Day of the Dragon--Two full books for the price of one

by Katie MacAlister

  “One girl. How fucking hard is it to hold on to one fucking girl?” The head of SHOC snarled—his inner snake baring its poisonous fangs. Yeah, the director of Shifter Operations Command was a snake. Literally.

  Waves of the man’s fury darted through the room. The asshole who was supposed to have gone to the southern field office had decided to head on over and supervise Abby’s retrieval instead. Lucky them.

  “Apparently,” Cole drawled, and slowly turned his attention to the raging bear, focus split between the C-4 and the director, “very.”

  The snake shifter’s gaze seared him, but Cole couldn’t find an ounce of fear. His tiger obeyed orders by choice, not some knee-knocking terror. Right now it wanted to choose to lift his tail and spray the asshole with piss for shits and giggles.

  “You.” The director pointed and glared at Cole.

  Cole lifted one corner of his mouth in a smirk. “Me.”

  “You knew about this.” He stomped closer to Cole. “He’s your partner, and you—”

  The nearer Director Quade drew, the more agitated his tiger became. The striped cat rose within Cole’s mind with a low, rumbling snarl. He caught each tumbling ball of C-4 in his hands, one after another until he held all six.

  “I have a name.” He adjusted his weight, and the other two legs of the chair thumped to the ground. “I am part of a team.” He placed the balls on the table that separated him from the director. “I don’t like your fucking tone.”

  Quade leaned across the table, midnight eyes boring into his own. The bastard’s snake was on the rise, and Cole let his own beast edge closer.

  “You joined SHOC and agreed to do as ordered.” The deadly black mamba curled his lip. “You were ordered to secure the prisoner and turn her over so she could be interrogated.”

  “Interrogated?” Ethan came into the room, the lion’s walk smooth and slow, as if he were relaxed, but Cole knew better. The lion shifter hated Quade just as much as anyone. “I was under the impression you had a few questions for her. A couple of finer points to discuss before you patted her on the head and sent her on her way.”

  The director spun. “What I do with a prisoner—”

  “Aw, she’s a prisoner?” Grant whined around a mouthful of sandwich. His boots thumped heavily on the thin carpet. “When did that happen?”

  “After your communications mysteriously”—the director’s heavy glare landed on Grant—“went down.”

  “I know, right?” Grant’s eyes were wide. “What’s up with that?” He shook his head and took another bite of his sub. “Funny how shit randomly breaks. Know what I mean?”

  Cole snorted and rolled his eyes.

  “You, Mr. Shaw”—the director’s midnight eyes narrowed on Grant—“were hired—”

  “Drafted,” Cole coughed, but the director ignored him.

  “For a specific purpose.” Quade continued as if Cole hadn’t interrupted. “If you cannot meet the requirements of your job, you will find yourself in a council prison.”

  Ethan strolled deeper into the room, eyes on his cell phone until he came to a stop at Cole’s side. He tucked his phone away and crossed his arms over his chest. “Then the council will find its newest prisoner missing within twenty-four hours of him walking through the front door.” The lion tipped his head to the side. “Or did you forget who I am?”

  Ethan wasn’t just a pretty boy with pretty cars. He was a ghost—in and out of any situation before anyone registered his presence.

  Grant joined them as well, hopping onto the table, legs swinging.

  “I want her.” The snake followed the words with a long hiss.

  Cole tipped his head to the side. “How’s it feel to want?”

  “You will locate and secure her.” The threat was obvious in Director Quade’s voice.

  “Or what?” Cole growled. His tiger didn’t take threats well. “Why do you have such a hard-on for her?” He crossed his arms over his chest and matched Ethan’s stance. “She’s cute, sure, but what about her had you hauling ass and stumbling into the middle of our op?”

  “She might have information on Unified Humanity. She could be an excellent source.”

  “I think he saw a video of Abby shaking her ass and wants to tap that,” Grant murmured not so quietly.

  Cole reached over and whacked the wolf in the head. “Shut the fuck up.”

