by Piper Vaughn
Avery swallowed again, battling against the convulsive fluttering in the back of his throat. Oh God, he was going to puke all over himself. Puke and then probably get his arms and legs ripped off. Fuck fuck fuck.
“Please. I can get you more,” he persisted, not too proud to beg now he was out here alone with three burly werewolves. He didn’t stand a chance against any one of them. Three of them together? There’d be nothing left of him. “Next Friday I’ll have the rest of it.”
“Victor doesn’t give extensions, hoggie. He expects payments when they’re due. And your time has run out.”
Avery shook his head and shot Josiah a beseeching look. “It’s not even another week. Five more days, and—”
“I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” Josiah went on as if Avery hadn’t spoken. “We’ll play a little game.”
Avery blinked up at him. “A g-game?”
Josiah clapped his hands together. “A hunting game. If you manage to evade us for one hour, we’ll give you the extra time. You can even have a minute head start.”
Avery searched Josiah’s face, trying to decide if the man was serious. By Josiah’s expression, and the laughing sneers of the wolves surrounding him, Avery couldn’t decide.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Josiah asked. “Your minute starts now.”
He lunged and Avery scrambled back. As Josiah and the others laughed, he forced himself to his feet. He had no clue where he was, but the location didn’t matter. He needed to be the hell away from here.
Avery’s legs wobbled during the first few steps. His head spun and the trees around him tilted. Somehow, despite it all, he pushed himself into a shambling run.
Avery considered himself to be in excellent shape, but while yoga had strengthened his body, it hadn’t prepared him for this. Uneven ground, trees, roots, rocks. His surroundings seemed to be working against him. Slippery leaves and mossy undergrowth nearly sent him sprawling. Suddenly, the monk-strap shoes that had looked so appealing in that fancy boutique struck him as a lot less sensible than a good pair of hiking boots.
Too late to consider that now. A howl alerted him to the fact the wolves had shifted and started their chase.
Terror kicked his heartbeat into overdrive. His extremities felt numb, as if his blood had turned to ice. Still, Avery pressed on.
Another howl, this one close enough that panic descended. Avery’s body locked up. He couldn’t catch his breath, couldn’t think, couldn’t run another step.
He felt the shift overtaking him. Gooseflesh erupted over every inch of his body. Then a rushing sensation, a sound like roaring water, and a sharp flare of pain as spines broke through skin. His field of vision narrowed as Avery shrank and the world grew large.
He hit the ground and didn’t bother trying to detangle himself from his clothing. Avery gave in to his survival instinct, curling into a tight ball, his spines erect to ward off predators.
Except with these predators, it was only a matter of time before they found him and tore him to shreds.
Chapter Three
“C’MON, MAN.” A sharp elbow from Lucas jostled Dylan from his daze. “You’re up.” He motioned to the pool table with a lift of his chin.
Not feeling it in the least, Dylan took his position, halfheartedly lined up the six ball for the corner pocket, called it, and shot. The cue ball clipped its intended target and sent it spinning wildly in the opposite direction, where it tagged the black ball and spiraled it into the side pocket. He straightened and tossed his pool cue to Sawyer, who stood gaping like a fish. Dylan couldn’t blame him. It’s not that it was a difficult shot—it wasn’t. He could make it in his sleep, but he’d been off his game all week, at work and in play. Goddamn hedgehog and his goddamn holier-than-thou ways.
Over the past week, a day hadn’t gone by that he hadn’t thought about the look on Avery’s face when he’d spotted Dylan with his date. Shock and hurt. The jealousy staring back at him from those big mossy eyes hadn’t been hidden well either. Then, as always, quicker than he could blink, Avery had his nose turned up and was walking away. Dylan needed a drink.
As if he was reading Dylan’s mind, Lucas appeared at his side with a stein of dark ale. It didn’t matter to Dylan what was in the glass. He had two requirements of his beverage for the night: cold and alcoholic. Preferably with the latter in excess. As they sat in silence, Dylan tossed his first drink back, gulping it in hopes of finding oblivion sooner rather than later.
Lucas was obviously waiting for Dylan to speak, but he didn’t feel like hashing it out. Instead, he downed the refreshing—and with any luck, mind-numbing—contents of the glass.
