Книга - Dark Wolf Rising

Dark Wolf Rising
Rhyannon Byrd


Something dark is coming… Eric Drake, a powerful Dark Wolf, has never trusted himself around human females – until he encounters Chelsea Smart snooping around Silvercrest pack land, in search of her missing sister. Secretly, Chelsea thinks Eric is the sexiest man she’s ever seen, though she’s wary of submitting to any man.When it’s discovered her sister is being held by a pack of Lycans, Eric leaps into action. Now Chelsea must risk everything – her body and soul – and surrender to the passion that will mark her as Eric’s woman for all eternity…if they survive.







“You’re the only woman I want, Chelsea.”

“When I started falling in love with you,” she told him, “it felt like dying.”

“And now?” he asked, his hands settling on her hips.

“Now I finally know how it feels to be alive. Not just parts of me, but all of them.” Her long hair streamed over her shoulders as she shook her head. “I don’t know to explain it. It’s like you woke me up. Made me open my eyes.”

The instant she whispered, “Make me yours, Eric,” his fangs burst into his mouth so hard that it hurt.

His wolf prowled beneath his skin, brimming with instinct and the need for possession, but he had to make sure this was what she wanted, because once done, there was no going back. “Are you sure this is what you want, Chelsea?”

“I’m sure,” she said a little breathlessly…


Dear Reader,

The BLOODRUNNERS series is one that’s been near and dear to my heart since I first wrote Last Wolf Standing back in 2007, and I’m so thrilled to finally be bringing you Eric Drake’s story. I love his smart-ass sense of humor, his bad boy ways, and the undying sense of loyalty he has for the people he cares about. But I never really understood how intriguing he was until I had to start playing around inside his head. Thanks to his bloodline, Eric is one of the most powerful Lycans in the Silvercrest pack, and yet, in the wake of his father’s treachery, his entire world seems to be crumbling around him. That’s when the feisty, all-too-human Chelsea Smart storms into his life…knocking the gorgeous werewolf right on his sexy backside. She’s the last kind of trouble he needs, and yet, Eric finds himself fighting a temptation greater than any he’s ever known.

Before I go, I just want to shout out masses of thanks for making the Bloodrunners a part of your lives. I promise there are more adventures to come!

Best wishes,

Rhy




About the Author


RHYANNON BYRD is an avid, longtime fan of romance and the author of more than twenty paranormal and erotic titles. She has been nominated for three RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice Awards, including best Shapeshifter Romance, and her books have been translated into nine languages. After having spent years enjoying the glorious sunshine of the American South and Southwest, Rhyannon now lives in the beautiful but often chilly county of Warwickshire in England with her husband and family. For more information on Rhyannon’s books and the latest news, you can visit her website at www.rhyannonbyrd.com or find her on Facebook.




Dark Wolf Rising


Rhyannon Byrd








www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For Crystall…

(aka Cici)

Sorry you had to wait so long, sis!

Love you lots!


THE BLOODRUNNERS’ LAW

When offspring are born of a union between human and Lycan, the resulting creations may only gain acceptance within their rightful pack by the act of Bloodrunning: the hunting and extermination of rogue Lycans who have taken a desire for human flesh. Thus they prove not only their strength, but their willingness to kill for those they will swear to protect to the death.

The League of Elders will predetermine the Bloodrunners’ required number of kills.

Once said number of kills are efficiently accomplished, only then may the Bloodrunner assume a place among their kin, complete with full rights and privileges.

THE DARK WOLF

A Dark Wolf bloodline is the purest of the Lycan race.

They are the most primal and powerful of their kind. Visceral. Predatory.

Creatures of instinct and hunger.

They are the potential for all things good and evil.

And when it comes to humans…they are a deadly nightmare just waiting to happen.

DARK WOLF RISING

Something dark is coming…




Chapter 1


Eric Drake had always believed that if there was one thing that didn’t mix well, it was humans and wolves—which was why he had a bad feeling about the current situation. Or more specifically, about the woman.

Climbing out of his truck, he stared through the hazy glow of silver-threaded moonlight, struggling to make out the features of the female sitting behind the wheel of a sky-blue Volkswagen bus. A human female. And a ridiculous-looking bus. With a whimsical confection of puffy white clouds painted down its sides, the vehicle looked more like something that belonged on a laid-back, surfer-laden beach in Southern California, rather than the rugged terrain of the Maryland mountains. It was parked in a narrow field, just behind a small line of trees that hid it from the nearby road and any passing cars, which had obviously been the driver’s intention.

Fortunately, a pair of Silvercrest scouts had discovered the bus and its occupant while patrolling this private stretch of road. It split off from the main highway a few miles back, then slowly wound its way up toward Shadow Peak, the mountaintop town the Silvercrest Lycans called home—a fact which made this particular area exceptionally dangerous if you were human…and nothing more.

Eric didn’t want to think about what could have happened to the woman if she’d put herself in the path of a ravenous werewolf out roaming the dark woods in search of prey. As a rule, his pack didn’t feed on humans—and those who did were marked as rogue wolves, hunted down and assassinated by the Bloodrunners. But to find a defenseless human alone in the mountains while on the hunt for fresh meat would be a temptation some might find difficult to resist. Despite knowing it was wrong, the dark, destructive craving could all too easily overpower a Lycan’s reason and sense of rightness.

The lady was lucky to still be sitting there in one piece.

Eric tried to get a good look at her, but even his exceptional night vision couldn’t make out her features. Apparently uninterested in who had just arrived on the scene, or, judging by the stiff set of her posture, too furious to care, she sat behind the steering wheel with her face turned to the side. A long, thick fall of brown hair covered most of her profile, so that only the delicate tip of a small nose could be distinguished, along with the soft-looking swell of her lower lip.

Hell of a mouth, he thought, wondering exactly what he was going to do about her. The situation obviously hadn’t improved since he’d received the call from Hendricks, one of the two scouts who were on the scene. Her frustration seemed to all but fill the interior of the bus with the weight of a thick, oppressive fog. With her shoulders tight, back straight and arms crossed protectively over her chest, she didn’t appear ready to give in to their demands that she leave the area immediately, and go back to wherever she came from.

Drawing in a deep breath, he searched for her scent on the heavy mountain air, but the bus was sealed tight, windows up. Whatever trace might have escaped through the window as she’d talked to the scouts earlier had been carried away by the howling wind sweeping through the forest, rustling the new spring leaves upon their branches, bringing with it the damp, humid promise of a storm. They were common enough this time of year in western Maryland, and after flicking a quick glance toward the thickening, bruise-colored clouds that marked the midnight sky like blotches of smoke, Eric realized he was going to end up soaked if he didn’t get a move on.

Shutting the truck’s door with a sharp snap, he ran a quick visual on the nearby area. One of the scouts, a Lycan named Franks, stood near the driver-side door of the Volkswagen. The guy kept a wary eye on the woman as the wind whipped his shaggy blond hair around his gaunt features, while the other scout hurried over to Eric, launching into a hectic, breathless explanation, his words stumbling over themselves in his haste to get them said.

“I’m sorry again for bothering you on a Friday night, sir, but she refuses to leave the area.”

“What has she said?” he asked, wishing he hadn’t just smoked his last cigarette.

“She showed us a picture of a young woman and asked if we’d seen her. After we told her that we’d never seen the girl, we tried to explain that she can’t stay here, but she insists that we can’t kick her off the property, and I’m afraid we didn’t know how to get her to leave without…um, that is, without…”

“It’s okay, Hendricks,” Eric murmured, trying to put the younger Lycan at ease. “You know we want all territory infractions called in, so you’ve done the right thing.”

The square-faced, spectacled Hendricks hadn’t needed to finish his stumbling explanation—Eric knew exactly what the problem was. It had been impossible for them to get rid of the woman without getting physical with her, or betraying their secret. The newly appointed scouts were clearly on uneasy, unfamiliar ground with this young female who was too stubborn for her own good.

Taking a few steps away from his truck, Eric ran one hand back through his short scrub of hair, then over the scratchy surface of his jaw. What in the hell did she think she was doing? It wasn’t safe for a woman to camp out by herself in the mountains, even if she was sleeping in her car.

Was she really searching for someone? Or was it just a scam? Given the whimsical bus, she could be one of those environmentalists looking to commune with nature, or whatever they called it. They’d had to deal with the type before. Or was she actually some kind of reporter trying to sniff out a story? God, the last damn thing they needed was a curious human snooping around the area. He and the Bloodrunners, the half-breed hunters whose job it was to hide the existence of their race from humans, as well as to hunt down those who turned rogue, already had their hands full working to get order reestablished up in Shadow Peak. Still mired in the process of forming a new government, the Silvercrest continued to deal with the emotional and physical wounds left over from the traumatic events of five months ago. Events that had left the pack without leadership, and reeling from a betrayal that had affected everyone from the adults who’d lost their lives down to the children who had been tragically orphaned.

Though once completely removed from the dealings in Shadow Peak, the Bloodrunners’ newly established position within the pack’s political structure put them in charge of Silvercrest security, with Eric working as the liaison between the pack and the Runners. After the recent treachery that had weakened their stability, courtesy of Eric’s father and his savage plans to take over the pack, the Silvercrest had been left in a vulnerable position. It was a frightening time, and the wolves were all too aware of the aggressive nature of some of their neighboring packs—especially the Whiteclaw wolves, who lived to the south of them. As a precaution, Eric and the Runners had been taking turns supervising the night watch, any suspicious or unusual activities being immediately reported by the scouts to the one in charge on any given night. Since they’d begun rotating the shift, Eric had been involved in a variety of dangerous situations, and was for the first time getting a taste of what life as a Runner was like.

“Did she give you a name?” he asked, noting how uneasy the scout seemed. Hendricks’s pale skin was flushed with color, his dark gaze repeatedly sliding from the ground to the sky, as if he was wary of looking directly at Eric’s face.

“No, sir,” Hendricks replied, slanting him a quick glance, and Eric struggled to keep his expression impassive. “To be honest, she’s…well…”

“She’s what?” he prompted, fighting down his impatience.

“She’s not exactly what you’d expect from a human female. I could scent her fear when we found her, and yet, she absolutely refused to back down.” Hendricks swallowed, the nervous movement visible in his throat. “She even pulled out a gun, saying that she’d shoot off our, um, manly parts if we dared to lay a hand on her,” he admitted, his voice thick with embarrassment…and an unmistakable note of relief that he was still standing there, said manly parts intact.

Eric choked back a low bark of laughter, somehow managing to hide his smile behind his hand as he coughed. But his humor faded as Franks came over to join them, the scout’s gaze swiftly focusing on something over his shoulder.

“Why don’t you wait over here and let me talk to her alone for a minute?” Eric suggested, wondering if he had food stuck in his teeth. Neither Hendricks nor Franks seemed capable of looking directly at him—but then, there weren’t many in the pack these days who were. Still, he’d expected better from these two, and he ran his tongue over his teeth just to be sure he was in the clear.

“Be careful,” they replied in unison, looking relieved to be passing the situation to him.

The milky glow of the nearly full moon caught his eye as Eric made his way toward the vehicle, and his beast gave a lazy stretch beneath his skin, his senses quickening with a primal rush, eager…almost desperate to hunt. He’d been so busy lately he’d ignored his predatory hungers, which was never a smart move—especially for a bloodline as powerful as his. As a dark wolf, the product of two exceptionally pure Lycan bloodlines, Eric’s natural cravings ran deeper than most, making the need for control even greater. He clenched his jaw, forcing the prowling animal deeper into his psyche. At the moment, he needed the calm, cool reasoning of the man—not the animalistic aggression of his beast.

