Heath drove the first few minutes through the woods in silence; he kept his face completely emotionless as he flew down the dirt roads.
"Heath, please slow down. What the fuck are you so upset about?"
"I'm driving you to a town where there’s a group of mercenaries paid to attack me. And you. I've practically bled our man Oscar dry and gotten fuck-all out of him, so I don't have any information to help me keep us safe. You think your magic can make you invisible, which is insane because there is nothing plain about you. And all of this because you want to drink a beer and giggle with your sisters. And I can't even stop you because you aren't my fucking mate. Does that seem like enough reasons to be pissed off?"
Grace stared at him, digesting his rant. “I don't even know where to start with that. You've been torturing him?" Grace's heart fell as she let that knowledge sink in. Deep down, she knew that’s what was happening, but now she knew it was the truth.
"With zero fucking success. What else was I supposed to do? Everyone I'm responsible for is in danger, and I don't know why."
"Heath," Grace whispered. "Stop the car. Look at me." He slammed on the brakes and turned to face her. Grace continued, "A man that I helped you capture by using my magic has been tortured. You promised no harm would come to him. You promised. Do you know what that means?"
"You didn't do it, Grace. I did it because I had to."
"But the goddess will settle the score with me."
"Why? Because you used her power to keep your family safe? Because you agreed to help me and I lied? Why would you be punished for someone else's sins?"
Grace shook her head and stared at her lap. “I don't know what will happen. All I know is that if I had never used magic, that man wouldn't have been flayed for information he didn't have."
"I didn't flay him. Though maybe I should try—" Grace's gaze snapped to the wolf. His eyes were sparkling impishly. “But seriously Grace, it doesn't make sense that the 'powers that be' would punish you for my actions." Heath reached over the gear shift, trying to fold her into a hug. "I think your goddess is punishing me by giving that man iron willpower."
"What do you mean?"
"Oscar says he doesn't know anything, but it's like he's trying to talk and can't. When I question him, he can tell me everything leading up to the Craigslist ad, but after that, there's nothing. And I when press him, his mouth forms words, but nothing comes out. It's like he's teasing me. And all I want to do is get this over with and get you back home."
"You want me to leave?" Grace felt as if she'd been slapped. Tears slipped from her eyes and she clenched her jaw willing them to stop. She undid her seatbelt and climbed out of the car, refusing to let Heath see her cry. Fuck, now what? She leaned her forehead against the side of the car, hiding her face. Heath's door slammed, and his boots crunched over leaves as he walked around the SUV.
"I don't want you to leave. I just don't know what to do with you. Ben and Neil might be satisfied by afternoon quickies and grabbing your ass in the kitchen. But I want you every night; I want to pull you onto my lap after dinner, to kiss you every time we're close, to know you are mine."
"I can be yours; I'm just also Neil's and Ben's. And I don't think anyone would be upset if I sat with you after dinner. They don't get upset over other men touching me. But I don't think you're being entirely honest with yourself. You want me to be your mate. I don't want to be anyone's mate. I don't want that kind of relationship with any wolf. I would have said no, no matter who asked me.
I know that’s not what you want to hear, and I’m sorry. But if I don’t say what I want, if I don’t say what makes me happy, then you’d never know. There has to be a compromise that suits everyone. My happiness isn’t worth more than yours. I don't want to leave. I don't want to leave you." She reached an arm forward and hooked a finger into one of Heath's belt loops and pulled him toward her.
He pressed himself against Grace and kissed her lightly. "No one wants you to leave, and we all want you to stay. Even West."
She looked up. “The black wolf?"
"Yeah. Benjamin said you'd been asking. So I talked to West. He likes having you around."
"Why doesn't he like being human?"
"He never used to stay as a wolf all the time, but now I think it’s a control thing. He went through some serious shit as a kid and feels safer as a wolf. Then Malcolm forced him to be human to work for the business, and now I think he'll be damned if anyone makes him do anything he doesn't want to do. "
Grace shuddered. “Malcolm sounds like a real asshole."