“Dude, I don’t—”
Dylan lifted his hand to stop whatever Lucas was going to say and signaled to a passing waitress for another drink.
“Not gonna talk about it,” Dylan murmured. There was nothing to say. He was having an off week. It would be over soon. Avery would disappear from his life again, and things would go back to normal. Like always. Until the little bastard popped up again to screw with Dylan’s head.
“Whatever, man.” Lucas sighed. “You may act like that prickly bastard doesn’t ruffle your fur, but you’re the only person you’re fooling, and I’m not convinced you don’t actually get why.”
“Oh, fuck you, Luc. My job—our job—isn’t good enough for the high and mighty asshole. He thinks fate screwed up giving him someone so far beneath his social level. I don’t care what he wants.” Dylan had worked damn hard to get where he was.
His shop—Green’s Customs and Restorations—was one of the best known in the Portland area for custom motorcycle design and repair. It was his pride and joy. He’d built his business from the ground up with the help and hard work of his friends and pack. He wouldn’t let anyone, mate or not, tell him it wasn’t good enough.
With a dramatic roll of his eyes, Lucas said, “And you’ve never lost your shit and said something you didn’t mean? For Christ’s sake, D, you were the one teasing him about being a hedgehog in the first place.”
“That’s just it. I was teasing.”
“Did he know that? Look, man, I love you like a brother, but you can be pretty intense sometimes, and the kid didn’t even know you back then. How can you blame him for overreacting?”
“How do you know that’s all it was?”
“How do you know it wasn’t?” The accusation in Lucas’s tone rang clear, and Dylan hated it. As their voices rose, the tables around them quieted down, making Lucas and Dylan the center of attention.
Lucas was one of those wolves who trusted in fate and believed that finding his mate would be finding his other half, the completion of his soul. And as nice as it sounded, as loud as Dylan’s wolf screamed that Avery was his other half—his meaning—he’d seen the downside to falling into that trap. To Dylan, other half or not, it was a trap. He’d rather be half a miserable wolf than part of a whole disaster.
Noticing the spectacle they were becoming, Dylan leaned in. “I see what you’re trying to do. I get it. But if things started out on such a bad note, is there really any hope of getting better? Look at Mom and Dad.”
“Yeah, you do that. Look at your mom and dad. Do you intend on being an unhappy bastard for the rest of your life because of one misunderstanding?”
“I didn’t misunderstand anything.”
“No?” Lucas swept him with an assessing look. “Well, maybe he did. Did you ever think of that? How are you ever going to know if you don’t talk about it?”
Dylan turned his attention back to Kirk and Sawyer’s game. Lucas had given him a lot to think about, because no matter how much he tried to deny it, something told Dylan he could be right. He knew his tendency to overreact was legendary, and the more he observed of Avery, he thought maybe, just maybe….
But where would he and Avery go from this point? And how would they get there?
At his side, Dylan felt more than heard Lucas’s exasperation. Then loud jeers and cackles from a tab
le behind them distracted him and amped up his annoyance, though he tried not to pay them too much attention. Wolfhound catered to all sorts, even some of the less savory variety. As one of the strongest wolves in the pack, Dylan could take care of himself, but he didn’t see the need in drawing unnecessary attention.
A high-pitched wheezy snort that would’ve made a hog proud came from a table nearby. Their noise level grated enough that Dylan struggled to block it out. Which was why he almost missed the gasping: “The little bitch’ll look like a wet rat when they finish de-quilling him.”
Spines not quills. The thought was automatic, and damn Avery for sneering that very line at him the first time they’d met. Dylan had only been teasing, but the spines and quills thing had stuck. Hedgehogs had spines, Avery had preached—hardened hairs with a solid center and tapered ends. Not quills. In fact—and not that Dylan would admit it out loud—he’d done a fair amount of research on hedgehogs since he’d met Avery. Even though Avery didn’t want him, Dylan still had a need to know about his mate, or at least his mate’s species, in hopes of appeasing his wolf.
It hadn’t.
A roar of laughter once again rocked the back wall, but this time when the hair on the back of Dylan’s neck stood on end, his shoulders tensed.