But being cool and calm didn’t seem to be on the agenda for the night.

As Eric approached the driver-side door, the woman shifted slightly, giving him his first clear view of her face, and his muscles tightened with a jolting, slam-him-into-the-ground kind of surprise. For some reason, probably because of how Hendricks and Franks were acting, he hadn’t expected the woman to be so…well, soft-looking. Even attractive. But she was. She had the kind of beauty that crept up on a guy, making him want to keep staring…searching, noting new discoveries as he mapped out the finely sculpted contours, one by one. The full lower lip was only part of a lush, pink mouth that begged for the carnal aggression of a kiss…among other things. Things he had no business thinking about doing with a perfect stranger, not to mention a human one.

So get your bloody mind out of the gutter and stay focused! his conscience muttered.

Determined to continue his appraisal with a more critical eye, Eric searched for her first flaw, but failed to find one. She wasn’t classically beautiful, but she was pretty, in a wholesome, appealing way. Her face was somewhat round, with a small nose and sweeping brows that arched over big blue eyes. Instead of making her look childish, the delicate features gave her an air of womanly innocence that would catch any man’s attention. That made him want to be the one to corrupt her…to open those bright blue eyes to things that were warm and wet and undeniably wicked. To the harder, more primal angles of pleasure.

And there you go slumming around in the gutter again.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, wondering what was wrong with him. He hated to admit it, but she was affecting him in a way that made him want to turn around and get the hell out of there. It was more than just the dangerous, unwanted sexual attraction building inside him. Though that was bad enough. But for some inexplicable reason, he almost felt as if the human posed some kind of threat to him, which was ridiculous. He was the monster in this scenario, the thing to be feared in the silence of the night—not her. And yet, his chest felt too tight, his muscles coiled, ready to burst into movement, and he shoved his hands in his front pockets, his jaw so tight it made his teeth ache. Sweat broke out over his forehead and collected in the small of his back as he indicated with his chin that he wanted her to roll down the window, more determined than ever to get this over and done with as quickly as possible.

In response, she lifted one of those beautifully shaped brows and glared at him. Without so much as the flicker of a lash, Eric glared right back, letting her know he wouldn’t be as easily cowed as the scouts. When she didn’t budge, he made his tone as non-threatening as possible, knowing his size could be intimidating to a lot of women, and said, “I’m not going to hurt you, lady. I just want to talk.”

She leaned a little closer to the window and ran her gaze over his tall form, working from his scarred hiking boots up to his short hair, then shook her head and raised her chin a notch higher. Eric choked back a low groan, thinking why me? Why couldn’t his friend Jeremy have been stuck with this tonight?

“Look, I can be as stubborn as you are, so save us both the trouble and just roll down the damn window,” he ground out, unable to soften the gruff edge to his order this time. He was uncomfortably aware of his wolf steadily prowling closer to his surface, taking note of her in a way that caused a deeper sliver of alarm to slip down his spine.

This time, she didn’t shake her head in response to his…request. Instead, the crazy-assed woman narrowed her eyes and lifted one closed feminine hand. Then she very deliberately extended her middle finger.

What the…?

Eric stared…a little stunned, thinking there was something definitely not right about her.

Taking his hands from his pockets, he braced them on either side of her window and leaned forward, so close that his warm breath fogged on the glass as he spoke. “You can’t stay by yourself out here in the middle of nowhere, so either turn this thing on and get the hell out of here,” he said in a low, painfully controlled tone, “or start talking.”

If looks could kill, Eric had no doubt he’d be drawing his last breath just about then. But at least he got the desired results. She uncrossed her arms, the scooped neck of her long-sleeved T-shirt revealing a shocking jolt of cleavage that was damn hard not to stare at. He forced his dark gaze back up to her face just in time to see her mutter something he couldn’t quite hear, but could all too easily decipher on those sexy lips. Then she angrily reached for the window lever.

The second the window cracked open, he pulled in a deep breath, his razor-sharp senses searching…seeking. With her strange behavior, he’d half expected her to reek of alcohol or drugs, but he couldn’t pick up a trace of either. Instead, she smelled…like a puzzle. Fresh and clean and delicious, but almost painfully complicated. Like something he needed if he wanted to figure out an answer, even though he didn’t have a clue what the question was.

And it sure as hell isn’t anything to do with me.

For a split second, Eric was almost disappointed by that particular truth. By the fact that his wolf didn’t recognize that warm, mouthwatering scent as something that belonged to them. Something they were meant to own and claim and possess. But that was nothing short of insane. He lowered his arms and backed up a step from the bus, determined to put some distance between them. As well as knock some sense into his wayward libido.

That scent made him want to…No. He gave his head a hard shake, ignoring a bad idea that would only lead to an even worse situation.

She was the kind of trouble he didn’t need. Or want. And once she drove out of his life, he’d forget her as easily as he forgot every other woman who’d ever stirred his interest. It was a given. A fact. He just had to convince her crazy little ass to get off the pack’s private property, and that would be that.

Should be easy enough, considering how his species resided at the top of the food chain, and hers didn’t. Even though she didn’t know he was different, she would sense the predator in him. Would know this wasn’t a safe situation for her to be in, the same way she’d naturally avoid a dark alley or a snarling, snapping animal. It was instinct. Simple self-preservation.

But as Eric stared down into narrowed eyes that burned like a heat-glazed summer sky, he knew, with his own gut feeling, that it wouldn’t be that cut-and-dry. Knew she was going to be a pain in the ass, which should have bothered the hell out of him. But it didn’t.

No, what bothered him was how much he and his wolf were suddenly looking forward to the challenge.

Chelsea Smart refused to take her glare off the man standing beside her bus. What exactly had she managed to land herself in? Something wasn’t right, and while common sense demanded she get the hell out of there, her heart refused to budge, knowing this spooky mountain might prove to be her best chance at finding Perry. Not that her younger sister was a child in need of supervision. At nineteen, Perry was old enough to make her own decisions—even if they landed her in a crapload of danger.

Unfortunately, Chelsea was afraid that was exactly what had happened. And with no one else willing to act as Perry’s rescuer, she’d gathered what was left in her meager checking account, taken emergency leave from her teaching job in Virginia and hit the road in search of her only sibling. That’d been two weeks ago. Now she was almost out of money, low on gas and worn down to her last nerve, her frustration mounting with each passing moment.

The small pistol she’d bought three years ago rested in her lap, beneath the afghan she’d pulled over herself before the other two men had scared fifty years off her life, knocking on her window and waking her from a restless sleep. She resisted the urge to reach down now and stroke the cold metal for comfort, assuring herself that it was there. She could only assume this giant bulk of a man staring at her with dark gray eyes was meant to achieve what the other two had failed to do, and get rid of her. Hadn’t he told her as much?

When he’d pulled up in a massive, black, testosterone-oozing truck, the engine rumbling obscenely loud in the eerie quiet of the forest, she’d looked away, not wanting to appear flustered or worried, even though she was a mass of churning emotion inside. She’d learned long ago how to bury her feelings beneath a calm, icy shield of indifference, which had been the only way to deal with her father’s tyrannical rule while growing up. Though it’d been years since Chelsea had lived under his roof, some habits had become so deeply ingrained, it seemed it would take a lifetime to unlearn them.

Then again, she hadn’t tried very hard to change, always finding it easier to avoid uncomfortable encounters simply by making it obvious that she wanted to be left alone.

But she hadn’t been left alone tonight, and her worry and frustration were getting the better of her, to the point that anger rode the flushed surface of her body like a second skin. It was evident in her posture and her expression, and then she’d gone and actually shot the illustrious “bird” at this dark-haired stranger in a purely reckless display of temper. That was something she’d never done before…and would hopefully never do again.

The only thing that made her momentary loss of dignity bearable was the fact that the fascinating tower of maleness standing there, watching her, had obviously never mastered the art of masking his own reactions. From the moment she’d rolled down her window, emotions had been flitting across his rugged features like a montage of images flashed across a movie screen. Frustration. Shock. Irritation. Maybe even a touch of loneliness. They were all there, as well as something that looked surprisingly like lust. His glittering gray eyes had gone wide, then heavy, until she could barely see the mesmerizing color through the inky black weight of his lashes.

He was too tall, too rugged, and too damn good-looking, and he probably knew it. Add to that the obvious fact that he held some sort of position of authority in this area, and Chelsea knew he was the kind of guy she normally went out of her way to avoid. Of course, the last time she’d seen her sister, Perry had accused her of avoiding all men, making the snide assessment that she should either go lesbian or resign herself to being alone for the rest of her life. She’d told her sister to mind her own business, then changed the subject, but Perry’s words had stayed with her, proving difficult to forget.

As a modern, educated woman, Chelsea knew, deep down, that her cool attitude toward the opposite sex had been born from a soul-deep fear of ever becoming like her mother. Perry had dealt by immersing herself in the party scene, earning a reputation as the girl who would try anything at least once, whereas Chelsea had simply closed down, withdrawing, just like an oyster hiding within its shell. Despite her worldly views, she had little experience when it came to male animals, especially ones like the hunk standing so close to her bus…staring at her as if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to strangle her or eat her alive. His warm, utterly male scent, a seductive blend of heat and spice and the outdoors, was actually causing drool to collect in the corners of her mouth.

Amazing.

The whole “mouthwatering” reaction never happened to her, unless she was confronted by the scent of fresh baked brownies or watching a Gerard Butler movie. Despite her skeptical attitude toward the male species, even Chelsea had found herself a victim of the Scotsman’s compelling sexuality.

But Butler had nothing on this guy. A quick flick of a glance over his body revealed a physique that was long and lean and powerfully muscled. The kind of body that would be hard and hot to the touch. That would ripple with muscle as he moved over a woman…as he moved inside her. Hard and deep and fast. Then hard and deep and…deliberately slow.

Giving herself a sturdy mental shake, Chelsea fought the urge to fan her face, and struggled to get her mind out from between the sheets and back on important things, like staying alive and finding her sister. But that was proving decidedly difficult to do, seeing as how she couldn’t seem to take her eyes off him. God, what was happening to her? Were her hormones revolting, demanding satisfaction after being bludgeoned into submission for so many years? And if so, the timing couldn’t be worse. Why now?

Unfortunately, she had a feeling the answer to that question was staring her right in the face.

Okay, so he wasn’t her type, but he was certainly a pretty piece of eye candy, if one went for the rugged, alpha breed of male, complete with bulging muscles, tattoos and faded scars. Which she didn’t, she reminded herself, while her body reached supernova levels of heat in an embarrassing, shocking, completely unforgivable act of betrayal.

His hard, sleekly muscled physique attested to what had to be an athletic lifestyle. Even his forearms were marked by ropey muscles and lean lines of sinew, his dark body hair lying flat against the deep, sun-darkened color of his skin. Without doubt, he was the most masculine thing Chelsea had ever set eyes on. He belonged here in the wild, rugged terrain of the forest, as if he were a part of it, completely at home within its primitive landscape.

As she watched him, he flexed his big hands at his sides, like he was working out a cramp, his arms rigid, powerful biceps stretching the seams of his black T-shirt. A fierce wave of tension emanated from him, blasting against her face like a hot wind.

And yet, despite the predatory intensity that surrounded him, all but oozing from his pores, she didn’t fear him. Was the gun in her lap giving her a false sense of safety? Somehow, she didn’t think so. Chelsea knew how she should be feeling, but there was something in his expression—something dark and uncomfortable—that said he was as wary of her as she was of him, and it bolstered her battered sense of security.