  “I’d tap that.” The wolf shrugged and then shook his shoulders. “She did that little shimmy when—”

  “I will drop you where you stand if you keep talking.” He pointed a claw-tipped finger at Grant.

  Grant just took another bite of his sandwich and spoke around the mouthful. “I’m sitting.”

  Cole ignored the wolf. Declan could kick Grant’s ass for being disrespectful of Abby when they finally found the fucker. Instead, he spoke to Ethan. “Ethan, tell me something. You’ve been with SHOC for a while, right?”

  “Going on ten years,” Ethan said, and then grinned wide, exposing his elongated fangs. “They said I was a troubled teen. I like to think of myself as a prodigy.”

  “You jacking cars is a thing of beauty. And your driving? God damn.” Cole nodded, and he could practically see the steam coming out of the director’s ears. “But when was the last time the director of Shifter Operations Command entered the field to apprehend an everyday shifter?”

  Ethan grunted. “Never.”

  “Huh. Makes you wonder what his game is.”

  “This is insubordination.” The director truly did hiss then. “Abby Carter is—”

  “A nobody accountant who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Birch strolled in, limbs loose and relaxed. At least that was how he appeared to the casual observer—to the people who didn’t know the grizzly better. The team alpha didn’t stop until he stood between the team and the director. “Nothing more. Nothing less.”

  “An accountant that your weapons specialist decided to kidnap for no reason?” Quade’s voice was deceptively calm. Cole saw the menace in his eyes.

  “You saw her ass. He definitely had a reason,” Grant said, and Cole resisted the urge to whack the werewolf again.

  The director was quiet for a moment and then two. “I expect all of you to stand aside for the secondary team. If you impede this search, I will see all of you in a council prison.”

  Quade didn’t say anything after that. He spun on his heel and stomped from the room, leaving the stench of fury in his wake.

  But Cole wondered if he caught the slightest touch of fear. His tiger liked to think so, but Cole wasn’t sure. Now he understood why Birch was twitchy about the director’s behavior. Quade had been too enraged, too determined to have Abby.

  The moment Quade disappeared, their tight cluster relaxed. Ethan retreated to lean against the wall. The lion hated leaving his back vulnerable. Birch took his normal position at the front of the room—facing their band of psychotic mongrels. Cole flopped into his seat and tipped his chair back until he balanced on two legs once more.

  Quiet reigned for a little while, each of them focused on their own bullshit, and finally Cole decided to get the conversation going. “Anyone wanna address the missing werewolf in the room?”

  Ethan grunted, gaze on his cell phone. The lion was obsessed with some crop-growing, money-sucking game. Grant echoed the sound, his mouth full.

  And Birch…He got a text message. A low ding shot through the room and drew their attention. Birch didn’t give his cell phone number out, which meant he sure as hell didn’t get text messages. Except, apparently, he did.

  “Ooh, Birch has a girlfriend…” Grant singsonged, then chuckled.

  Cole just shook his head. “Birch is gonna rip your head off your neck if you make fun of his girlfriend.”

  “Children. You’re all fucking children.” Birch rolled his eyes and tapped on his phone’s screen.

  “Yo, Grant.” Ethan looked up from his game. “How come you didn’t know Birch had a girl? You can’t find Declan or his
kitty. Now you didn’t know about Birch’s piece on the side. What the fuck good are you?”

  “Asshole.” Grant put his sandwich aside, which meant the wolf was pissed. “I wasn’t the one who let Declan wander off with my untagged car.”

  Cole grinned. It was always fun to watch the puppy and kitty go at it, and he had a front-row seat.

  Until Birch sighed and stomped between the two men. “Can we not?” The team alpha pushed against Ethan’s chest and then Grant’s. “We got shit to do. Like find Declan.”

  “Grant tried. He failed,” Cole called out, all helpful and shit.

  Birch’s phone dinged again, but the bear’s dark gaze didn’t turn to the device. It settled heavily on Cole. “Fortunately, I have my own resources.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Watching Declan pack supplies, his mood darkening with his every movement, Abby decided their plan was bad. Perhaps the worst plan ever known to plandom.

