shouldn’t require this much coverage.
“Well, frostbite, for one.” Luke scowled at her hands like they’d insulted him. “Not to mention the trip here scoured several layers of skin off them.”
More memories flooded in.
How the hell could she have forgotten how that cold murmur, alien and yet familiar, had echoed in her head? Anger didn’t describe the sound. Ragged fury and all-consuming hunger had scorched through every bit of it. Izzy’d been pushed, ripped into pieces, and trapped in the dark by that voice, unable to affect anything.
Her stomach lurched and she leaned over the side of the bed just in time. Guess she was going to be sick after all. A basin appeared in front of her face, and a big hand rubbed her back. The dry heaving seemed to take forever to pass, but finally she flopped back onto the pillows, gasping.
Oh God. She’d let the monster out.
Chapter Twenty-One
Luke wiped Isabelle’s face with a damp washcloth. “Easy, sugar.” He brushed aside her poor shredded hands when she tried to snatch the cloth away from him.
“Christ,” she said.
Even if he hadn’t been able to detect her scent, that one simple epithet conveyed a depth of disgust he couldn’t miss. “Sugar—”
“I shape-shifted,” she said, her voice a thin whisper. Her naturally sweet scent soured into bitter, drenching fear. “What if I do it again? What if I kill someone?”
His wolf whined. Isabelle acted like she had committed some grave crime instead of embracing something that was as much a part of her as the freckles on her nose. When he found the son of a bitch responsible for making her feel this way about herself, he would rip them to shreds.
He should start a list entitled Bastards to Maim for Isabelle.
“Why would you think that?” he asked, but she didn’t answer, just shook her head. The sadness in her eyes wrecked him.
Loosening the hold on his own beast, Luke allowed its power to rise to the surface. To the human eye, not much would appear different. Some might steer clear of the wild energy they unconsciously sensed, while others would be drawn to his strength. To him, it felt like his wolf’s fur rubbed along his skin. When Isabelle gasped, he knew she felt it, too.
Her eyes flew open and locked on his face. “Wha-what?”
“Relax, sugar.” Cupping her cheek in his palm, he let his wolf touch her through him. Those intoxicating whiskey eyes grew hazy and she blinked slowly.
For a minute, he entertained himself with the idea that she would take a breath and settle into his arms.
That was because he was a delusional idiot.
“Wait a minute.” She squirmed upright against the headboard. “I want to talk about the crash. What have you gotten my brother into?”
She zeroed in on him until Luke felt like he was spot-lit under klieg lights. The scrutiny didn’t bother his wolf one bit, though. The smug bastard stretched out in his mind, cocking a brow as if to say, What? You’d expect less from our mate?
“Someone was motivated enough to put a bomb into that aircraft,” she said. “Who was the target? Was this about pack business or business business?”
“What do you mean? You think the pack would do this?” Stupid question. Of course she did. She was terrified
of lycanthropes. “We didn’t. Wedding or no wedding, Freddie is already Rissa’s mate. He’s pack. And even if you think we’d kill our Luna’s mate to get at Branson, why would we do it in such a noticeable way? Yes, we control local law enforcement, but a helicopter crash? That brings the federal government into our business.” He cut a hand through the air. “No way.”
She stared at him for a few seconds more. “All right. I buy that. It’s probably safe to assume the werecougars were involved with the sabotage.”
A growl rumbled in his chest. “They certainly didn’t just happen upon you. There are only a few cougar shifters in the area”—and none of them were stupid enough to so blatantly challenge the pack—“and we have a good relationship with them.” The next part pained him to admit. “I don’t know who the hell the two bastards were who attacked you. Yet.”
“Fine,” she said, though it sounded like whatever.
“You know,” he said, his temper rising, “despite what you think of werewolves, we’re actually pretty boring. The pack’s a community, with all the bureaucratic details that entails. Our members need education, work, and a secure environment. The pack helps provide those things like a human municipal government does. The only difference is that we take into account the unique needs and problems of a lycanthrope.”
He dug his fingers into the tendons in the nape of his neck. “There are several other shifter groups and individuals in the territory. There’s some good-natured competitiveness, but we don’t try to kill one another.” Even as the words left his mouth, he wanted to take them back. After what the Chicago Alpha had told him, how the hell could he say such a thing to her of all people?
She glared at him. “Please. I may not have grown up in a pack, but are you really trying to tell me dominance challenges don’t happen at every run? Or that they aren’t violent? I’m supposed to believe what? That you all just have a little chat and vote?”
“No, but they usually don’t cause serious injuries. Or involve assassination.”