"He's not all bad, he's just old, and his leadership style hasn't evolved in the last 200 years."
"Excuse me?" Grace furrowed her brows. “Since when does shifting lead to everlasting life?"
Heath shrugged. “He's just fucking lucky. And smart. Shifters are still mortal, so something's going to get you, eventually."
"How old are you?"
"How rude!" Heath clutched an imaginary string of pearls. “I would never ask a lady her age."
Grace laughed. It was nice to see that he had a playful side. “I'm somewhere between twenty-five and forty," she said.
"Well, I'm somewhere between twenty-five and four hundred." He grinned.
His blond hair fell around his face, and it reminded her about the hungry Heath she'd gotten yesterday. This man changed as often as the weather, but she didn't want to miss out on a second of this playful, impish man. Grace reached up and brought his face to hers. His mischievous smirk was magnetic. She kissed him ravenously and he returned her eagerness, devouring her. He nudged a knee between her legs and reached behind her with both hands to grab her ass and press her against his thigh. Grace moaned and laced her fingers through his hair. She rocked her hips against Heath, fire spreading through her body. She pulled away from his mouth. “Let's go back home. I'll call Cara and cancel."
The next morning, Grace woke up early and left Heath's bed to join Ben and Neil in the kitchen. When the Alpha walked in, he walked right past her, sat down, and watched the morning news. Grace filled a cup with coffee and brought it over to Heath. She set the mug down and kissed him, lingering as he brushed her hair behind her ear. "Good morning," she said before walking back to the kitchen. She looked around the lodge, to the other men and wolves scattered around the room. No one seemed to care that she had taken Heath as a partner.
CHAPTER EIGHT
SAMPSON
Sampson walked into the lodge; Grace was sandwiched between Heath and Neil at the large dining room table. He scoffed. The witch had everyone wrapped around her finger, even though she'd done nothing but put them in danger. And sucked the whole pack's dicks. Even West was under her spell, and he had a deep hatred for outsiders.
Sampson stopped in front of Heath. “I'm here." Sampson made his displeasure known. He obeyed orders from his Alpha, but he would make damn sure everyone knew exactly how he felt about it.
"Thanks, Sampson." Heath stood up and addressed the room. “We should head out." The rest of the men followed suit and started pushing back chairs and pulling on their coats.
Grace looked around, wide-eyed and confused. “What's going on?"
"The pack is meeting with Malcolm. Sampson is going to stay here with you," Heath answered without looking up.
"What? Why?" she asked, her gaze bouncing back and forth between the men. "What about West?" Sampson chuckled, enjoying her frustration. Grace wasn't as special as she thought.
"Grace. Sampson is the strongest wolf I have. I’m leaving you with the best," Heath said.
Thoughtlessly, Sampson straightened, pushing his massive chest forward, proud of his Alpha's comment.
Heath continued, "Stop pouting. It's a normal goddamn day. You can do what you usually do, just no running off camp."
"I like running."
Sampson walked to an easy chair and picked up a remote. “You can run anywhere I can see you without moving my ass. Just snap your fingers and give me a magic mirror."<
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"Fuck you," Grace spat.
"Don't kill each other. We'll be back in the evening," Heath said as he shrugged on his coat.
The lodge emptied out, and Grace watched the men pile into cars and drive away. She stalked back to the table and started collecting dishes.
"I didn't get any breakfast yet. What are you going to make me?" Sampson asked. Grace didn’t take the bait; instead she turned on the top forty station on the radio, loudly. Sampson turned on closed captions, cursing under his breath.
The next song came on, and Grace started singing along, belting out the lyrics over-dramatically. Sampson growled, turning around in his chair to tell her to shut up. He stopped short when he saw her dancing. She had her back to him and seemed completely lost in herself. She wasn't singing along to irritate him. Grace was in her own world, swinging her hips with the beat. She bent over the table, moving with the music. At the song's crescendo, she stood up and dropped down to a squat,then slowly snaked her way up. What. The. Fuck. Sampson's cock pulsed.