“Well?” she snapped, relieved by the waspish sound of her voice, having been half afraid she might actually purr at him when she finally located her ability to speak.

“Well what?” His voice was hard, deliciously deep and roughened around the edges.

She fought the temptation to roll her eyes, thinking they certainly grew them breathtakingly big around here, not to mention gorgeous, but obviously not too bright. “What. Do. You. Want?” she asked slowly, enunciating each word with patronizing precision.

He blinked, and then the corner of his mouth suddenly twitched, and a smooth spill of surprise warmed her insides at the fact that he’d reacted to her sarcastic tone with humor, rather than anger. Not that she wanted him angry, mind you.

No, all she wanted was for him to leave her alone, so that she could get some sleep, and then get on with her search…while doing her best to forget this fluttery feeling he’d put in her belly. It felt good, damn it—dangerously good—and that made her more nervous than his primal intensity ever could. Sexual desire was a dangerous trap that couldn’t be trusted any more than the male species could be. She had to find some way to ignore it, no matter how good the rush in her pulse felt, as if she were stretching to awareness after a long, heavy slumber.

Part of her wanted to shout So this is what it’s all about!—while the other part snarled For the love of God, what kind of idiot starts thinking about having sex with a total, behemoth-size stranger?

Apparently her kind, she realized, since she couldn’t get the thought out of her head of what it’d be like to be covered by this sexy-as-hell hunk.

Thunder suddenly rumbled in the distance, signaling an approaching storm, bringing with it the crisp scent of rain. Chelsea glanced toward the swollen sky, and then softly, in a tone completely unlike her, she heard herself say, “It looks like a storm’s coming. You wanted to talk, so talk, before it starts to rain.”

He looked up, staring at the sky…at the moon, and when he lowered his head, once again trapping her in the piercing intensity of his stare, the look in his eyes burned even brighter, as though that silver gaze was somehow glowing, fired with heat from within. Glowing eyes? She blinked, shaking her head, knowing she needed more sleep. God, she’d been pushing herself so hard, she was getting delusional.

After what seemed like forever, he finally asked, “What are you doing here?”

The gravelly sound of his voice raised chill bumps on her arms, and she resisted the urge to reach out and smooth the deep furrows between his brows, then the harsh lines of frustration bracketing his sensual mouth. Instead, she reached up to the visor and took down Perry’s picture, holding it up for him to see. “I’m looking for this girl. She’s my sister. Have you seen her?”

He glanced at the photo that had been taken on Perry’s last birthday. “No. Never set eyes on her before. She isn’t here.”

“Well, I’m not leaving until I’ve found her.”

He drew in a slow, deep breath, taking a step closer to the bus, bringing the details of his ruggedly gorgeous face into a sharper focus. The ink-black hair, cut severely short, emphasizing that spectacular bone structure. The dark, mesmerizing glitter of those heavy-lidded eyes. The strong line of his nose, as well as the shadowed hollows of his cheeks. Each detail was almost painfully beautiful, and yet, perfectly masculine.

The air seemed to crackle between them, as if something was building…growing stronger, layer upon layer upon layer, each one gaining in intensity. Something powerful and electric that you couldn’t see—that you could only feel…sense. His breathing grew deeper, his chest rising and falling as if he were exerting some kind of physical effort, when he only stood there…staring…watching.

The way he suddenly shoved his hands back in the pockets of his jeans caught her attention, and she could have sworn he was struggling for some kind of control over himself as he asked, “What makes you think your sister is here, on our mountain?”

Instead of answering his question, Chelsea returned the photo to the visor and posed one of her own. “Our mountain? What, you own it?”

He shrugged those impossibly broad shoulders, and her eyes snagged on the intricate design of the tattoo swirling over his right biceps, just visible beneath the tight stretch of his sleeve. It made her heart beat even faster.

“In a way, yes. This is private property.”

A sick feeling swept through her stomach. “Your boy soldiers over there claimed the same thing, but I don’t see how you can own an entire mountain. And I was on a public highway,” she argued.

“Which you then turned off of,” he explained, his voice a low, mesmerizing rumble, “and onto a private road.” He arched one dark brow as he added, “I assume you missed the clearly marked signs when you exited the main highway a few miles back?”

“Must have,” she said tightly, wondering what the hell she was going to do. “So what now? Are you going to waste your night trying to kick me out of here, or go back to wherever you came from and leave me alone?”

“I’m not going to try anything,” he murmured, while something that almost looked like regret flickered through those beautiful gray eyes. “I am kicking you out of here.”

With a tired sigh, Chelsea shook her head again. “I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this, but you aren’t leaving me much choice. In fact, you’re acting like a complete and total ass.”

Then she lifted the pistol from her lap…and pointed the barrel right at him.




Chapter 2


Though there wasn’t anything particularly funny about having a gun pointed straight at your heart, Eric had to fight the surprising urge to laugh at the human’s audacity. A bullet wouldn’t kill him, but it would still hurt like a bitch. He should have been furious that she was threatening him, but that wasn’t the source of his anger. Instead, he was uncomfortably aware that the more she stood up to him, the harder it was for him not to pull her out of that goofy-looking bus and show her just how much danger she was courting here.

Running his tongue over the edge of his teeth, he said, “I’m thinking you probably hear this a lot, but you’re too gutsy for your own good, lady.”

She smirked, but didn’t bother to lower the weapon. “Maybe I’ll be more understanding if you just tell me what the big secret is. Why all the urgency for me to leave? Afraid I’ll stumble across something I shouldn’t? Are you guys part of some religious cult?” Her brows lifted with curiosity. “Do you like to run around naked and worship the moon?”

“Something like that,” he offered drily, still struggling against the driving urge to drag her out of the bus and take her to the ground, where he could press her into the soft, damp grass. Without doubt, she was a shock to the system. Instead of sharp angles to match that sharp tongue, the woman possessed a glowing, fresh-faced softness that made her look entirely adorable—and he had to fight back another grin as he imagined what her reaction would be if he expressed that opinion out loud.

Hell, knowing her, she’d probably shoot him the finger again. Either that, or just plain shoot him.

As if reading his mind, she said, “I’ll put a bullet in you if I have to, though I’d rather not. Can’t stand the sight of blood.” She slowly lowered the weapon back to her lap, but kept her finger close to the trigger. “So don’t tempt me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” His tone was even drier than before. “But you still need to get lost.”

“You know, even if you succeed in making me leave—” her breasts swayed with a delicious jiggle beneath the tight green T-shirt as she shifted in her seat to face him “—I’ll only come back.”

She drew in a shaky little breath after making that rather forceful announcement, and for the first time since this bizarre confrontation got started, Eric managed to see past his frustration and lust, down to the exhaustion and worry haunting her gaze. And he didn’t like it. What the hell had this woman gotten herself into? And why the fuck was he getting uptight about it? He damn well knew better!

“Do you have any idea how unsafe it is, what you’re doing, coming to the mountains by yourself?”

She gave a negligent roll of her shoulders, then lifted her free hand to push that thick fall of hair behind her ear. “I came armed. I’m not stupid.”

He flicked a dismissive glance at the gun in her lap, and a rude sound rumbled in the back of his throat. “It’s a nice weapon, but isn’t going to do you much good up here.”

She arched one slim brown brow again. “And why is that?”

“Just trust me on it,” he muttered, wondering if lightning was going to come down and fry him on the spot for the things he was thinking about doing to her. It was one thing for the Runners to take human lovers, seeing as how they were half human themselves—but Eric was in an entirely different situation.

“You can’t stay out here in your car,” he growled, the sudden pronouncement making her jump. “It isn’t safe.”

Carefully recovering her composure, she jerked her chin toward Hendricks and Franks. “Why? I won’t go snooping where I don’t belong. And no one was bothering me before those two showed up.”

The headstrong woman had no idea how lucky that made her, and Eric wanted to keep it that way. “Save your breath and stop arguing, sweetheart. I’m not trying to jerk you around. You really can’t stay here.”

“First of all, I’m not your sweetheart,” she snapped, obviously irritated by his choice of words. “And secondly, if you won’t let me stay in my car, isn’t there someplace in your town where I can get an…inexpensive room for the night?”

It was the hesitant way she’d said inexpensive that finally clued him in, making him wonder if she was sleeping in her car not because she was careless with her safety, but because she simply couldn’t afford to sleep anywhere else. “I’m afraid not,” he rasped, while something painful twisted in his chest. She was clearly in need of rescuing, and it bothered him that he couldn’t be the one to do it. That he was more harm to her than help.

“Hmm,” she murmured, and he could see the wheels spinning again in her head.

“Trust me,” he said gruffly, “the best thing for you to do is to stay down in Wesley. It’s only about an hour from here.”

“Yeah, I know where it is.” She looked away for a moment, chewing on that lush bottom lip, her gaze even more troubled than before when she finally brought it back to his. “You really think I can just go? That I can just give up and leave my sister to the wolves?”

Suspicion narrowed his eyes. “What the hell does that mean?” he demanded, watching her closely. Did she know what he was? What they all were?

“It’s just an expression.” Her voice was sharp, a slight frown settling between her brows. “I know she’s in trouble, and I refuse to let it go and just sit at home wringing my hands, hoping a miracle will happen and some big burly man will step in to rescue her.”

She her cut her gaze away again, but not before he caught the luminous wash of tears glistening in her eyes. Aw, hell. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to take it if she broke down—that he’d rather have her angry than sad—Eric curled his lips and said something guaranteed to piss her off and get her back up. “Some big burly man, huh? I get it now. You’re one of those women who has guy issues, aren’t you?”

She snorted, shooting him a withering look from the corner of her eye. “Not any more than you have women issues.”

“The hell I do,” he drawled, aware that he was taking some kind of perverse pleasure in verbally sparring with her. “I happen to like women just fine.”

Her head tilted slightly to the side as she studied him. “I’m sure you like them when they’re on their backs. Other than that, I doubt you have much use for them.”

Eric gave her a slow, cocky smile and clucked his tongue. “Like I said…issues.”

She opened her mouth, no doubt to make some cutting remark, but then quickly pressed her lips together, choking off whatever she’d been about to say. Judging from the color creeping into her face, he figured she’d probably just realized she was revealing more about herself with this particular interchange than she wanted to, while accusing him of being…what? A guy?

Yeah, he liked sex. What man didn’t? Lately, Eric just didn’t like how he felt after he’d finished it—as if there was something better that he couldn’t reach. Something he wanted, but couldn’t get his hands on. Which was exactly how he’d felt an hour ago, muttering a low apology under his breath as he’d rolled off Crissy Cowell’s soft, warm body, extricating himself from her grasping arms as he’d turned his back to her and retrieved his cell phone to take Hendricks’s call.

He’d felt bad about turning away from Crissy to answer the phone, but there was no denying that he’d been thankful for the excuse to remove himself from the Lycan’s clingy post-coital embrace. Never one to cuddle, it wasn’t the first time Eric had felt a piercing sense of relief at freeing himself from a woman’s hold once their passion was spent—though it seemed that recently, no matter how physical the encounter, his body was left burning with a restless hunger for something more.

Not that there was anything wrong with Crissy, a well-respected pack female who owned the local garden center in Shadow Peak. She was nice, pleasurable and more than easy on the eyes. No, the problem was his and his alone.

A shrink would probably tell him he was psychologically punishing himself—perhaps even seeking some kind of screwed-up atonement for the destruction his father had caused, but Eric knew it was more than that. Still, guilt poured through his veins as steadily as his blood these days, until it felt as much a part of him as an organ or a limb—just a constant, sickening acceptance that his life would forever be tainted by his association with Stefan Drake: father, pack Elder…and psychotic son of a bitch.

