by Celia Kyle
Director Quade wanted Walters dead.
Cole’s team wanted the human dead, too. But first they wanted information. Walters had gotten off the SHOC yacht somehow. They wanted to know who’d helped him, the name of his contact within SHOC. Because, sure as shit, Walters wouldn’t still be alive if he hadn’t had help from someone in the organization.
Cole voted for Hartley. Birch picked Quade. A joking Grant nominated their cafeteria woman at headquarters.
“Explain to me again why couldn’t I bring snacks?” Grant’s voice was low but crystal clear. The modified coms the wolf had spread through the team were a work of art. And an artful pain in the ass. They couldn’t even mumble insults anymore. The device was too good at picking up every syllable no matter how quiet.
“Seriously. I’d even take a protein bar right now.” Grant gagged. He was surprised they couldn’t hear the wolf’s stomach grumbling across the coms. “And you know that shit causes ‘digestive issues.’”
Birch sighed, but he didn’t say a word.
Ethan grunted. “There’s nothing wrong with protein bars. You had ‘digestive issues’ after dinner at Declan’s last month.”
“It was the bad spinach,” Declan mumbled. “It must have been tainted with salmonella. Everything else was perfect, and you know it. I already told Abby not to serve green shit to carnivores.”
Cole snickered. He couldn’t help it. “Perfect. Sure. Remind her to defrost the turkeys before baking them. They might actually cook through, and then we won’t be forced to touch raw poultry because you ordered us to be nice to the pregnant woman.”
Grant spoke again. “Beef is better anyway. Even raw.”
Birch sighed, and Cole imagined the grizzly rolling his eyes. “Focus.”
Focus. Right. They had a job. Observe. Kidnap. Question. Then report.
“It wasn’t like anyone was sick for long,” Declan grumbled once more, not letting the topic drop. “Your beasts handled it.”
Grant’s low growl traveled over the com. “Just because my wolf eliminated the infection doesn’t mean I had a good time worshipping the porcelain—” He cut off. “I have contact. Southern wall. Two heat signatures. Fur on two legs and fur on four legs. Fur on two is a big mofo. Probably male.”
Not the most private code words, but they got the point across. They had two shifters—their higher temperatures identifying them easily—on approach. One walked on two legs in its human form while the other sported paws.
“Identity.” Birch didn’t ask; he demanded.
“Working.” The click and clack of keys came over the com, Grant’s fingers flying across the keyboard. “Declan, they’re coming right up your ass.”
“Birch, we thinking friend or foe?” Cole wondered if the SHOC traitors were taking a walk in the woods and right into their hands.
“Not sure. Grant?” Birch barked out the word like a wolf rather than a bear.
“Working.” The werewolf snarled and then grumbled. Probably forgetting about the tinkering he’d done to their coms. “Don’t you think I’d fucking tell you who it is if I fucking knew?”
No one replied to that one, though he was sure Ethan had a response on the tip of his tongue. The lion liked poking the wolf. A thing about cats and dogs that the “king of the jungle” enjoyed.
Ignoring it all, Cole spoke to the other wolf on the team. “Dec, you smell anything?”
Declan grunted, and Cole was glad he’d spent so much time with Declan during their last big op. The one that had included Declan finding Abby and mating her.
Mating…That simple word reminded Cole of Stella…and the situation he’d left in that cabin not so long ago. He wrenched his thoughts from that direction and refocused on the here and now. He’d fix his relationship with Stella later. He had to. He couldn’t live without her.
Cole shook his head and thought of the tone of Declan’s grunt. The wolf didn’t smell anything. Yet. “You see anything, then?”
The next grunt said that Cole was an idiot and an asshole.
“You don’t have to be a dick just because you haven’t been laid in a while, fucker.” More than one snigger followed Cole’s words.
“Declan, they’re twenty yards behind you. They’ll be ten yards west of your position when they come even with you.” Tension thrummed in Grant’s voice.