"Stop squawking!" he barked as he whipped his head back to the TV. “You're ruining a perfectly shitty song."
Sampson heard Grace smack the radio, and the kitchen suddenly went silent. He felt too guilty to turn the volume up on the TV. So instead they passed the next couple hours in silence as Grace buzzed around the lodge washing dishes, sweeping, and folding laundry.
"I'm going for a run," she proclaimed, drying her hands on a dish towel.
"No, you aren't. That was the only goddamn thing Heath mentioned, and that's the rule you're going to break?"
"He said I can't run down the road off camp. I'm going to run around camp."
"And I told you that I wasn't moving my ass."
"You can sit where you are and watch through the window as I pass by. But you probably won't be able to hear me scream, so." She shrugged. “You might want to come up with a story for Heath in case I disappear during one of my laps."
"Nope. Sit down," he growled. "We're in this together and I'm not moving."
"Damn it, Sampson, I have never fucking seen you watch TV. You're just doing this to be an asshole. Come outside and stare at the ground for half an hour so I can run." She paused and took a deep breath. “Please."
She was right. He was just being a dick, but he didn't want to give her the satisfaction of knowing that he could be played like the rest of the pack.
"Fine, but I'm going to run with you."
"Whatever you want," Grace said, throwing her hands in the air. "I'm going to get changed."
They walked out of the lodge, Grace stalked to her cabin, and Sampson turned to walk to his.
"Son of a bitch! Grace!" Sampson roared.
The door to cabin one was wide open.
Grace froze in her tracks.
"Come with me," he said. "Walk ahead of me. Stay outside the cabin where I can see you in front the door."
She started walking toward the cabin, and Sampson followed a few feet behind her. He scanned the camp as they walked, looking for anything out of place and guarding against a surprise attack. He doubted their captive would hang around, but you could never be sure. Grace stopped four feet away from the door, and Sampson walked past her to get inside. The place was a mess with bloody clothes on the ground, forgotten plates, and empty zip ties. How the fuck did he get out of those?
Sampson picked up a bloodstained shirt and walked out of the cabin. “Let's go," he said, walking to his cabin.
"Where?"
"We're going to find the fucker.”
“His name’s Oscar,” Grace said.
Sampson ignored her. “Take this." He shoved the shirt into Grace's hand. “I'm going to change into a wolf and track him. You're coming with me. I can't leave you here and risk something happening to you. The pack would eat me alive. Listen. I'll start out at a steady pace, but if I run, don't run after me. Stay put. I’ll be back. Probably with the prisoner." Sampson walked into his cabin and propped the door open.
He stripped off his clothes and shifted into a large grey wolf. Maybe he should have done this outside—it would have been fun to make the witch uncomfortable. He emerged from the cabin and sniffed the shirt Grace was holding.
Sampson walked back to the first cabin sniffing the ground outside the door, looking for the prisoner’s scent he’d smelled on the shirt. He found the captive's scent easily and jerked toward the woods, ready to take off down the path, but he looked up and saw that Grace hadn’t moved. The damn witch couldn’t follow a single direction. Sampson yipped at her and started walking toward the woods, assuming she would follow. He heard the thud of her sneakers as she jogged to catch up with him.
As soon a Sampson caught a glimpse of her in his peripheral vision, he sped up to a trot and followed the scent of blood, body soil, and cheap cologne into the woods. Grace kept pace, jogging behind him and artfully dodging obstacles like low branches and fallen tree limbs. Luckily it was fall, so the forest had thinned out as the trees shed their leaves over the past couple weeks.
Sampson followed the scent for a while, but he could tell Grace was getting worn out. He slowed to a stop and perked up his ears. At the same time they stopped moving, he heard the distant crunch of leaves. Footsteps. Slow and measured. Grace stood silently watching him, aware that he was tense. Sampson heard two more footfalls from the same direction the scent lead.