The weight of the shame he carried in his gut over the horrifying events that unfolded five months ago had yet to lessen with the passage of time, and the Runners often told him he was working himself into the ground to pay for crimes that weren’t his. But while there were some in the pack who had seemed to accept his innocence, Eric was aware of the accusatory sneers still sent his way…and he knew there were more than a few who blamed him all the same. For some, the sins of the father were often the hardest to forget…or forgive.

And yet, he was certain that this incessant hunger, this craving gnawing away at him from the inside out, had more to do with his future than it did with the past. Always one with a healthy sex drive, Eric had never before questioned his lack of interest in making a commitment to one of the women in his life. After being abandoned by his mother at an early age, he didn’t need to be psychoanalyzed to understand the wounds that had been cut into his emotional fabric—but his commitment issues had never interfered with his enjoyment of the opposite sex. Even now, the problem wasn’t that sex didn’t feel good. Sex was sex, and it sure as hell didn’t feel bad.

It just didn’t feel…right, whatever the hell that meant.

And I sound like I’m losing my bloody mi—

“You know,” the human murmured, interrupting his irritating train of thought…apparently unable to hold back what she’d wanted to say before. “I realize this may come as a surprise to you, but just because you’re a guy who looks like God’s gift to women doesn’t actually mean that you are.”

The second the words left Chelsea’s mouth, a low, rich vein of laughter jerked from his chest, seeming to catch them both by surprise. Her toes curled inside her socks at the delicious sound, while her face burned with color as she realized what she’d just said.

Wow. I’m so smooth. Why don’t I just shout it to his face that I think he’s hot?

“Come on,” he drawled after his laughter had died down, his mouth kicking up at one corner in the wickedest grin she’d ever seen. “You’re judging me by my looks, and that isn’t fair.”

Maybe not, but Chelsea still wanted to curse at him for flashing her such an irresistible grin, the dimple in his cheek enough to make her groan. Not to mention the high-voltage sexual energy he was blasting at her, making her head spin. Given her lack of a social life, Chelsea knew her family and friends probably thought she was still a virgin, but they were wrong. She’d had sex. Not a lot, mind you, but enough times to know what it was all about. But her experiences had all been with cerebral types who were easily controlled and easily forgotten. She’d never played with a rugged, testosterone-laden male before, and she doubted she’d even know how to if she tried.

Her looks, or lack of them, had always made it easy to avoid charming, oozing-sex-appeal-from-their-pores Neanderthals like this guy, for the simple fact that they ignored her. No, that wasn’t right. They simply didn’t see her, as if she were a ghost. Something they looked right through. Not even a blip on their radar.

But this guy…he noticed. He was staring right at her, that strangely compelling gaze making her feel as if he didn’t want to be looking anywhere else in the world. As if he saw her in a way that no other man ever had, and she resisted the urge to pull her shirt away from her skin, seeking relief from the blistering warmth sizzling inside her, despite the nighttime chill in the air.

And maybe she was just wasting both their time, keeping the argument going because she liked the look of him. Who said she couldn’t start her bus, head down the road a ways, wait for them to leave, then turn around and come right back to find some other nearby place to camp for the night? According to the bleary-eyed girl she’d talked to at the strip club down in Wesley, Perry had only worked at the club for a couple of days before heading up into these mountains to stay with her so-called boyfriend. There was obviously a hell of a lot more to the story, but considering this was her only lead, Chelsea had to go with it.

She’d tried asking some locals in Wesley for assistance, thinking they could point her in the right direction, but none had been able to help. They knew of some private settlements in the mountains, but couldn’t tell her where they were…or anything about the people who lived there. The whole situation was eerily unsettling, but she couldn’t turn back now. She had to keep searching every small town she stumbled across up here until she found Perry, whether these guys liked it or not.

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t start with another part of the mountain and work her way back here—hopefully avoiding the gorgeous jackass watching her with those unusual eyes.

“Fine,” she said, blowing out a rough breath of air. “Have it your way.”

Surprise lifted his dark brows. “You’ll leave?”

She allowed her own mouth to curl in a cocky smirk. “Yeah, I’ll leave. But not before telling you how ridiculous you look with that red lipstick smeared all over the corner of your mouth. I hope she was a brunette. A blonde could never have pulled off that color.”

He quickly lifted his hand, wiped at his mouth, then glared at the red smear on his fingertips. “Son of a bitch,” he growled, scrubbing harder at his face. “Hendricks should have told me.”

“It’s all gone now,” she murmured, taking pity on him. “You’re clear.”

He grunted something foul under his breath, then stepped closer and placed one hand over the window ledge, curving his long fingers over the door frame, as if he could keep her in place with that simple touch. “Where will you go?”

“That’s none of your business,” she said quietly, staring at those dark fingers, imagining them on her body…against her skin. Shaking herself, she set the gun on the passenger’s seat, then turned the key in the ignition…but nothing happened. Just a sad, pathetic wail of sound from the engine, followed by a rapid clicking noise. Gritting her teeth, she turned the key again…and again, but with the same results.

Shit.

Without looking at him, Chelsea lowered her head to the steering wheel and prayed for patience. Nothing, not a single goddamn thing, had gone her way from the moment she’d started this miserable search. Why? She was trying so hard to do what was right, damn it—trying to help her sister…to get her out of what could potentially be a dangerous situation, especially after the girl at the club had said that Perry wasn’t looking too good. So why this? Why was karma, fate or whatever the hell it was that controlled her destiny giving her a kick in the ass with every step she took?

It wasn’t like her to be whiney, but she’d lost her sense of optimism so long ago, Chelsea no longer even knew what it felt like. Now all she had was this grinding, sickening feeling in her gut, and a bad case of nerves. Not to mention the sudden addition of ill-founded lust for the gorgeous jerk trying to get rid of her.

Talk about crappy timing.

Forcing herself to lift her head, she gave the dark-haired stranger a closed, expressionless look. “I don’t suppose you could give me a jump start?”

He shook his head, looking as frustrated as she felt. “The problem isn’t your battery.”

“How do you know?”

“Because that clicking sound means it’s your starter.”

“Shit,” she said for the second time, only this time out loud.

He muttered something rough under his breath again, then jerked his chin toward his truck. “Come on. I’ll give you a ride down to Wesley.”

She wanted to say, “Are you crazy? What kind of idiot do you think I am, getting into a car with some guy I don’t even know?”

But the words stuck in her throat. Her options were more than a little limited here. The idea of staying in the woods had been scary enough when the opportunity for retreat had been available, but to be stuck out here in a broken-down car didn’t strike her as smart, even though she had a gun. Then again, neither did driving off with Mr. Tall, Dark and Deadly Gorgeous. But if he was going to hurt her, he could have already done it. Right? The other two men, who were still waiting over by his truck, clearly submitted to his authority, as if he were some kind of superior they deferred to. She had the feeling that if he’d attacked, they’d have done nothing to stop him.

Which meant…what? Was she actually trying to talk herself into taking him up on his offer? She didn’t have enough money for a motel room, but she’d figure something out. She always did, one way or another.

As if sensing her disquieting inner conflict, he wiped the scowl off his face and let go of her door, that warm, male scent pulsing off him the most interesting thing she’d ever smelled. “It’s okay,” he said in a low voice. “I won’t hurt you. Just a ride into town, to a motel, and then I’ll have your bus delivered to you in the morning.”

“How can I get it fixed if I leave it here?” Not that she had the money to get it fixed, but he didn’t need to know that. “Can’t we just tow it behind us?”

“I’m going to call some mechanics I know and have them work on it here,” he explained as if it was the simplest thing in the world to do. “They’ll have it in running order by morning.”

Wrapping her arms around her middle, she asked, “Why would you do that?”

“Consider it a fair exchange for the fact that I’m kicking you out of here,” he offered with a strained smile. He clearly wasn’t any happier about the situation than she was, and yet, he seemed determined to help her.

She didn’t agree or disagree. She simply said, “It isn’t smart.”

A deep, almost silent rumble of laughter vibrated in his chest, and he arched one of those damn black brows again. “Neither was camping out in your car in the woods all alone.”

“But at least I had a good reason for that.”

He could have argued that she had a good reason for taking him up on his offer, as well. But he didn’t. He just stared at her, the silver metallic of his eyes mesmerizing, like the liquid swirl of mercury in a vial—making her feel as if he could see right past her sarcastic bravado, down to the real woman huddling inside her skin. The one who was scared and tired and pushed to the edge of her limits. His cool air of command made Chelsea want to slap him, just as badly as she wanted to press her lips against that hard, utterly masculine mouth and find out if he tasted even half as good as he looked and smelled.

Pulling her lower lip through her teeth, she finally said, “If I accept, it doesn’t mean that I owe you anything.”

Instead of agreeing, he simply gave her a charmingly crooked grin that made her body react with ridiculous ease. “My name is Eric, by the way. Eric Drake. And you would be…?”

“Chelsea Smart.”

He started to laugh under his breath, as if there was something funny about her name, but choked it off when he caught her glare.

“So, what’s it gonna be, Chelsea?” He stepped back from the bus, shoved his hands deep in his pockets again and lifted his shoulders. “Will you trust me?”

The question was offered casually, and yet, she had the strangest feeling that her answer was somehow important to him. Which was crazy, seeing as how she’d never been all that important to anyone before, much less to a gorgeous man who didn’t even know her.

What was it going to be?

She was acutely aware of each second passing slowly into the next…of each breath that expanded her lungs…each hard, powerful beat of her heart that shuddered through her body.

Then she did something that she never did, and opened her door, putting her trust in another person. And not just any person.

No, for the first time in what felt like forever, Chelsea put her trust in the hands of a man.




Chapter 3


By the time Eric pulled onto the gloomy, rain-sodden streets of downtown Wesley, he’d managed to learn a bit more about the human than just her name and the fact that she had a prickly attitude. She was twenty-six years old, had just bought her first condo and taught Women’s Studies at a private university in Smythe, Virginia. He’d also learned that she had spent the past few weeks searching for her younger sister, a nineteen-year-old named Perry, who also lived in Smythe…and whose party-girl lifestyle and recreational drug use had a habit of landing her in a variety of unsavory situations.

According to her roommates, Perry had suddenly disappeared a month ago, after hooking up with an amazingly hot guy at a weekend party. He’d fed her some bullshit story about how he really cared about her, but that his life was just too dangerous for a girl like her, and then skipped out. But Perry wasn’t willing to give him up. After asking around about him, she’d learned he was heading to another party in a neighboring county, and she’d set off after him, determined to track him down. Then she hadn’t come back.

When a few days had gone by and her roommates hadn’t heard from her, they got in touch with Chelsea, claiming they were worried about their impulsive, risk-taking friend. Chelsea had been worried, too, while waiting for word from her sister…or a sign that she was okay and on her way back home. When her phone messages on Perry’s cell went unanswered for over a week, Chelsea left Smythe and followed Perry’s sloppy trail from one college party or nightclub to another, until her search eventually led to a strip joint right there in Wesley called Heaven and Hell.

Unfortunately, by the time Chelsea had arrived, Perry’s short stint illegally serving cocktails in the club was already over. No one had been willing to talk to Chelsea or to give her any information, until she finally got lucky that afternoon and caught one of the girls, a hollow-eyed little slip of a thing named Maggie, on the way to her car in the parking lot. The girl had reluctantly divulged that a tired-looking Perry had hit the road after only a few nights at the club, when some guy she said she’d been looking for came in.