“Orders?” Ethan was on the opposite side of the house, taking up the north position. If he broke cover, he had a clear line of sight to take out the two newcomers. Bullets or sedatives, either worked. Right now the two strangers were stomping in the middle of their shit, and they had the potential to fuck it all up.
“Hold.” Birch’s voice was flat—unemotional.
Everyone fell silent, the only sound coming across the com was the tap of Grant’s fingers on his keyboard. Not even the whoosh of breathing could be heard—as if everyone held their breath and waited for the outcome.
The wind picked up, tree branches rustling with the random gusts. The scents of the forest wrapped around him, and he imagined it enveloped the others as well. Leaves rustled and ghosted across the yard, while sprinkles of dirt danced through the breeze. The scent of birds and squirrels teased his nose, and he knew a rabbit’s burrow was no more than sixty feet west.
His tiger snarled at him—demanding he focus on the op. It was the first time the beast had bothered to make a sound since he’d left Stella. Immediately after it’d broken the quiet, it went back to hiding itself from his human side. The cat was pissed that they’d left Stella behind. Even more pissed at how Cole had talked to her.
He’d apologize tomorrow. After the op was done and he was sure Walters was no longer a threat. When he was sure she was safe.
He’d ask Declan for tips. The mated wolf would know how to do the apologizing shit. With Abby pregnant and emotional, the wolf was apologizing for something constantly. Yeah, he’d ask Declan tomorrow. Tonight…
Another gust of wind whipped through the area, drenching him in the scents in the area. Scents like…
Cole growled. “Mother—”
“—fucking,” Declan finished.
Then Birch. “Sonofabitch.”
“Hey, I identified the guys in the woods.” Grant followed that with a stilted laugh. “Buuut, from the sound of things, you did, too.”
Yeah, Cole had. He’d know that sweetness anywhere. Honeysuckle. Strawberry. Then that something extra that was pure Stella. He imagined Declan scented his younger brother, Pike. The wolf had been tasked with watching Stella, and the kid enjoyed creative interpretation of orders.
He could just hear Pike’s voice now. I’m watching her, aren’t I? Watching her join the op.
Cole closed his eyes for a moment and breathed deep, drawing Stella’s scent into his lungs until he was filled with her aroma. Until she permeated every cell in his body. The stink of betrayal and rage didn’t taint her flavors any longer. Now she was consumed by anticipation, excitement, and an edge of worry.
He opened his eyes and glanced around the area while he beckoned his tiger to come forward. The asshole could be pissed at him later. Right now he needed his cat’s vision to spy Stella. Grumbling with every step, the animal padded forward, and Cole’s eyes burned—his vision transforming within moments. The world around him transitioned, colors leaching from the forest while his eyesight focused. His view sharpened, eyes able to pick out details that’d been mere blurs before.
“The dynamic duo are almost to the tree line.” Grant tried to joke, but his voice was flat, the words not lightening the mood a bit.
Cole turned his head and zeroed in on the edge of the yard, the bushes that swayed and the tall trees that grew along the trimmed border. He watched the area, gaze unwavering while he waited for her to come into sight.
“And the party is officially crashed.” Grant again. His words meaning that Pike and Stella had arrived, but there was no hint of his jaguar mate. He didn’t expect to see Pike. The man knew to come to an op wrapped in black clot
hing—easily blending into the scenery. Cole should see Stella’s golden fur and dark spots. Yet he didn’t.
Then the clouds drifted onward, revealing the full moon that hung in the sky and allowing the soft glow to bathe the area. That was when he spied her eyes, the reflective orbs seeming to float in the middle of the blackness.
“I have eyes on them.” Cole’s voice came out as a growl, his tiger pushing forward harder and harder as he processed what he saw. “She’s in Grant’s new tech.”
“The fuck?” The surprise in the techy werewolf’s voice was real. So, he hadn’t given up his toys willingly.
“Define.” One word from Birch. The bear always managed to say a lot with so little.
Tell me what the fuck you’re talking about before I lose my shit.
Cole’s tiger shoved at him, demanding he shift and chase his mate down—keep her safe while the op continued. “Remember how Grant designed a spandex suit that should cover us from head to tail and still keep our dicks covered if we were on two legs?”