He sprang forward, his hind legs exploding as he sprinted toward his target. He could no longer hear the footsteps of the captive over his own paws pounding against the ground. Sampson still had the man's scent, and he followed it farther into the woods until he saw a flash of movement in front of him. Gotcha.
The man tried to dodge between trees. He was barefoot and only wearing boxers. Clearly not the most intelligent escapee. Oscar's pasty body flashed between trees as he drew closer and closer. Sampson's prey looked over his shoulder and shrieked. The pudgy man was no match for him.
Sampson leaped forward and sunk his teeth into the man's ankle. The captive tripped, falling face-first into an enormous tree trunk. His skull cracked as it made contact and he fell limply to the forest floor. Shit. Sampson dropped the ankle and inspected the prisoner's face. He was still breathing. Sampson nudged him with his muzzle, and the man's head flopped back to the ground.
Sampson shifted back into a human and glared at the unconscious body. “I'm going to have to fucking carry you three miles back to camp." He squatted down perpendicular to the man and hoisted him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. After bouncing on the balls of his feet and settling the body's weight comfortably, Sampson headed back toward Grace. Fucking bare-assed and barefoot.
CHAPTER NINE
GRACE
Grace shot up when she heard movement in the woods. The footsteps grew louder, and she saw Sampson come around a tree carrying a body. She stood frozen, torn between laughter and shock. "Is he alive?" she asked, choosing the mature route.
"Yes, just unconscious. He went face-first into a tree."
"Want a shirt?" Grace asked, holding the bloody shirt in front of her; she could only keep a blank expression for a few heartbeats before she started giggling.
"Walk," Sampson growled.
"You could borrow his underwear. He won't miss them." Honestly, that would be a shame because Sampson was definitely a show-er. His dick would be epic if he were a grower too.
"Why don't you actually be useful with some 'light as a feather, stiff as a board shit' and make this fat ass easier to carry."
"Rude. Body shaming is not cool. You didn't hear me say anything about your flat ass."
"My ass is great," Sampson grunted through clenched teeth.
They trudged back through the woods, Grace silently wishing she could lighten Sampson's load. She felt terrible that he had to trek miles through the woods barefoot with two hundred extra pounds. At first, his nudity made her uncomfortable, but she eventually became more curious, sneaking longer and longer glances at his body.
His b
ack was pebbled with muscles she didn't even know existed, and they popped in and out of view as he adjusted and readjusted the weight on his shoulders. His arms were webbed with veins straining against his skin. Grace had a strong urge to trace the ropes of his veins down his arm. She flexed her hand, willing it to stay by her side. She glanced at his feet to make sure they weren't horribly injured, but her gaze drifted up his legs and past his thighs. Sampson did indeed have a great ass. Her fingertips tingled, begging to slap one of his steel cheeks. Her body was betraying her. This was Sampson, who was an asshole that treated her like shit. Why was her heart hammering in her chest?
When they reached the cabin, Sampson threw the man onto the bed. He dug around the cabin and tossed Grace a pack of zip ties. “Tie his wrist to the headboard. Tight. I don't care if you cut off his circulation and he loses his hands."
She did as she was told, watching the man's face the entire time. She expected him to jerk awake suddenly and attack her. He was fucking wreck. His face a was bloody from a broken nose. His body was covered in long cuts that seemed to stop an inch above and below his boxers. His chest was bruised, and it looked like a finger or two had been broken. What the fuck could be this important to him?
She walked out of the cabin door. She turned around to see if Sampson was right behind her, she could see the bottoms of Oscar's feet were slashed toe to heel. She wondered how many were from Heath and how many were from his flight. There was something around his ankle. Was this grown-ass man wearing an ankle bracelet? Grace stepped back into the cabin to get a closer look. It was a crude twine rope with herbs braided into it. There was some black string too, a lot of it. She bent down. It wasn't string and twine. It was hair. Grace shot up. "That was a fucking curse. Our friend has been rubbing elbows with a black witch."
"What?" Sampson asked, grabbing the prisoner’s ankle with one hand and a pair of scissors with the other.
SOMETHING WICKED Page 10