Apparently, the guy—a good-looking blond who Maggie had seen before, but whose name she didn’t know—freaked out when he saw Perry working in the club. A fight started between him and the bouncers when he demanded Perry leave with him, but then they eventually told him just to get her out of there. She’d run in the back to collect her things, giddy with excitement, and told Maggie that her boyfriend was taking her home with him, to a place somewhere up in the nearby mountains.

And that was how Chelsea Smart had ended up in Silvercrest pack territory. Chelsea had left Wesley not long after talking to Maggie, determined to search any towns she found up in the mountains until she finally located her sister. When Eric asked why she hadn’t bothered to go to the police, she told him she’d already tried that route, but there’d been nothing they could do to help. According to the officer she’d talked to back in Smythe, being stupid wasn’t a crime. Perry was a legal adult who was apparently acting of her own free will, and until they had reason to believe otherwise, there was nothing the cops could do.

Considering that the private road he’d found Chelsea on led to Shadow Peak, and Eric was positive Perry wasn’t in the mountaintop town, there were only a few other possibilities, and none of them were good for a human female on her own. Just as the road split off from the main highway, there was a turnoff to an old dirt path that wound its way over to the opposite side of the mountain, and into the territory owned by the Youngblood pack. Though the pack itself, a relatively small, peaceful group who kept to themselves, lived in a town that had been built on the western edge of their land, there was an even smaller settlement over the border in West Virginia where the Donovan family lived. Known for their corrupt business dealings, the Donovans had been asked to leave the Youngblood Lycan homestead in the late seventies—and yet, they hadn’t been banished, seeing as how their Midas touch generated handsome profits for the pack.

As far as Eric knew, the Donovans had never set up shop in Maryland, keeping their various ventures in West Virginian towns that were closer to their pack lands. But he’d recently heard a few of the Runners say that the Donovans had been sniffing around Wesley the past couple of months, and the prickling at the back of his neck told him the family might somehow be involved with that particular club.

If he was right, there was a good chance Heaven and Hell was being used as a front for something far more sinister than peddling flesh. Over the years, there’d been rumors that the Donovans were involved with drug trafficking, among other illegal activities. From the sound of things, the guy that Perry Smart had hooked up with was probably associated with the family in some way, or they never would have let him walk out of there with the girl in one piece. And if that was true, then the odds were high that he wasn’t a man at all, but a Lycan. One who, given the trail that Perry had followed, could very well be scouting out young women for the Donovan family to do God only knew what with.

All of which meant that Perry Smart had landed herself in some deep shit—and if Chelsea kept searching for her, she was going to end up in the same situation.

As he took the next right, she shifted in the passenger’s seat of his truck, drawing his gaze, and he damn near couldn’t take his eyes off her. The watery spill of light from the garish neon signs in that part of town played softly over her feminine profile and that long, wavy spill of hair. Though her attitude grated on his nerves, Eric had the strongest urge to fist his hands in that silken mass and draw her over to him. To press his lips against her pale, tender skin.

For some screwed-up, infuriating reason, it seemed that the more time he spent with her, the harder it was to keep his hands and his mouth to himself.

He grimaced at that unsavory realization, while adrenaline pumped through his system like a drug, making him restless, on edge—and yet, he didn’t push the speed, trying to drag it out, making his time with her last. He knew he needed to get the hell away from her as quickly as possible, but there was a part of him snarling at the fact that the drive had gone by far too fast. There had been too many heavy silences, too many failed attempts to learn more about her. She’d been willing to tell him about her sister, and yet, for the most part, had remained stubbornly closed-mouthed about herself.

Not that there was any point in seeking the answers to his unasked questions. The human was going to walk out of his life as easily as she’d entered it. And that was the way it should be.

Unfortunately, his wolf had other ideas. The damn animal had sex on its mind tonight, when Eric knew that was the last thing he needed to be thinking about.

Though the rain had stopped falling nearly a half hour ago, it still lingered on the asphalt, reflecting the harsh colors from the oversized neon signs, so that it looked as if they were driving through an acid trip. “Are you sure you want to stay in this part of town?” he asked, casting an uneasy glance over the seedy storefronts and dark alleyways that lined the street.

“Yeah, this is good. Heaven and Hell is only a few blocks from here. I was thinking I should probably drop by there again tomorrow, just to see if Perry has recently tried to contact anyone she met there. If I’m lucky, maybe I’ll even get a chance to talk to Maggie again.”

Eric cut her a dark look. “I thought you said the place was a hellhole?”

“I did. A hellhole that disgustingly exploits women as sexual objects for the gratification of men, to be exact. But I’m still going back, for the simple fact that this is my sister we’re talking about. Maggie might have remembered something more about the guy she saw Perry with.”

“If that was the case, couldn’t she just call you?”

She shook her head. “I suggested the same thing, but she wouldn’t take my number.”

Eric scowled, keeping his eyes on the road, wondering how he was going to talk some sense into her. He admired her commitment to helping her sister, knowing what it was like to want to protect your family. He felt the same way about Eli and Elise, his brother and sister. But the fool woman was going to end up getting herself killed.

Taking a deep breath, he opened his mouth, ready to launch into a lecture on how she needed to get her ass out of town as soon as she could, when she pointed to a flickering sign on the side of the road that read Melvin’s Motel. “You can drop me off right over there. That motel will be great.”

Uh, yeah, sure it will. And the Bates Motel was just a cozy little getaway…

Thinking she must be out of her ever-loving mind, Eric pulled into the lot—not because he planned on leaving her there, but simply because he wanted to be able to focus on the argument they were about to have without the distraction of driving. He was just slowing down to pull into a parking space, when the sign for the building next door caught his eye. It was a women’s shelter, and he suddenly realized why Chelsea had chosen this particular establishment. She had no intention of getting a room at the creepy, sleep-with-a-knife-under-your-pillow motel, because she planned on staying at the shelter.

Like hell, he thought, knowing that too many things could go wrong with her half-baked plan. What if they didn’t have room for her, or turned her away? She’d be left in the middle of Wesley with no car, no money and no goddamn place to go.

“Screw this,” he muttered, gunning the gas. As he steered out of the parking lot and back onto the rain-slick road, she twisted in her seat, grabbing his forearm. It was the first time she’d touched his skin and his breath hissed through his teeth from the piercing jolt of awareness. It burst through him like a freaking detonation.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, her voice sharp. “Turn around and take me back there!”

He worked his jaw, ready for the argument that had already arrived, and so desperate for a cigarette he could have begged for one. “Forget it, Chelsea. I’m not leaving you there.”

“You have to,” she snapped, her anger coming through loud and clear.

Slanting her a hard look, Eric shook his head. “Save your breath screaming about it, because it isn’t gonna happen. I’ll find a decent place and get you a room. It won’t be fancy in this part of town, but at least you won’t be sharing the bed with a family of roaches…or worse.”

“No way,” she breathed out, pulling away from him, until she was huddled back against the passenger-side door. He knew from her scent that she wasn’t afraid of him, but there was no doubt she was burning with bitter-edged fury. It pulsed from her small body in a hot, jagged wave. “I don’t know who you think you are, but I’ll stay wherever the hell I please. And I can pay for my own damn room!”

“No, you can’t.” The words were graveled and thick, his jaw so tight he had to force the words out past his frustration. “I know what you were planning. You were going to stay at that shelter back there, and I’m not letting that happen.”

From the corner of his eye, Eric watched her send him a look that would have withered a lesser man. “It doesn’t matter what I was going to do, because it isn’t any of your business.”

“It is now,” he said with a harsh sigh, taking one hand from the wheel to rub at the knots of tension in the back of his neck, “whether you want it to be or not. So you can take the gun you stashed in your bag and hold it on me if you want to. Go ahead, if it’ll make you feel better. But I’m not going to back down about this.”

“You arrogant bastard,” she seethed in a choked voice, the angry, electric pulses of her rage slamming against him, filling the interior of the truck. It made her scent thicker…richer, till he was damn near ready to howl from this unusual craving he had for her. “Just who in the hell do you think you are?”

“I’m the man who’s trying to keep your crazy little ass in one piece, no matter how determined you are to put it in danger.”

“That’s insane!” she burst out. “Are you out of your freaking mind?”

Was he? It certainly felt like it. This whole night felt like a certain kind of madness. If she’d been his destined life mate, then yeah, he could see getting this worked up over her. But she wasn’t. Hell, she wasn’t even a Lycan.

Instead, she was something soft and breakable, and Eric shuddered. He might be his father’s son, but he did not get off on hatred or pain. He wanted this woman badly. Wanted her under him, pinned, at his mercy. But once he got her there, hurting her wasn’t what would drive him. No, he wanted to smash through those damn prickly walls of hers and break her open. Wanted her sweating and clawing and screaming with pleasure, as animalistic in her passion as he—

“Seriously, Eric. Why are you doing this?” Her voice was tight, vibrating with tension as it cut into his thoughts. “It doesn’t make any sense. You don’t even know me.”

He wanted to argue, to tell her how wrong she was. They might be strangers, and she might not be one of those women who loved to gush about themselves, but he was learning more about her with each second that went by. More about himself, too.

But she was right about it not making any sense. Thankfully, a Travelodge sign appeared up on the left, and while it wasn’t the Ritz, at least Eric knew she’d be safe there.

The second he pulled into the crowded lot and parked the truck, she reached for the door, but he latched on to her arm, curling his fingers around the soft swell of her biceps. He was careful not to hurt her, but kept his grip tight enough that she couldn’t break away. Before she could lash out at him with that wicked tongue of hers, he said, “I’m getting you a room.”

She drew in a deep breath, as if searching for patience, and he tried like hell to ignore the way the sharp movement pressed her nipples against her shirt. Tried…but didn’t exactly succeed, since it was obvious she wasn’t wearing a bra.

“No, you’re not.” She glared at him as if he was something slimy that had crawled out of the drain. “You’re not getting me anything. Do you understand?”

“Damn it, Chelsea. This isn’t the time to be stubborn. Pride isn’t going to keep you safe. It’s going to get you hurt. I get that you hate to accept help from anyone, especially a man, but just let me get you a room and we’ll chalk it up to an even trade for the fact that I kicked you off the damn mountain in the first place.”

“We already did that with the ride to town. And the work being done on my bus.”

“And this is just another part of what I owe you. Not the other way around. I swear.”

She wasn’t buying it, but he could feel the starch go out of her as she leaned back against the seat. Her breath soughed softly past her lips, their smooth surface glossy and pink and undeniably tempting. There was a danger there, the same way you weren’t meant to stare too long at the sun. A beautiful view, but one you paid for with pain. Somehow, he managed to force himself to lift his gaze back to the dark, stormy blue of her eyes, and for a moment he wondered if she was actually going to say thank-you.

But, really, he should have known better.

“You know, Eric, it’s high-handed, arrogant jerks like you who give your sex a bad name.”

“Whatever. Just wait here,” he grated, choking back his own anger as he climbed out of the truck. Christ, she had to be the most mule-headed woman on the planet!

A chime dinged as Eric jerked open one of the double doors at the entrance to the hotel, and a young guy behind the registration desk looked up from the comic book he was reading. “What’s up?” he asked, staring at Eric from behind a pair of thick reading glasses.

“I need a room, just for tonight.”

