“Yeah. Sometimes.” His eyes skim the length of my legs, which are still hugging the sides of the bike.
The wind picks up and thick sheets of rain blanket the night.
“You said, you didn’t live far from here.” A gust chills my exposed skin, and my goose-pimpled flesh erupts with a new wave of goosebumps.
“I don’t.” He points toward a hill where a single bluish glow illuminates the night. “I live there—where the light is.”
“Come on.” He offers a hand and helps me climb off the seat. Once I’m free of the bike, Ethan stands.
“Hold this a minute.” I shove my purse into his hands.
“Yes, ma’am.” A grin tugs at the corners of his lips.
“Where are you?” I dig through each pocket. “I know you’re here, somewhere.”
“Are you sure you’re expected? The house is dark.”
“Uhm. Yeah.” My focus remains on the backpack and the items within.
The butt of the handgun peeks out between the folds of the inner lining.
“Protection?” He clears his throat.
“Yep.”
“Know how to use it?”
“Yeah. Point and squeeze.”
He rubs the stubble on his chin. “What are you lookin’ for?”
“Found it”—I extract my phone and uses it as flashlight—“now, to find . . .”
“Doesn’t look like anybody’s home.”
“That’s because there’s no one else here but the two of us.”
I shove a hand in the oversized side pocket and feel around.
The post of an earring jabs the tip of my finger, and rectangular pieces of mint bubble gum—free of the bonds of their plastic prison dispenser—roam free at the bottom of the compartment along with lent, pens, jewelry, and a few paperclips.
“Found them.” I shake a set of keys. “Let’s go.”
I shoulder the purse and run out from under the carport.
“Wait up.” A clash of thunder consumes his words.
Rain pelts my shoulders, face, and back, then trickles down my neck.
Flipping the collar of the jacket, I cover my ears, hoping to stop the flow of fluid drenching my blouse.
Square pavers offer a path through the torrential rain, but halfway to the front door, a stream of water swallows three of them, at least, by my estimation.
Once in the house, should I send him on his way or not?
Inviting him inside is the least I could do.
Plus, it’s really raining now, and with the motorcycle . . .
He’s a stranger, though.
It’s not as if I really know anything about him other than he wears leather and what he drives. Hell, he could be an ax murder waiting for a chance to pounce.
Pounce. The word has so many different meanings: to jump on, swoop upon and seize, or a fine powder once used to prevent ink from spreading—often used for creating stenciled patterns.
Jeez. Get a grip already.
Of those phrases, the first of the three definitions, jump on, blankets my mind.
Hmm. Would it be so bad if he pounces? A grin tugs at my lips. Could be fun from a research perspective.
I always avoid the ‘bad boy’ type, though.
Annie, a woman who took care of me from the age of five to fifteen, and the only foster parent I considered a motherly figure worth trusting, used to point guys like Ethan out.
Now, you steer clear of a buck like that, she’d shake an aged finger in the air. Them young’uns only want what’s between your legs, girl. So, when they come a knockin’ you send ‘em packin’.
That placement, which was one of the happiest in my life, had lasted ten years, two months, and twenty-seven days—a massive coronary ended that stent.
In front of a growing puddle of water that resembles a fast-moving stream, I come to a full stop.
Ethan, on the heels of my feet, bumps into me, sending me sliding ankle deep into the brown-colored fluid.
“What do you mean, there’s no one else here?” He wraps an arm around my waist, keeping me on my feet. “Where’s Roman?”
A flash of lightening streaks across the night sky, followed by a clash of thunder.
“He, uhm . . .” A howl fills the night, and I freeze in my tracks. I clutch his arm and stare into the blackness, searching. “What was that?”
The eerie sound echoes around me again, but this time, two more cries join in. One higher-pitched, and the other drawn out—like a tornado warning system—the unnerving clamor makes the fine hairs on my neck stand on end.