  A better plan was to remain in Declan’s hidey-hole and come up with a new one. One that didn’t involve leaving said hidey-hole.

  Ever.

  Not because she wanted to be locked up with Declan—that’d just be a bonus—but because she was pretty done with risking her life.

  “Abby?” His voice wasn’t loud, but she felt it all the way to her toes. It danced along her nerves and plucked each one, making her even more aware of Declan as a man—as a prospective something.

  The cougar thought that something might start with the letter “m” and possibly end with “ate.” The cat didn’t care about his past.

  “You ready?” His steps were silent, but she could almost feel him moving, sense when he drew closer. Then he stood in front of her, six feet of muscular male dressed in black from head to toe. Dark. Foreboding. Dangerous. Deadly. She had to remember he was very, very deadly.

  “Yeah. Sorry I didn’t answer right away. I’m ready.”

  “Something wrong?” He stepped closer, his large presence overwhelming her. He drew even nearer and lifted his hands, cupping her cheeks in his scarred palms. Amber eyes stared into hers, searching her gaze for something. What?

  “I’d tell you we can wait,” he murmured.

  “But we can’t.” Abby pulled away and turned her attention to finishing her preparations. She snatched the jacket he’d given her and kept her gaze down while she tugged on the black coat. “It’s fine.” She straightened the fabric, smoothing out the wrinkles. She did anything to avoid looking at him. Anything to avoid getting caught by his intense gaze once more. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

  Declan tilted his head to the side, eyes narrowed, and she forced herself to remain immobile. She wasn’t going to squirm beneath his gaze. She wasn’t going to give him any other hint of emotion.

  He grunted and stepped back. “All right, then.” He turned and strode back the way he’d come, his long strides putting space between them, and she did her best to keep up. “Let’s do this.”

  Declan didn’t stop until he’d reached the home’s exit, two duffels bracketing the hallway while a gun rested on a nearby end table. When she joined him, she reached for one of the bags only to have him wrap his hand around her wrist—stopping her.

  “I’m carrying these. The gun’s for you.” He tipped his chin toward the weapon.

  “I don’t know what I’m doing with guns.”

  “This”—he picked up the gun, snapped the magazine into place, and wracked the slide—“has a grip safety. If you’re holding it and pull the trigger, it’ll fire.” His lips twitched. “Try not to hit me.”

  She gave him a tight-lipped smile and drawled, “Aw, you’ve ruined my fun already.”

  Declan snorted and grabbed the two bags in one hand. “Uh-huh. Just focus on shooting back at anyone who shoots at us.” He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Can you do that?”

  “I’m an accountant, Declan. You want me to count the number of bullets in a magazine, I will. You want me to count them as you shoot at people, I’ll do that, too. The actual shooting and killing…” She swallowed hard and pressed a hand—her empty hand—to her stomach and prayed she wouldn’t lose her lunch everywhere. Memories flashed; images of broken bodies and bright red blood filled her mind. So much blood. “That’s not something I can handle.”

  He took a deep breath and tipped his head back, releasing it slowly. “If we don’t get that tablet and turn it over to the SHOC director, you’ll be running for the rest of your life. You’ll be hunted to the four corners of the Earth, Abby. Is that how you want to live?”

  She wasn’t going to cry—she wasn’t. The only way to avoid crying was to laugh. Even if the laughter was fake.

  “Declan?”

  “Yes?” He released a long, heavy sigh.

  “The Earth is round.”

  Utter. Silence. It was as if even the house held its breath and fell quiet after her attempt at a joke. It wasn’t a very funny joke in all honesty, but it should have broken some of the tension. Even a tiny bit.

  But Declan remained in place, hands on his hips and face turned up to the ceiling for another dozen heartbeats before he gave her his attention once more. “Abby?”

  She nibbled her lower lip for a minute and then realized it betrayed her nervousness so she stopped. Of course, that was before she remembered he could scent her unease, but it wasn’t like she could tell the cat to stop smelling up the joint.