The transaction took longer than he would have liked, considering the guy moved as slow as molasses. Eric signed for the room with an impatient scrawl and grabbed up the card key, heading back out to the truck as quickly as possible, his breath jerking from his lungs with a sharp burst of relief when he spotted her through the passenger-side window. He’d half expected her to make a run for it—and was thankful she wasn’t that impulsive. Or maybe she just wasn’t done chewing him out yet.

Opening her door, he offered his hand, which she refused, glaring at it like it was some kind of insult. Instead, she hopped down from the seat without his help, careful to keep her body from brushing against his, though they stood so close he could have easily leaned down and pressed his lips against the top of her head. When she’d first climbed out of her bus, he’d been surprised by how petite she was, his height making him feel like a damn giant beside her. And yet, she wasn’t scrawny. She was, in fact, deliciously proportioned, with a soft, curvaceous figure that made his mouth water, especially when it was so perfectly displayed by the hip-hugging jeans and that soft T-shirt. She kept tugging at its low neckline, as if wishing for more fabric to cover that delectable, shadowy view of her cleavage. Given her actions, Eric guessed she probably only wore the thing to sleep in, and hadn’t meant for anyone to see her in it.

And I was lying through my teeth about wanting to get rid of her.

Grabbing the oversized backpack she’d brought down with her, she hitched it onto her shoulder, then turned back toward him, grabbing the card key that he held out. He wondered if she had any idea how hard it was going to be for him to leave her, instead of following her into that hotel room, where he imagined a queen-size bed was waiting. He could see the possible scenario in his mind as clearly as if he were standing beside the bed, watching it happen. Watching his larger body, with its tensed muscles and sweat-slick skin, taking her to the flowered quilt. Spreading her beneath him. Pressing his lips to the smooth heat of her flesh. Taking the taste of her hot, slippery sex into his mouth, onto his tongue, where it could imprint upon his memory. Hearing her husky cries as she came from his touch. Sweet. Wild. Undone and unraveled and outrageously beautiful.

Clearing his throat, Eric finally managed to scrape out some words. “The room number is 263. I’ll have your bus brought here first thing in the morning, so that by the time you’re up and ready to go, she’ll be waiting. The keys will be left at the front desk for you.”

“Fine,” she murmured, rubbing her thumb against the smooth surface of the card key. Her gaze slid away, over the nondescript front of the hotel, then cut back up to him. “I appreciate the ride, the room and the fact that you’re getting my bus fixed—but, I meant what I said before. This doesn’t mean that I owe you anything.”

“Actually, I’ve changed my mind about that,” he told her, still fighting the urge to reach out, grab her and pull her against his chest…against his body. He wanted to know the feel of her, the heat. Wanted to have her unique scent wrapped around him, seeping into his pores. But it couldn’t happen.

Instead, he had to do whatever it took to make her see reason.

Her slim brows knitted with irritation. “Excuse me?”

“You owe me your word that after you get your little ass up in the morning, you’ll get it the hell out of town.”

Her eyes rounded with a mixture of shock and indignation. “You can’t force me to leave Wesley, Eric. Your mountain, maybe. But not this town. You don’t have any power here.”

He stepped even closer, scowling down at her, and forced himself to deliver the words he was hoping would save her life. “You stay, and you’re likely to end up dead. Listen to what I’m telling you, Chelsea, and don’t argue for the sake of your grating little Miss Independent routine. Go home, and go back to work. Collect your paychecks, pay your mortgage on that condo you just bought and take care of yourself. When your sister wizens up, she’ll come crawling back. But if you keep digging into things at that club, keep wandering around by yourself up in those mountains, you’re the one who’s going to end up in trouble.”

Finally, he could see a shadow of fear creeping into her rigid expression. “Just what exactly is up there?”

He gave a hard, brief shake of his head. “Nothing you need to know about.”

The scowl on his face would have terrified most men, but she simply glared right back at him. “So I should just be a good little girl and take your advice?”

“You will take it, if you know what’s good for you.”

“And if I don’t?”

“You probably won’t be around long enough for me to say I told you so. The best thing you can do is leave.”

Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag until her knuckles turned white. “How is that the best thing, when it means leaving my sister in the hands of this stranger and not caring about what happens to her?”

In a slightly gentler tone, he said, “I didn’t say it was easy.”

She blinked up at him, staring into his eyes with a sharp, intense focus, as if she knew there was more…something important he wasn’t telling her. Taking a receipt from his pocket, Eric reached around her, into the truck, and grabbed a pen from the center console, then handed them to her. “Give me your mobile number.”

“What for?” she asked with a heavy dose of suspicion.

“I’ll look into some things, and if I do happen to run across your sister, I’ll call you.”

She hesitated for a moment, then quickly wrote down her number. With a slow shake of her head, she handed the slip of paper back to him. “You’re so sure I’m going to do what you say, aren’t you?”

“You’d be an idiot not to,” he muttered, shoving the receipt back in his pocket. “And I have a feeling you’re anything but.”

She absorbed his words with a small nod, studying him for a moment longer, then shook her head again and held out her hand. Eric took it, closing his hard, roughened fingers around the tender softness of hers. It was a small, endlessly feminine hand, not bony, just cushioned and lovely and sweet. He wanted to pull it to his body and press it against his skin. Feel it hold him where he was hard…feel it grip him…the unwanted need making him restless, angry. With another scowl pulling between his brows, he released her chilled hand and took a hasty step back, hating the urgent feeling prickling beneath his skin. She was like a rash that he needed to shake, before the damn thing spread.

“Well, goodbye, Eric Drake,” she said huskily, hitching the backpack higher on her shoulder. “It was certainly…interesting.”

Eric gave her a jerky nod and clenched his jaw as she turned toward the hotel, walking away from him with a tired, but proud, confident stride. When he realized his gaze had snagged on the way those low-rise jeans hugged her ass, he muttered a blistering curse. Heading around to the driver-side of the truck, he quickly climbed behind the wheel and made his way back onto the road, gunning the engine.

He might not like it, but the truth couldn’t be ignored.

No matter what demons she faced on her own, Chelsea Smart was a hell of a lot better off without him.




Chapter 4


Chelsea Smart needed to have her little backside blistered. And Eric was tempted to do it himself, just as soon as he managed to find her.

As he pulled into the parking lot of the Heaven and Hell strip club late the following afternoon, he didn’t think he’d ever been so furious. There’d been an odd ache in his chest just moments before, when he’d driven past the Travelodge without spotting Chelsea’s bus—which had been delivered to the hotel early that morning—in the parking lot. Though he’d known it was for the best, the idea of never seeing her again had been uncomfortably disturbing, a strange sense of loss weighing heavily in his gut. But instead of easing when he’d caught sight of that ridiculous bus parked in the club’s lot, he was suddenly in a world of hurt. One much darker and deeper than before. One that was angry and hard and violent.

She’d blatantly disregarded his orders, and now the headstrong little idiot was chin-deep in the kind of danger he’d tried to warn her about. Son of a bitch.

He’d mistakenly assumed that with her being a woman and him being a big, intimidating, dominant Lycan, it would be enough to make her realize she should listen to him, whether she wanted to or not. But he’d obviously been wrong.

After a long day of dealing with issues up in Shadow Peak, Eric had headed down to Wesley intending to visit the club to see if there was anything he could learn about Perry Smart’s whereabouts, as well as to get a better idea of exactly what was going on there. He hadn’t planned on having to save her older sister’s stubborn ass, though that seemed the more likely scenario now that he knew Chelsea hadn’t left town…but had done exactly what he’d told her not to do instead. Damn. He’d known she was willful, but still. The woman was downright destructive.

Pulling in a deep breath, he struggled for patience as he finished a pass around the two-story square, windowless building and parked next to her bus, trying to give himself time to come up with a plan, but the lingering traces of her scent inside his truck were still screwing with his head.

There were things hidden in that scent. Confusing things. Important ones. Things he needed to understand. He just…he couldn’t quite catch hold of them, as if a strong wind kept whipping them out of his reach, like meandering whorls of smoke. One instant they would be so close, and in the next, whoosh. They were gone.

Climbing out of his truck, Eric dug his cell phone from his pocket, then reached into his other pocket for the receipt with Chelsea’s number. The call went to voice mail after eight rings, and he ground out something that would have made his mother box his ears when he was younger. Whatever Chelsea was doing inside the club, she wasn’t in a position to answer her phone, and a cold sweat settled over the back of his neck.

Her bus had been delivered to the Travelodge at six that morning. It was now five-thirty in the afternoon. Which meant she’d had eleven and a half hours to get into trouble. Nearly half a damn day to be bullied or threatened or whatever the hell else might have happened to her. Rape. Assault. Torture. The nauseating list was endless.

Muttering another gritty curse under his breath, Eric quickly scrolled through his contact list until he found the next number he needed.

“Burns here,” said a deep voice, after only two rings. Jeremy Burns was one of the pack’s Bloodrunners, and a serious badass with a warped sense of humor. He was also the husband of one of Eric’s closest friends, Jillian, the pack’s healer, which had put the two males on rocky footing when things had started heating up between Jillian and the Runner the year before. But as soon as Jeremy had accepted the fact that Eric and Jillian were nothing more than friends, he and the Runner had slowly become friends themselves. He knew he could trust the guy with his life, and with anything else he threw at him.

“It’s Eric,” he said, locking the door to the truck behind him. “I need to let you know where I’m at, in case I don’t make it back to the Alley tonight.” Bloodrunner Alley was a secluded part of the forest where Jeremy and the other Bloodrunners lived, and where Eric had been spending a lot of his nights lately.

“Well,” the Runner drawled, “that’s a hell of a way to open a conversation.”

He scanned his surroundings to make sure no one was listening in. “Save the sarcasm for another time. I’m down in Wesley, in the Heaven and Hell parking lot.”

Jeremy cursed, but didn’t waste time demanding to know what Eric was doing there. Instead, he asked, “You got weapons?”

“Yeah, but can’t take them in with me. They’ll have security at the doors.”

The Runner’s frustration was evident in the hard edge of his voice. “I should have known something was up when you started asking questions about that place this morning. Didn’t think you were stupid enough to actually go down there on your own, though.”

“What can I say?” he grunted, squinting against the last dying rays of the sun. “I needed something to do.”

Jeremy snorted. “Yeah, well, next time just ask. If you’re bored, I’ll think of something to keep you busy. Jillian’s gonna kill me if anything happens to you.”

He started to tell the Runner that that’s why he was calling—to make plans if something did happen—but Jeremy suddenly told him to hold on a second. Eric could hear him talking to someone else, relaying the situation, and then another voice came on the line. From the rough tone and lilting Irish accent, he knew it was Cian Hennessey, one of the other Silvercrest Bloodrunners. “I’ve got some information you might find useful, seeing as how you’ve decided to jump the gun on us.”

Various possibilities of what the Runner might have learned ran through Eric’s mind, and none of them were good. “I don’t have a lot of time, Cian. Just get to the point.”

“Well, after I heard about the woman you ran into last night, and that you were asking for information about that club, I thought I’d look into things for you. Made a few calls to some of my…” the Irishman gave a husky laugh “… let’s just say some people who owe me a few special favors. But you’re not going to like what I learned. You were right about the Donovans being involved with the club, but they’re not the only ones. From the sound of things, the Whiteclaw pack has a finger in the pie, as well.”

“The Donovans and the Whiteclaw?” Eric wouldn’t have been more surprised if the Irishman had just told him that the NRA was partnering up with Greenpeace. As far as the Silvercrest knew, the Donovan family didn’t like the arrogant, thuggish Whiteclaw clan any more than the rest of the Southeastern Lycan packs. “What the hell is that about?”