“You don’t want to know.” Ethan grabs me by the arm, and he half drags me toward the house. “We need to get inside. Now.”
I follow him up the walkway and then take the stairs two at a time to keep up with his longer stride.
A deep growl rumbles in the darkness and a hulking, four-legged body, with two red, glowing eyes, slowly approaches.
Standing at the front door, my body trembles. “What the hell is that?” A shiver shakes me from head to toe. “A dog?”
I squint, hoping to focus on the distorted figure through the falling rain.
“Did Roman have a pet?” The keys slip between my wet fingers and clang against the wood planks. “A really big, fucking Cujo dog?”
Ethan scoops the keyring off the wooden platform and jams the house key into the lock.
Two more creatures, with the same hideous eyes, inch their way closer to the front door.
“Oh, God, there’s more of them.”
“S-a-d-i-e.” The creature draws out my name. “Sadie. Sadie. Sadie.”
When the steel door opens, Ethan yanks me inside. He slams it shut and engages the deadbolt.
Did that thing just talk?” My eyes widen.
He turns around and locks gazes with me, his expression unreadable. “Who the fuck are you?”
I step back, placing some distance me, the door, and Ethan. “I-I told you, Sadie Reed from San Antonio, Texas.”
Looking away from his piercing stare, I examine my surroundings and basks in the warmth of the house, which is a welcome change from the chilly, wet air outside.
“Yeah. You said that already.”
A large leather couch sits in the middle of the rectangular room with a chaise on one side and matching recliners on the other.
With the drapes open on the far wall, I feel exposed, naked to the prying eyes outside.
“What are those things?”
Making my way across the floor, I leave puddles of water in my wake.
“Why . . . how did it talk?”
I pull the curtains closed and then move into the next room bathed in moonlight, an office.
A streak of lightning flashes outside the window, illuminating the night.
Searching the front yard, I look for any movement or signs of life.
The frame of the sill sits level with my hip. Leaning close to the glass, I peer at the ground that’s more than seven feet away.
Shadows dance in the darkness, but nothing living comes into view.
It wasn’t real. I gulp a breath. The wind’s playing tricks on my mind.
Standing on the tips of my toes, I grab the drapes and drag the two panels together.
The ping of shattering glass echoes through the house.
I pivot on the balls of my tennis shoes, which squeak on the hardwood floor, and I come face to face with a red, glowing set of eyes.
“H-how the hell did you get inside?”
The animal creeps closer, inch by inch. It’s stalking me, closing the gap between me and it. And the closer the ominous orbs come; the larger the beast’s overall mass appears.
Its ears tuck flat against its head. The dark hair on its back stands on end. A long snout with gleaming white fangs snarls.
It stands upright on two legs.
“What the fuck?” I gasp.
It’s bipedal like a man.
“Run.” Ethan grabs my arm.
He shoves me i
nto the hall behind him, and I take off sprinting
“Find a place to hide.” His body is all that stands between me and the approaching animal.
“What about you?”
“Do it. Now.”
The creature extends a hand and digs talon-shaped claws into the sheetrock. Advancing forward, he leaves four long slashes.
Ethan lunges forward, tackling the half-man, half-beast to the floor.
At the end of the hallway, I come to an arched opening, leading to a formal living room.
To my left, another animal, with red eyes, emerges from the shadows. It rises to full height and swipes at me.
“What the fuck?”
Another fur-covered creature perches on the sill of the broken window.
“Oh, God.” I sidestep and race up the staircase. “They’re everywhere.”
At the top of the stairwell, I slide the purse from my shoulder. Hand shaking, I wrap my fingers around cold steel.
“Sadie . . . S-a-d-i-e,” growls the beast. “Ready or not, here I come.” The beast, now standing fully erect, takes the stairs two at a time.
Removing my hand from the purse, my fingers tremble. My grip on the handle of the weapon slips.