“The Green Man outfits?” Disgust laced Ethan’s voice.
Grant sighed. “We’re not in the middle of an episode of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia and none of us are Charlie Kelly. They’re not ‘Green Man’ outfits.”
Declan coughed. “Green Man.” Then coughed again.
Cole didn’t say anything else. Just kept staring at Stella’s black-clad, shifted form. At least until the soft glow of the moon gradually waned. That’s when Stella pulled her attention from him and let it drift across the yard. It paused near the house, then continued to the sky—the moon. A moon with dark clouds easing to block the minimal light it shined down on the world.
“Don’t do it, Stella,” he murmured, hoping his cat’s growl marred the words enough that the others didn’t understand his warning.
Because he already knew what she was gonna do. And it was gonna get her ass killed.
“Who’s doing what?” The crunch of leaves accompanied Declan’s question, the wolf moving beneath his cover.
“Update.” Birch’s voice didn’t have any hint of tension, which meant the bear was pissed as hell. The quieter and more controlled he sounded, the more furious he truly was.
“Still stationary,” Grant reassured their team alpha.
Stationary, but not for long.
The largest collection of clouds continued their gentle drift across the sky, blanketing more and more of their surroundings in utter blackness. If his team was going in, they’d need to wait until everyone was covered by the shadows—from Ethan, around the half circle, and all the way to Declan.
Unfortunately, Stella wasn’t part of his team. She was one pissed-off jaguar with a vendetta pushing her onward. Stella’s attention lowered from the sky, her gaze now watching the progress of that darkness as it crept across the yard. It’d already passed Ethan, Birch, and Cole. It’d even overtaken her. But she remained in place until…
Cole stared at the home, recalling the list of plans they’d created when designing their attack. Including the one that Ethan had proposed. The one that included a lion shifter doing purrkour and bouncing between the house exterior and a tree until he landed on the roof.
Birch had stared at Ethan and shaken his head. Just because Ethan looked at memes on his damned phone didn’t mean he could become a meme by doing parkour when shifted. No one was going to record him and put that shit on YouTube.
Well, by the way Stella stared at the tree growing near the house, it seemed that Ethan would get his purrkour after all. It would just be a jaguar instead of the king of the jungle.
Stella jolted forward before any of them could react. Before Cole could warn Birch and a new plan could be organized. A bolt of black cat raced across the distance toward the corner of the house. No windows at that juncture and a big tree ten feet from the roofline. She performed the maneuver with ease. Leap at the wall, spring off the brick to the tree, then the wall and tree once more, before silently landing on the shingle roof.
If she weren’t putting herself in danger and destroying the op, he’d be fucking proud of what she’d just done. She hadn’t made a sound. Hadn’t triggered any lights or alarms.
“And that, gentlemen, is how it’s done.” Pike. The cocky sonofabitch that Cole couldn’t wait to pummel. He could practically see the wolf’s smile.
“I’m gonna kick your ass.” Cole’s tiger was on board with that idea. It wanted to take control and destroy the younger wolf, teach him to fuck around with another male’s mate.
“Does she know this plan, Pike?” Birch’s voice vibrated through their coms.
“Yeah. She’s got a pack strapped to her chest. She knows the layout of the house.”
“And how to disarm the security system?” Their team alpha’s voice carried a heavy dose of skepticism.
“Stella built bombs. I think she can cut a coupla wires,” Pike drawled.
Yeah, Cole would have agreed with the younger wolf if the house’s alarm hadn’t chosen that moment to go off. “Fuck.”
Chapter Thirty-four
Using the home’s exterior wall and a nearby tree to reach the roof had all been part of the plan. Stella had even enjoyed the strain on her muscles, her body performing in a way she’d never tried before. Plus, it’d gotten her closer to Walters. Once on the roof it was a quick, one, two, three and…she woulda been in like Flynn.