“Yeah, I know,” the Runner murmured. “It sucks. All I can figure is that they have some kind of joint operation going on down there. The Donovans are obviously the brains and the money, the Whiteclaw most likely the hired muscle. And seeing as how they’re all a bunch of assholes, it’s not a comforting combination.”

“No shit,” Eric grunted. “Especially with them both so close to our land.” The Silvercrest were still in a highly vulnerable position, thanks to his father’s bullshit, and it freaked the hell out of him that the vultures were joining forces.

“Brody and I were planning on checking it out later,” Cian said, referring to Brody Carter, his best friend and Bloodrunning partner, “but it sounds like you’re beating us to it.”

“No choice.” Eric cast an uneasy look toward Chelsea’s bus, his gaze moving over the whimsical confection of clouds. “She’s here.”

“She?” There was a significant pause, and then, “You don’t mean the woman from last night, do you? The human?”

“Yeah. That’s exactly who I mean.”

Cian gave a low whistle. “Holy hell. That lady have a death wish or what?”

“Feels like it,” he ground out, starting to make his way across the parking lot. “I’m getting her out.”

The Runner’s voice turned hard. “Don’t be an idiot, Drake. You need to wait for us to get there. Brody and I can head down now.”

“Can’t—it’ll take too long, and there’s no telling how long she’s already been in there. Can you put Burns back on?”

Cian ordered him not to do anything stupid, then handed the phone back to Jeremy. “Look, I don’t have a lot of time,” Eric said, “but I need to ask you guys for a favor. If you don’t hear from me, I need the Runners to look after—”

“Dude,” Jeremy cut in, “stop right there. If you go down, your sister will be looked after. That’s a given. But keep in mind that I will track your ass to hell and put you through serious pain if you get killed. I will not be happy. You got that?”

A wry smile twitched at the corner of Eric’s mouth. “What makes you think I’m not headed for heaven?”

The Runner snorted again. “The day they let a jackass like you past the pearly gates is the day those self-righteous pricks up in Shadow Peak stop looking down their noses at us.”

They said a quick goodbye, and by the time Eric was slipping his phone back in his pocket, he’d reached the front of the club. Making his way down the concrete walkway leading to the entrance, he glanced up at the neon sign perched on the roof. The words Heaven and Hell glittered in the twilight with obscene brightness, pulsing like a heartbeat. A fitting name, he thought, walking inside, where a beefy bouncer sat on a black stool just inside the doorway. One quick sniff and Eric knew the guy was one of the Whiteclaw clan. The man drew Eric’s own scent into his lungs, and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “What’s your business here, Drake?”

So the Lycan knew who he was. Good. He could use it to his advantage.

Anxious to get inside and find her, Eric deliberately ran his gaze over a tall, busty brunette who walked past the club’s arched entryway, balancing a tray of shot glasses on one hand. “I’d think my reason for being here was rather obvious,” he said, slanting the bouncer a knowing smile.

The guy snickered. “What’s the problem? Can’t get any in your hometown anymore, now that your old man turned psycho?”

Eric fought to hold his hard smile in place, but it wasn’t easy. Slipping the bouncer a crisp hundred-dollar bill, he lowered his voice. “Let’s just say that I’m bored with the usual fare I get back at home. If I was looking for something a little less…tame, would this be the place to find it?”

The Lycan didn’t so much as bat a lash, but Eric knew he’d caught the guy’s attention. The seconds stretched out while the bouncer’s steely gaze bore into Eric’s, looking for the trap. Finally, he gave a low grunt and moved off his padded leather stool. After checking him for weapons with a quick pat down, he told Eric to take a seat inside the club and order a drink, saying that someone would come by to talk to him within the hour.

Uncertain whether or not the bouncer had bought his story, Eric walked through the high arch that separated the entryway from the main room of the club and tried not to wince. But it wasn’t easy. Why Chelsea’s little sister would have ever been willing to serve drinks here, he couldn’t understand. It wasn’t as cheaply decorated as a lot of the clubs he’d seen, but there was no mistaking the heavy desperation that hung in the air. It slid against his skin like a damp, sickly caress, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He could only imagine how it made Chelsea feel.

Wanting to rip the place apart until he found her, Eric forced himself to slide into a chair at a table hidden in the shadows at the far side of the room, to the left of the raised stage where five glassy-eyed human females were slowly gyrating their naked bodies in time to the deep, throbbing rhythm blasting through the sound system. Despite the early hour, over a quarter of the tables surrounding the stage were already full, the clientele a mix of werewolf and human—a fact the humans were no doubt oblivious to. The Lycans seemed to come from a wide variety of packs, though he was thankful he was the only Silvercrest in the room. Eric recognized a few of the Lycans as belonging to the Whiteclaw clan, and suspected they were there to keep an eye on things. Either that, or to broker the deals for whatever illegal activities the Donovans were running at the club.

As he sat with his back to the wall and scanned the room, Eric had what could only be described as a seriously bad feeling. It didn’t escape his notice that while the clientele were a mix of human and Lycan, the strippers and servers were all human females. And young ones, at that. It was like watching a group of baby seals unknowingly swim through shark-infested waters. A crap idea no matter how you looked at it.

The Whiteclaw, it seemed, were treading a dangerous line in their new partnership. Since the pack didn’t have any Bloodrunners, any infractions of the laws that governed their kind were the responsibility of the nearest packs: the Silvercrest and Youngblood. If they were harming humans, deadly measures would have to be taken. If they were simply exploiting these women for money, then they’d be watched to make sure things didn’t go too far.

And since the Donovans were a part of the Youngblood pack, there probably wouldn’t be any help coming from that quarter. Rumor had it that the Donovans had been buying off the Youngblood Runners for years, lining their pockets with serious amounts of cash to look the other way. Jeremy and the other Runners had asked the Silvercrest pack’s leadership to authorize an investigation into the matter too many times to count, but Eric’s father had made sure the requests were always denied. Now it looked as though it would be an issue that came back and bit them in the ass.

Hell, at this point, Eric wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that his father had been on the take, as well.

One of the servers finally approached his table, carrying an empty tray. She had an edgy, worried look about her, and a quick glance at the name tag pinned over her right breast had Eric leaning forward in his seat. His nostrils flared as he caught a faint trace of Chelsea’s scent lingering on the girl.

“Maggie?” he said, before she could ask him what he wanted to drink. Her eyes went a little wide at the urgency in his voice, and he tried to dredge up what was hopefully a reassuring smile. “I’m not going to hassle you. I’m just hoping you can give me some information about a friend of mine. Her name is Chelsea. You spoke to her yesterday, about her sister.”

The instant he mentioned Chelsea’s name, the girl’s face went white. “Please,” she whispered, starting to tremble. “I can’t—they’ll hurt me if I let her go. I wanted to, but they—”

“Shh. It’s okay,” he told her, making sure to keep his expression easy, since he was the one facing the room. But his pulse was rushing like a goddamn freight train. “Lean down toward me a little, like you’re flirting. That’s it,” he murmured, hoping like hell he could get her to cooperate. “All I need to know is where she’s at. Can you tell me where they’ve got her?”

Though she looked terrified, she managed to place one shaking hand on his shoulder, understanding the need to put on an act for anyone who might be watching them. “She’s in a room in the back of the club. If you go to the men’s restroom, there’s a door at the end of the hallway, on the right. Go through it, into another hallway, and then use the first door on the left. That’s where you’ll find her.” Her throat worked as she swallowed. “I don’t know what it was, but Curtis and the others gave her something that knocked her out. I tried to wake her up, but she isn’t moving.”

Hearing that she’d been drugged made him want to howl with fury, but Eric forced a laid-back grin to stay on his face as he pressed her for more details. “Are any of the doors locked? Or alarmed?”

She shook her head a little. “No. I don’t think so. But they’ve got a bolt on the room she’s in. It’s on the outside, so you’ll be able to open it.”

It was nearly impossible not to stand up and demand to know where he could find the bastards who had drugged her, then locked her in a room, so he could rip their fucking throats out, but he managed to choke it back. Barely. “What about the back exit?”

“It’s guarded like the front one. But I’ve heard that there are other ways to get out of the building.”

“You mean like a hidden exit?”

Maggie nodded. “I don’t know how many, but I’ve heard some of the other girls talking about them. I guess the owners use them when they want to get out without anyone seeing. But I don’t know where they are.”

“That’s okay. You’ve helped me a lot,” he said, determined not to lose control, even though he was seething inside at the thought of Chelsea being at the mercy of Curtis Donovan and his buddies. He’d never had much contact with Curtis, but he’d heard the twenty-something Lycan was a troublemaker. Whatever they had planned for her, it wasn’t good.

“I’m going to get her out of here, Maggie. But whatever happens, don’t tell anyone that we talked about her. As far as they need to know, if you’re asked, all I’ve been doing is hitting on you. If you sense any trouble, get the hell out of here. In fact, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave this place and never come back.”

Pulling her lower lip through her teeth, she said, “Yeah. I’m beginning to figure that out. No amount of money is worth this kind of crap.”

“That’s right. Now grab that half-empty bottle of beer on the table behind you, then throw it in my face and tell me to get lost.”

She blinked down at him. “What?”

“Just do it. And act really pissed. If anyone asks, tell them I said something ugly to you.”

Comprehension dawned. “Oh, I get it.”

Tension coiled through his muscles with cold, dark purpose, his body burning with an icy rage. “Do it now, Maggie. I need to find her.”

“Okay. But tell her that I’m sorry I couldn’t do more for her.” She took a deep breath, grabbed the bottle and flung the warm beer at him, then stormed away from the table, just like he’d told her to do.

Eric wiped the beer off his face as he moved to his feet, then plastered on a cocky smirk for the group of Lycans sitting at the table to his right. “Guess she wasn’t interested,” he said to the males. They laughed, raising their beer bottles at him as he walked by, heading for the doorway marked Restrooms. He scanned the club as he made his way toward the door, looking for Curtis, but didn’t see him in the growing crowd. As soon as he went through the doorway, he caught a subtle trace of Chelsea’s scent. The farther he went down the hall, the stronger that trace became. Quietly opening the last door in the hallway on the right, he gave a quick sniff, relying on his heightened sense of smell to tell him if he was alone. He doubted Curtis Donovan had left the club, and he wasn’t in the main room, which meant the Lycan was either upstairs or somewhere back here. And Eric had little doubt the bastard would be armed. The smart thing to do would be to turn and get the hell out of there, but it didn’t matter. He was willing to pay whatever price it took to get Chelsea to safety. It might not make him smart, but at least he’d still be able to face himself in the mirror if they managed to escape in one piece.

Slipping into the hallway, he reached for the bolt on the door to the first room on his left. His teeth ground together as he slid the bolt free, his heart hammering to a deep, violent rhythm. He tried the brass handle, turning it easily, and the door opened, a desk lamp on the far side of the room illuminating what seemed to be some kind of office. He immediately caught sight of Chelsea lying on a short leather sofa against the back wall. She was curled on her side, facing him, her long hair falling over her face. She looked so small and helpless, and it was all he could do to choke back a bloodthirsty snarl.

Rushing across the room, Eric dropped to his knees beside the sofa and took hold of her wrist, checking her pulse. It was slow, but steady, her skin chilled to the touch.

“What the hell have they done to you?” he grated, pushing her hair back from her face with an unsteady hand. He instantly noticed the purplish bruising under her left eye, and a primitive fury unlike anything he’d ever known caught fire beneath his skin. One that made him want to hunt down whoever was responsible for the injury and take them apart with his bare hands.