“Fuck.” I hold the gun out in front of me. It’s heavier now than when I shot it at the firing range with Matt and Dana.
My hands bob up and down, and my shaking fingers make it hard to slide the safety off. I wrap my index finger around the trigger.
“Stop. I don’t want to shoot you.” I lock eyes with the intruder standing in front of me. “Don’t come any closer.”
He squats, then springs forward.
A solid blow to my chest knocks me to the floor. Gasping for air, I scurry across the hardwood, putting some distance between me and the creature approaching.
The dog, man-beast thing approaches on two legs, stops, and then looms over me.
His breath, hot and rancid, makes me gag.
Now or never. The words echo in my head.
You got this. It’s like practice—just without the walking, talking, rabid man-dog.
Two-handed, I level the barrel of the gun, keeping his chest between the sights like Matt had shown me.
“You shouldn’t point a gun unless you intend to use it.” The words come out in more of a growl than normal speech.
He lunges for me.
Gasping for breath, I pull the trigger.
The recoil of the blast forces my hands back.
A dead weight falls on top of me, making it hard to breathe, much less move. The mixed aroma of chalk and scorched paper burns the inside of my nose.
“Sadie.” Ethan’s voice carries through the house. “Where are you?”
I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out, not even a squeak.
Footsteps pound against the wooden stairs. A figure, with golden eyes, approaches.
I struggle to slide out from underneath the man or beast, who is lying motionless on top of me. Freeing the hand holding the gun, I take aim at the oncoming mass.
“Stay back.” Squeezing the trigger once again, the gun goes off for a second time.
The intruder grunts and rolls to the side.
Before I can take aim again, a hand wraps around my wrist, forcing my arms above my head. And the gun is ripped from my grasp.
“No. Please,” the words come out a jumbled mess.
“It’s me,” says Ethan, barely above a whisper.
“Ethan?”
A heavy weight topples off me, and I’m yanked to my feet. Strong arms draw me into a tender embrace.
“Oh, God.” I peer at the motionless form on the floor.
My stomach lurches.
It’s a man, not a beast.
“I killed him.” A swimmy sensation rolls through my head. “Oh, God, I just killed someone.”
My knees buckle, and the strange, dark world spins around me. The last thing I see, before my vision goes black, are golden-colored orbs—Ethan’s eyes.
Chapter Six
Ethan Cotter
THE COPPERY, METALLIC SMELL of blood fills the air.
Three distinguishable scents linger. Two of them belong to the dead lycans: one on the living room floor with his throat slashed, and the other, upstairs with a hole in his chest. Both reek of the Kweo clan. And the third, a sweet, alluring aroma, belongs to Sadie, who has just passed out.
She’s not human, but she’s not lupine or lycan, either. So, what the hell is she, and why’d she have a gun? And why the fuck did the Kweo pack attack on hallowed ground?
I slide the safety on, then slip the weapon inside the waistband of my jeans. The metal cools my lower back.
Scooping her up, I cradle her in my arms and carry her down the stairs. In the living room, I lay her on the couch.
Blood. She reeks of blood.
Cupping her chin, I tilt her head, first to one side, looking for the source of the metallic stench, and then to the other.
A small section of her hair, wet and slick, sticks to the left side of her head.
I sniff, and my inner beast tastes the metallic aroma—blood, a mixture of both hers and her attacker’s.
Mine, my inner beast whispers in the recesses of my mind.
A tinge of pain stabs at my heart.
Did the Kweo mark her? The thought sends my beast to the edge of frenzy.
The superficial wound on her head doesn’t contain the markings of a bite. But the smell of the lycan’s blood is strong, so where’s it coming from?
I slide a hand over the leather jacket and sniff.
Four distinct slash marks mar the garment splattered with blood, lycan blood.
Wrapping my fingers around the zipper, I pull it down, and the teeth come undone, exposing her chest.
Her breasts rise with each inhale. The tank top, hugging her body, is intact.