Except the night’s plans had been discussed with Pike while Stella had been human. She’d been on two legs with pale skin instead of spotted fur. She’d given the werewolf assurances while she had hands instead of paws. She’d promised she’d follow his orders to the letter.
Then she’d shifted.
As soon as her jaguar took possession of her body, the battle began. Stella’s desires struggled against the cat’s instincts—the feline craving the blood of its enemy. Her human half wanted James’s life to end quickly. His death was the point of the exercise. The jaguar wanted to play with its prey. It wanted to hear the screams and watch as life bled from his body. It wanted him to suffer as she suffered. Pain was its goal. Death would be the result. The cat had full control and its own plans in mind. It didn’t care about her promises to Pike or that Cole’s SHOC team lurked in the shadows.
She’d scented Walters the moment her paws hit the shingle roof, the dark, coarse surface providing additional friction. His stink teased her nose for a moment—no more than a second—before the cat overwhelmed her with its craving. She’d raced across the roof, nails scraping the shingles as she hunted the source of that aroma. She drew closer with every stride, and then frustration joined the cat’s craving.
Entering the home silently required hands, but the jaguar refused to relinquish its hold. Which was why her front paws morphed into a perverted version of human hands, the fingers long and crooked with thick, dark nails at the tips.
With the house’s floor plan in mind, she leapt for the edge of the roof. Arms outstretched, she twisted in air, body contorting so she could grasp the fascia. Momentum carried her onward, and she stretched out her legs, bracing to collide with the window. Grant’s suit protected her body from the glass, shards bouncing off the fabric.
She’d landed just inside the room with a low thump and dropped into a crouch, cat’s eyes scanning her surroundings. Within a heartbeat, the alarm sounded, but the cat hadn’t cared.
Now they had to deal with what the cat wrought. The jaguar re-shaped her body, returning to full cat instead of the twisted in-between form. But with those changes, Stella managed to grasp some control from the cat—enough to insert logic and caution into the beast’s instinctual drive.
The alarm continued to blare, the piercing screech bouncing off the walls and crowding her ears. She fought past the pain from that sound and sought out other noises. Noises that belonged to James Walters. The male was somewhere in the house, and Stella would find him. His scent was light in the room, the space appearing unused and the air stale. A guest room, then. She padded forwa
rd, covered paws crunching over the shattered glass as she headed for the open door. A sliver of light shone through the narrow crack, leading her onward.
Stella nudged the door with her nose and drew air into her lungs. The stink of James Walters was sharper outside the room, and his scent beckoned her. She prodded the door once more, pushing until her shoulders made it through the doorway and she spilled out onto a balcony that overlooked the first floor. Carpet lined the walkway, the wall to her right and a railing and spindles to her left.
Nowhere to hide, but there was nothing to mar her visibility, either. It made it easy to see lights flickering on down below. The rapid progression of lights was soon followed by utter silence. One that didn’t last long. Soon there was the rapid thwap of bare feet on tile flooring—someone running.
Stella peered over the edge of the walkway, eyes on the shadows that danced across the first-floor wall. Then there were more noises—some she could identify and some she couldn’t. A voice—murmurs and the occasional shout. She recognized that voice. She also recognized that she didn’t hear anyone else. At least, not yet. She was sure it’d get loud when Cole’s SHOC team breeched the home. She had to act before they could intervene.
She swept the first floor with her gaze, eyeing the furniture that was scattered around the entry. She backed away from the edge until her ass met the wall, and then, in two giant steps, she leapt. She flew over the banister, body twisting as she fell. She landed on a thin area rug that slid sideways, and she dug her claws into the woven floor covering.
She heard nothing after she landed. No running. No murmurs. She wasn’t even sure her prey breathed. But even if he didn’t make a sound, she could still find him. Her jaguar hunted by smell and sight, not sound. And the smell filling her nose…It was exactly what she craved. He was close, contained in the house with nowhere to run—nowhere to hide.
Glass upstairs shattered, and her ears twitched, one turning toward the source of the crash.
“Who’s there? What do you want!” Walters’s voice was harsh and rough, almost strained.