She was out cold and the door to the room hadn’t even been locked. Any drunken asshole wandering the hallways could have stumbled across her and done anything they wanted. The bastards had struck her and left her completely defenseless—but then, they didn’t care if anything happened to her. The only upside to the situation was that Curtis had no reason to think anyone would be coming after her, which would work to their advantage. If Eric could manage to get her out of the club without drawing any attention, he might actually start thinking that his luck was changing.

Pulling her into a sitting position, he propped her against the back of the sofa. “Chelsea, I need you to wake up.” Her head lolled to the side, and he gave her a little shake. “Come on and open those blue eyes for me. Right now.”

She made her first sound, a sleepy, muted little groan that reminded him of a child, and he shook her again. “Now, Chelsea. We’ve got to get out of here.”

“Elric?” she whispered, and the word sounded slurred, no doubt an effect of the drug she’d been given. Her eyelids fluttered, and then slowly started to open, as if she had to pry them apart with sheer force of will. “How…How’d you flind me?”

“Chelsea, honey, look at me.” He had to force himself not to grip her too tightly. “Are you hurt? Do you feel ill?” he asked, worried about how the drug might be affecting her.

“Um…one of them hit me, but I’m oklay,” she whispered, blinking up at him with the biggest pair of sky-blue eyes he’d ever seen. They were so clear and bright, shimmering with a thin veil of tears, though she wasn’t crying. At least not yet. “Will you get me out of here?”

“I’m working on it, but we can’t just walk out the way I came in.” He pushed her hair back from her flushed face again, trying to gauge just how high she was flying. Her pupils were fully dilated, but she seemed to be finding it easier to focus on him. She even managed a little smile.

“Sure we can,” she said, “if you help me walk. I’m a little dizzy, but no one will notice me.”

He shook his head. “Chelse, you’re not thinking straight. You can’t just walk out through the front of the club. It’s packed with people.”

She tried to sit up a little straighter, that stubborn determination he’d witnessed the night before sparking in her gaze. “Trust me, Eric. It’ll be oklay. Guys don’t ever notice girls like me.”

He stared…hard, unable to believe what she’d said. Not notice her? Was she blind? Either the drugs she’d been given were doing the thinking for her, or she truly had no idea just how…Eric struggled for the right word to describe her. How beautiful she was? Enticing? Sexy? Unique? Damn it, she was all of those things and more, the heady combination no doubt catching the attention of every man she came into contact with. If they didn’t act on it, it was probably only because of that leave-me-the-hell-alone vibe she projected so well. But it didn’t mean she hadn’t been noticed…from the top of her glossy hair down to what were no doubt some adorable little toes.

Whether she believed him or not, Eric knew that whoever had helped Curtis Donovan put her in here would notice her the instant she stepped foot inside the club’s main room. Hell, they wouldn’t even have to set eyes on her, because there was no way that sweet, lush scent pulsing from her skin would go unrecognized by a Lycan. The second they caught a whiff of it, of her, the two of them would be made, and who knew how many he might have to face down while trying to protect her? No matter how good he was at kicking ass, the odds of fighting their way to safety weren’t in their favor.

Scraping his fingers through his hair, Eric shot her a dark look from under his brows. “You know, when I said you weren’t an idiot last night, I was wrong. Coming here again has to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard of. What did you do? March right through the front door, demanding to know what happened to your sister?”

Her eyes went wide. “You’re mad at me, aren’t you?”

“Mad doesn’t even begin to cover it. Christ, Chelsea. Were you trying to get yourself killed?”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Her lashes glittered with tears, then she blinked, and the salty moisture slipped over her cheeks.

“You should be,” he grunted, swiping at one of the glistening tears with his thumb. He hated how badly he wanted to comfort her, when what she really needed was to have some sense scared into her. “You should have listened to me last night.”

She sniffed, swiping at the tears herself. “I know. It was stlupid.”

Eric exhaled a ragged breath. This was getting them nowhere, except making him want to kiss that sullen pout off her lips, and that was something they definitely didn’t have time for. They’d already wasted too much damn time as it was. “Come on,” he said, hauling her up into his arms. “We need to get out of here.”

She clutched at his shoulders and gasped. “Why are you carrying me?”

With the soft, warm weight of her in his arms, his voice came out rougher than he’d expected. “Because you’ll fall flat on your face if I don’t.”

“Oh. You’re, um, probably right,” she admitted with a wince, clutching at her forehead like someone with a raging hangover. “But you dlon’t need to scream at me.”

Despite the grim circumstances, Eric felt his lips curl with a wry grin as he headed toward the door. “I’m not screaming, honey. Your ears just aren’t working right.”

“No kidding,” she grumbled, still holding her head. He noticed that the drug seemed to be affecting her in waves—one moment her speech would be relatively clear, the next she was slurring her words again—but he didn’t know what it meant. Was she getting better, or worse?

“Wait!” she suddenly cried out, trying to look over his shoulder. “I need my backpack. They took it out of my bus.”

Turning around, Eric scanned the room, then spotted the pack on the floor at the right side of the sofa. He headed over and leaned down, letting her scoop it off the floor. “Thanks,” she murmured, clutching the pack between their chests.

“I need you to stay quiet now,” he warned her, heading back across the room and using the arm under her legs to open the door. He took a deep breath, but couldn’t scent anything or anyone in the hallway. Carrying her out of the room, Eric glanced right then left, trying to decide which direction they should go in. His gut instinct told him to head away from the muted, raucous blast of music coming from the main room of the club, so he turned left. He could only assume that the hidden exits Maggie had mentioned would be located in the building’s smaller outer rooms, like a private bathroom or a storage closet, where they would be less likely to be spotted, and he intended to search each one until he found a way out.

Walking at a swift pace, Eric hadn’t taken more than a dozen steps when he scented another Lycan up ahead of them. Lowering Chelsea to her feet, he quickly shoved her into a small alcove, leaving her to stumble back against the wall, her backpack clutched in her arms, as he turned to face off against whoever was coming. He could hear her sliding down onto her sweet little ass, and felt bad when she gave a startled yelp of pain as she hit the floor, but there was no time to apologize. The asshole coming was a Lycan, which meant he’d scented them, as well. If he turned out to be one of Curtis’s men who knew Chelsea had been taken prisoner, he was going to be a problem.

“Come on, you son of a bitch,” Eric muttered, flexing his hands at his sides, his weight balanced on the balls of his feet. The Lycan came around the corner at the far end of the hall with a guttural snarl, knife at the ready, and launched himself forward with a powerful swipe that would have taken Eric’s throat out if he hadn’t swayed back to avoid the blow. He was definitely one of the Whiteclaw, the bald-headed giant standing at nearly seven feet tall and built like a friggin’ juggernaut. At six-five, Eric was used to towering over others, but the top of his head barely came to the Lycan’s chin. The guy looked like a juiced-up, ’roid-popping Spartan, hungry for blood.

Huh. Had he actually thought his luck might be changing? Stupid. That fickle bastard would always turn around and bite him in the ass, doing its best to take him down. He could only be thankful it was still too early for the behemoth to take his animal form, which always added height and muscle to a Lycan’s physique. They could still release their fangs and claws before the rise of the moon, but both were strictly forbidden when near humans. Considering Chelsea was only a few feet away, Eric could only pray the bastard didn’t break protocol.

Switching the knife to his other hand, the werewolf squeezed his right hand into a meaty fist and swung with more speed than Eric had been expecting. The punch connected with his jaw in a hit that could have easily sent him sprawling on his ass if he hadn’t crashed into the wall, which was a pal, keeping him on his feet.

That was pathetic, he silently growled, pissed that he’d let the guy get in a shot. If Jeremy had been there, the Runner would already be laughing his ass off, mercilessly ribbing him for being such an idiot.

Time to end this shit.

The Lycan started to smirk, obviously thinking he was going to be an easy kill, and Eric brought his right leg around, knocking the knife from his hand and nailing the bastard in the ribs with a powerful sidekick. It doubled him over, but he quickly recovered, driving his shoulders into Eric’s middle like a linebacker making a tackle, knocking the wind from his lungs. They hit the floor with a crunching thud, each grappling for the upper hand, landing punches that would have killed a human. The guy might have been bigger, but Eric was faster and more experienced—not to mention better motivated. Within seconds, he had the Lycan pinned facedown on the floor, hands trapped against the small of his back, Eric’s right arm cinched tight around the male’s throat.

“Where’s the nearest hidden exit?” he demanded. “Tell me how to find it.”

“Doesn’t matter,” the Lycan wheezed, his deep voice gritty with pain. “You can’t win this. We’ll kill her before we let you keep her. That nosey little bitch needs to be put down.”

A thick, guttural animal sound vibrated in his chest, and for a moment Eric couldn’t hear anything over the furious roar of his pulse pounding in his ears. His eyes narrowed with deadly purpose as he tightened his hold on the son of a bitch beneath him.

“No one touches the woman,” he scraped out in a low, chilling voice, aware of something shifting inside him. Something feral and violent and savage that wanted the bastard’s blood—but it wasn’t his wolf. It was darker, deadlier, rising up from the depths of his being like a primordial beast surging up from the seething belly of an ancient, merciless god. His fangs burned in his gums, heavy and hot, while his claws seared beneath his fingertips, eager to draw a river of blood.

Taking a deep breath, he could scent the Lycan’s fear in the air, and knew the male had sensed the darkness building inside him. Seeing through a red haze of rage, Eric lowered his mouth to the Lycan’s ear. “No one—not a single one of you gutter-slime assholes—is ever going to touch her,” he said in a soft, deadly slide of words. “Because I’m willing to do whatever it takes to see that she remains unharmed.”

Then he curled his hand beneath the Lycan’s chin, jerked it around with a powerful yank, and made his warning a fact.




Chapter 5


Blinking her gritty eyes, Chelsea tried to focus her wavering gaze, but it wasn’t easy. Making it onto her hands and knees, she crawled a few steps forward, until she was able to peek around the edge of the alcove.

Holy…crap.

She blinked again, unable to believe what she was seeing. She’d been worried Eric was getting his ass kicked—but she needn’t have been. He was standing in the hallway, hands clenched at his sides and his chest heaving, powerful muscles and veins bulging beneath the golden skin on his arms, while a massive, unconscious man lay at his feet.

From the look of things, Eric had been the one kicking ass.

She smiled, relieved to see that he was okay, even though she was finding it difficult to keep her thoughts straight. One moment everything made sense with perfect clarity, and in the next, she couldn’t remember what they were doing there…or why she was finding it so difficult to concentrate.

“Eric,” she said, her voice coming out as little more than a whisper. But he heard the scratchy sound, his head instantly lifting, hooded gray gaze locking with hers. “Are you okay?”

He gave a jerky nod, then reached down and swiped up what looked like a knife from the floor. The blade was long and gleaming, making the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand up. It should have scared the bejesus out of her, but Chelsea felt strangely at ease as she watched him walk toward her, that lethal knife still clutched in his hand. For all his animal-like intensity, she was confident he wouldn’t hurt her—that he’d do whatever it took to protect her.

She watched him with rapt fascination, thinking it was ridiculous, the way she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about this man from the moment she’d walked away from him. That kind of obsession wasn’t like her, and she didn’t care for it. Wasn’t comfortable with it. Didn’t know how to handle it. She was scared to think about what it meant—but she wasn’t scared of him. Yeah, her head might be spinning, but she knew her best bet of getting out of that place alive was the gorgeous hunk who’d just slipped the knife in his boot, and was now reaching down to grasp her arms, pulling her back to her feet.





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