Lowering my head, I draw in a deep breath.
The leather jacket holds the largest concentration of lycan blood. Continuing my search, I don’t pick up the scent anywhere else on her body except for her hair.
She stirs and her lids flutter. A soft cry passes her lips.
“Sadie.” I caress the side of her face. “Open your eyes.” Her skin is smooth, flawless.
Her almond-shaped eyes spring open, and big brown irises hold my gaze.
“Were you bitten?” I struggle to keep my inner beast under control. “Did he bite you?”
“Bite . . . what?” Sadie shakes her head then grimaces. “Oow . . . my head hurts.”
Gingerly, she runs a hand through her hair. She brings her fingertips in front of her face, and her eyes widen.
“Is that blood? Am I bleeding?”
“Listen to me,” I say, softly. “Focus. Were you bitten?”
“No. I don’t think so.” She sits, clutching the back of the couch for support.
I take hold of the collar of the jacket and push it off her shoulders.
“What are you doing?” She crosses her arms over her chest and pulls away.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” I point to the slash marks on the front of the garment. “I just want to make sure you’re not injured.”
She slips her fingers through the gashes.
“That could’ve been me.” She swallows hard.
Sucking in a ragged breath of air, she slides the jacket down the length of her frame.
Taking hold of her wrist, I examine first her right arm then left. Other than the early formation of a bruise, she’s unmarked.
“I saw the blood and thought”—my eyes travel over her tank top, across her breasts, and pause on her narrow waist for several seconds—“he’d bitten you.”
“I’m okay, I think.”
I continue to follow the flare of her hips to her exposed thighs, searching for any signs of a wound. Other than a scrape or two and a few bruises, I don’t see any other injuries.
She clears her throat. “What were they . . . those things?” A tremor shakes her body. “They weren’
t right. They were—”
“Beasts. Half-bloods.”
“Half-bloods?” She pauses. “The one I shot—it was—he was dog-like then took human form. Who or what does that?”
“A lycan. They were all lycans—even the rogues outside.”
“Like a werewolf?”
“Yes.” I nod my head. “Can you stand?” I offer a hand.
“I don’t understand. They’re not real. Werewolves aren’t real—they’re stories told around a fire to keep kids from wandering too far from camp. Myths. Lore even.”
“Most myths are born from unexplainable events.” He offers a hand once again. “Can you stand?”
“I think so.”
“We need to go. It isn’t safe here.”
She places the tips of her fingers on the palm of my hand. “Go where?”
Her eyes gloss over and fill with tears. She blinks several times to stem the flow.
Mine, my inner beast whispers from within. Must protect.
I coax her to her feet. “Up the hill to my place.”
“I can’t go out there.” Fear exudes from her body like an intoxicating drug.
The fragrant aroma draws the attention of my beast. Mine, it whispers once more. Must protect Sadie Reed.
Drawing her into my arms, I press her lean frame against me. Her body fits perfectly against mine.
“And then?”
“You’ll be safe there. Protected.” I cradle her to my chest, stroking her back, offering her what comfort I can.
The faint scent of her arousal piques the interest of the alert wolf inside me.
It sucks in her scent. My inner wolf has wanted females before, but this time it’s different. The beast desires to claim her, make her his own and in turn, mine.
A deep-seated hunger grows inside me, building layer by layer. In all my years, I’ve never felt such a strong attraction or connection before.
I release her but wrap an arm around her waist because the wolf inside me refuses to relinquish its hold.
“Wait.” At the door, she pulls back, and her body stiffens. “What if they’re out there, those things—those animals?”
“Lycan. They’re called lycans.” I open the door and then draw in a deep breath, testing the air.
All that lingers of the rogues and the Kweo pack members is a residual, fading stench.
“They’re gone, for now. But they’ll return. And when they come back, they’ll be in hunt mode.” I usher her out the door. “We don’t want to be here when they return.”
Sadie Page 3