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re not funny.” The words were flat, but the corner of his mouth had the tiniest hint of a curl.

  “You think I’m hilarious,” she countered, and she had no idea where the urge to tease came from. Possibly because if she wasn’t laughing, she’d be crying, and wasn’t that just another reason to cry?

  “I think—” A low tone, the beeping soft, interrupted him, and Declan glanced at his watch. He tapped a small button and lowered his wrist, any hints of his smile gone in that instant.

  “It’s time.” She said the words even though they both knew what would happen next.

  “It’s time.” He nodded. “Don’t shoot me, don’t shoot yourself, and don’t get shot.”

  “It sounds so easy.” She fake chuckled.

  He didn’t respond. It was now or never, and never wasn’t an option.

  The door slid aside, letting the cool night air into the home. The air and something else. Something small and metal that bounced off the door’s steel frame. It pinged—several things pinged—one after another and another, and it took Abby a moment to register what was happening.

  And then she did. The bad guys who were supposed to shoot at them as they were chased through the streets decided to cut out the chasing aspect.

  They were right outside, and they’d skipped straight to the shooting.

  Chapter Twenty

  Fuck him sideways with a barbed-wire-wrapped baseball bat. Shit was hitting the fan now. Not later.

  Another bullet slammed into the door’s frame, then ricocheted and embedded itself in the drywall-covered concrete of the home’s entryway. That was followed by another and another, the attackers doing their best to hit him and Abby.

  Declan’s wolf howled and barked, its fury palpable. The beast pushed and shoved at Declan’s mind, demanding to be released. It wanted to hunt, kill, the ones who dared attack. Not because it was worried about its own ass. No, the beast was furious about the threat the attackers posed to Abby.

  Unacceptable.

  The stink of gunpowder filled the air, his animal picking out the scent. He drew in a deep breath, sorted through the wispy smoke and dust, and tried to identify their attackers.

  The beast helped, adding its abilities to his human nose, and then the truth hit him.

  “It’s UH,” he snarled, fangs pushing free of his gums with a renewed wave of rage and fury.

  “Unified Humanity?” Abby’s voice trembled, and he spared her a glance. He didn’t spy any wounds, which meant the shaking came from fear, not pain.

  “Yes.” Declan grabb
ed the nearest bag and withdrew several guns, laying them out carefully on the floor. He checked the magazines and chambered a bullet in each one.

  “How did they find us? I thought you said no one knows about this house.”

  Yeah, he knew what he’d said, and he was going to make sure he left one of the fuckers out there alive long enough to get the truth out of him. Then he’d put a bullet right between the asshole’s eyes.

  “I did. They don’t.”

  “So how—”

  Declan took a deep breath and swallowed the snarl that threatened to break free. It wasn’t Abby’s fault. “I don’t know, but I will. Just as soon as I get my paws on one of them.”

  He holstered his weapons, sliding them into place with practiced ease, but they were all backup to his preferred method—claws. He formed tight fists with his hands and then relaxed the fierce grip. Fingertips blackened, the wolf’s claws in place while the beast also altered their shape. Bones cracked and muscles stretched, rearranging so they’d become the perfect hand-to-hand killing machines.

  Fur slid over skin, dark gray with shots of silver. The transition was so fast the sting of the change didn’t register before it was complete. Now his two-legged form would fully blend with the night, black clothes and the animal’s hues making him disappear in the shadows.

  His shoulders broadened, the fabric of his shirt stretching to accommodate the increased breadth. That was followed by a bump of strength to the rest of his body, the beast adding its power. It was anxious to have their attackers’ blood on its paws and flowing down its throat.

  The wolf hungered for death, for destruction, for the cries of his prey and the sound of their begging in his ears. Their fear already teased his nose, the delicate hints of terror drifting to him on the gentle winds that passed through the open door. They attacked, but were afraid.

  They should be.

  Another wave of fear assaulted him, the stench greater than the others, more concentrated and piercing and…coated in a blanket of near-panicked feline.

  The beast happily took joy in the terror of others, but not Abby. Never Abby.