“Yeah, that little rat don’t stand a chance against Josiah and the boys.” A different man spoke, but the squealing man pig-laughed and another man mocked the sound. “Wonder if that’s what the little hoggie sounded like when Josiah broke his wrist?”
Motherfucker. Dylan’s pulse thundered in his ears, and red flooded his vision. There was exactly one hedgehog in the city, and whether Avery liked it or not, Dylan’s stubborn-ass wolf was not letting anything happen to his equally hardheaded mate.
His feet were moving, rounding the table before he could think twice about why. As he walked toward the wolves, recognition set in. Dylan knew the three seated at the table and the man they worked for. Victor Llewellyn. Dylan’s wolf growled. His hackles lifted in anger for his mate. The same mate who doesn’t want you, Dylan was forever reminding his lovesick wolf. The damn beast didn’t care.
Dylan tamped down the desire to bare his human teeth at the table of men when he stopped in front of them. “Where is he?” His people skills could use some work. It wasn’t news.
Jackie, a stout man in his late thirties, wrinkled his pug nose at Dylan, then turned back to his companions, otherwise ignoring Dylan’s presence completely. The limit to Dylan’s patience had waned somewhere between Thursday and Friday, and he’d been running on fumes ever since. Jackie’s snubbing was the last in a long list of grievances for which Dylan was eager to collect payment.
He slammed his fist down on the tabletop with such force two glasses toppled over and spilled the contents on the men before them. All at once, Jackie, Levon, and Wayne jumped to their feet, the amusement leached from their harsh, old faces. Each of them glared daggers.
“You got a death wish, Green?” Levon growled inches from Dylan’s face. He was by far the smallest of the three and didn’t hold near the level of strength of Dylan’s wolf. But he was also known to fight scrappy, dirty.
“Tell me where the fuck he is and we won’t have a problem.” Dylan’s voice was low and threatening—more wolf than man.
At that moment, he didn’t care who had Avery or why. He could figure that out later. All Dylan knew was he needed Avery safe. Then they could go back to ignoring each other. Like normal.
Levon’s upper lip lifted in the human equivalent of a wolflike snarl, then slowly smoothed into a smirk as he slid back into his seat. “Mind your own fucking business, grease monkey. If we knew anything and if we knew where to find this supposed person, I promise, you don’t want to get involved in the hypothetical mess.” He raised his empty glass in the air, signaling the nearest waitress for another beer. She turned her back and pointedly ignored him.
“What mess?” Dylan pressed on.
He was going to kill Avery. Right after he whaled on these guys. He didn’t care if Avery wanted him or not. Dylan couldn’t stand the thought of Avery hurt. Ever. And his wolf sure as hell wasn’t going to let anything happen to him. What the hell was Avery thinking getting involved with these idiots?
“Not. Your. Fucking. Business,” Wayne butted in, spitting out each word, as if Dylan was too slow to understand.
He’d had enough. Lunging across the table, Dylan grabbed Wayne by the collar and twisted it tight enough to cut off his airway, then pulled him close. Wayne’s meaty fingers grappled at Dylan’s hold.
Growls filled the space behind him, and Dylan didn’t have to look to know Lucas and the rest of his friends were closing ranks.
“Listen closely, asshat, because I’m only offering this once. You’re going to tell me exactly who has Avery and where they have him, and I won’t kick your ass. But I swear to all that is fucking holy, if you so much as breathe in his direction again, I will tear you limb from limb and use your goddamned skull as a planter by my doorstep. Feel me?” The fear widening Wayne’s eyes told Dylan he’d been understood. Finally.
Too bad Wayne was scared speechless.
“Josiah and some other guys have him at Forest Park,” Jackie spoke up, his voice trembling. “Th-they’re hunting him.”
Anger like he’d never felt laced with fear for the loss of something he’d never had left Dylan breathless. He didn’t know Josiah personally, only by reputation. From what he’d heard, the wolf gave crazy a whole new meaning. His lackeys weren’t much more than puppets who followed along with whatever Josiah said or did. Dylan’s wolf snarled, baring his teeth. He seethed, ready for attack. He wanted revenge. He wanted blood. He wanted his mate.
“You better hope nothing happens to him before I find them,” Dylan warned when he finally found his voice, barely holding it together.
Roughly and without thought, he shoved Wayne into the chair behind him, toppling it over.
As he turned, Dylan glared at Jackie, then growled again, “They’re fucking spines, not quills. Get it straight.” Then he stalked off.
SINGULARLY FOCUSED on one goal—finding Avery—Dylan sped through the streets of Portland, the buildings and landmarks passing by in a blur.
To Dylan, Forest Park was a home away from home. He had run there since he was a pup, could navigate the trails and streams with his eyes closed. A sense of calm and serenity came with being in the thick greenery. The scents. The beauty. It was home.
But all of a sudden, the park he came to as a safe haven had turned into a place of uncertainty and anger. Seventy square miles of raw nature, and Dylan hadn’t the barest idea where to begin searching for Avery. That worry was wrenched from him when he rolled into the parking area.
Unmitigated terror—not his own—slammed into Dylan’s chest, squeezing the wind out of his lungs. He slowed his bike to a stop, only swerving slightly. Avery. Without a doubt, Dylan knew he was feeling his mate. His gut clenched with the overwhelming fear that flooded him. It wasn’t right. Dylan shouldn’t feel it so acutely, shouldn’t feel Avery at all. Not outside a completed mate bond.
Tearing from his bike at a run, Dylan raced toward the pull he felt from Avery, and he picked up the faintest hint of his scent—lemon and sandalwood. A trail to follow. He didn’t have to look back to know Lucas, Sawyer, and Kirk followed close behind. They’d insisted on backing him up.
With every step Dylan took, Avery’s fear resounded deeper within him. An unfamiliar howl filled the eerie silence and spurred Dylan on. Weaving through the brush and trails, Dylan focused on Avery’s scent laced with an undercurrent of staggering panic. He was almost surprised when his path, thick with trees and brush, opened into a large clearing. Dylan knew the area. It was difficult to get to and difficult to find on foot, at least in human form. Josiah had brought Avery there with a specific purpose.
From the edge of the clearing, Dylan spotted three wolves—the largest was broad and tawny colored—converged on what seemed to be a pile of c
lothes, but when Dylan squinted, he could see a pale brown, spiky ball curled up defensively in the center of overpriced designer clothing. Fear and anger flowed in waves from the little hedgehog ball.
A growl of warning rumbled from Dylan’s chest, and he bared his teeth to the wolves across the clearing. “Back off, Josiah,” Dylan demanded. At least he’d assumed the big wolf was Josiah. All three heads snapped in his direction, then switched back to Avery. The wolves’ ignorance would be Dylan’s gain. He prowled forward, ripped away his shirt, and let the shift take him over.
Dylan’s shift was quicker and smoother than most. Outside of the pull from the full moon—which held a stronger compulsion for shifters to take on the form of their animal counterpart, but still didn’t make it a necessity—wolves transformed at a slower pace, sometimes painfully. But the stronger the wolf, the quicker and less painful the change. Dylan hadn’t felt pain in his shift since he was a teenager.
Heat coursed over his skin where steel gray fur sprouted. A gasp escaped him like always, the sensation akin to flames lapping at his ice-cold skin. He dropped to his hands and knees, and in a matter of moments his bones had melded and contorted into his four-legged form. The stretch of his beast’s muscles was a relief long overdue. Blinking away the blurriness of the change, Dylan looked at the world through canine eyes—colorblindness and all. Contrary to popular belief, wolves did not see black-and-white. While shifted, wolves’ night vision was superior, but during the day their vision was comparable to their human sight, only with inability in most to discern reds and greens.
The shift didn’t slow his forward progress. He continued to stalk the wolves until he stood between the threat and Avery. Dylan was assured by Lucas’s presence at his left and Sawyer’s at his right. Dylan knew Kirk waited at the ready behind them all, effectively boxing in Avery.
When he crouched in preparation for attack, Dylan’s ears stood erect, his hackles raised, and his tail curled at his back. He would defend his mate with his life, not that it would come to that. Josiah and his friends were outnumbered and outmuscled.
