Nikolai threw a kick at Seven’s head, but she ducked under it, moving into a leg sweep, knocking Nikolai onto his back. She was on him before he could leap up. Seven tried to punch him, but he caught her fist.
They froze like that, muscles tensed. Seven bared her teeth at him, obviously struggling against his superior strength.
He smirked up at her. “You’re good, but you’ll never be stronger than me.”
“You’re right about that,” she said through clenched teeth. “But I have one giant advantage at the moment.”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t have balls.”
And with that, she shifted and kneed him in the balls so hard that even Vi winced. Good thing he’d turned out to be the bad guy. If she’d wanted to ever have kids with him, she wasn’t sure that was any longer an option.
His face went completely white, but save a pained grunt, he made no other noise. Vi imagined most men would be in tears. But Nikolai worked through the pain, managing to arch his back with enough force to throw Seven off him. Not only that, but in a wrestling move that all but defied physics, he was somehow able to reverse their positions.
She bucked and tried to throw a punch, but he grabbed her arm and wrenched with enough force that Vi was pretty sure she heard Seven’s shoulder joint pop out of its socket.
Much like Nikolai, Seven didn’t cry out or give up like a normal person would. Pain was clearly etched on her face, but with what could only be called a battle cry, she arched up and threw him off her.
They both climbed unsteadily to their feet, her cradling her arm against her stomach, him wiping blood from his nose and hunching over (with his balls probably lodged somewhere up near his spleen, if Vi imagined correctly), looking like they’d fought a years-long war.
Seven was the first to move. She straightened her spine, lifted her chin, and gave him a come-and-get-it gesture with her good arm. She could go another twelve rounds, her defiant expression screamed.
His jaw dropped in surprise for a split second, but just as quickly, his eyes narrowed, and with a growl, he prowled toward her again.
And that’s when everything went a little…sideways.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The noise level was damn-near deafening as Riddick, Harper, and a fully shifted Lucas stormed the warehouse. Seven wasn’t sure if it was Lucas or Riddick who broke the door down, but there was now so little of it that it looked like it’d been through a wood chipper.
Before she could say a word, Nikolai was flat on his back with the wolf’s teeth at his throat. Vi found her voice first. “No!” she shrieked. “Don’t hurt him!”
Riddick snorted as he cut the ties at Vi’s ankles. “No worries, doc. Looks like he’ll be out of his misery soon enough. It’ll be so fast it probably won’t even hurt. Much.”
Harper rolled her eyes. “Real sensitive, hon. Seven, sweetie, if you could let Lucas know you’re alright, you might be able to convince him to, uh, you know, not rip out the dude’s throat. That’d be great. I had a big breakfast and I’d rather not see it again, if you know what I mean.”
Seven’s adrenaline rush from the fight was dying down, and she had to shake off her growing lethargy as she dropped to her knees at Nikolai’s side. “Lucas,” she whispered. “Please don’t kill him. Violet is fine. I’m fine.”
The wolf snarled and tightened his hold on Nikolai’s throat. Nikolai didn’t move a muscle, other than to shift his gaze to Vi, who was fidgeting nervously, looking absolutely terrified.
Seven let out a frustrated sigh. “Why did you hit the panic button, Vi? I had it under control.”
“I didn’t!” Vi sputtered. “And I’d say that ‘under control’ is a matter of opinion. You two were beating the shit out of each other! I wasn’t sure either one of you would stop!”
“Lucas heard you scream, Seven,” Harper said. “He shifted and ran for the door before we even knew what the hell was going on.”
Ugh. This was her own damn fault then, Seven realized. She leaned forward and buried her hand in the wolf’s thick fur, then rested her forehead against his side. “Don’t kill him, Lucas. Let the Council take him. He was confused and made a mistake. He doesn’t deserve to die for it any more than I deserve to die for the mistakes I made. Just shift back now. Please, Lucas. For me.”
The wolf let out one last angry snort before releasing its grip on Nikolai’s throat. The entire room sighed in relief. And a moment later, Lucas shifted back and threw his arms around Seven, taking care not to jostle her dislocated shoulder. She buried her nose in the crook of his neck and breathed his familiar scent deep into her lungs.
“I don’t know what I would’ve done if something had happened to you,” he murmured.
She snuggled in closer. “I told you I’d be fine. Too much to live for, remember?”
“Don’t ever ask me to let you put yourself in that kind of danger ever again.”
“I won’t. I promise. I love you, Lucas.”
“I love you, too. So much.”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Riddick grumbled. “Put on some damn pants.”
And with that, a pair of black sweat pants smacked Lucas in the face. He stood up, lifting Seven with him, and put on the pants, which Harper had apparently stuffed in her oversized handbag before they drove to the warehouse. “You just never know,” she said.
Nikolai stood up, and Harper promptly pulled her Ruger out and pointed it at his head. “No sudden moves, pal. Just because we aren’t going to kill you doesn’t mean I’m entirely opposed to putting a couple bullets in you.”
Riddick grumbled his sincere agreement, but Nikolai just looked up at her, slightly confused. “You…you all came here for…her?”
“That’s what family does, asshat,” Harper spat back without hesitation.
His brow furrowed like he was unfamiliar with the word. “Family,” he murmured. He shifted his gaze to Lucas, then back to Seven. “And love. It is true, isn’t it?”
He sounded so amazed that Seven felt a stab of empathy for him. He probably hadn’t known the kind of love and support she’d found since his parents were taken from him. Nikolai was basically her before Lucas and Harper and Riddick found her.
Great. Now she had a lump of emotion in her throat that felt like it a chunk of burning coal. “It’s true. All of it. I know I didn’t technically win that fight, but if you agree to turn yourself in anyway, I’ll put in a good word for you with the Council. You can start a real life.”
Lucas gripped her tighter and Riddick opened his mouth—no doubt to object—but slammed it shut again when Harper not-so-discreetly stomped on his foot.
Nikolai shook his head and ran a shaking hand through his disheveled hair. “You did win the fight, little one. I couldn’t have gone on much longer. You simply…wanted it more.” He shrugged. “Now I understand why.”
Because she had more to live for than he did, Seven realized.
“You can have it all too, you know,” she told him. “You can’t bring your family back, but you can create a new one.”
Seven didn’t miss that his gaze shifted ever-so-slightly to Vi for a split second before meeting hers again. He chuckled. “I doubt that’s in the cards for me. But…I’m willing to turn myself over to the Council.” He jerked his chin in Harper’s direction. “You can put your weapon away. I’ll go willingly.”
“Oh, I wasn’t really going to shoot you,” Harper said, tucking the gun away in her purse. But if Riddick thought I might, I figured it would keep him from breaking your legs or ripping your arms off or anything.”
“Um…thank you?”
“Yeah, sure. No prob.”
Riddick frowned at her. “Is that the only reason you ever draw your gun?”
“No, of course not, hon.” Then, to Vi, she nodded and mouthed, “It totally is.”
Nikolai reached for Seven’s hand. “May I help with that shoulder?”
She wasn’t looking forward to it, but Seven knew she
didn’t really have any other options if she wanted to be able to move her arm again. She knew Lucas and Riddick wouldn’t want to hurt her, and she damn sure wasn’t going to the hospital. Nikolai was her best chance.
“Alright,” she said, bracing back against Lucas as Nikolai lifted her arm. “But do it qui—”
Seven’s vision blurred and she was forced to swallow a pained cry as Nikolai tugged on her arm, then shoved the joint back in place. “Thank you,” she choked out.
His answering smirk made her want to smack him around some more. She gestured to his nose. “Can I help you with that?”
The smirk died on his lips, but he nodded manfully.
She smiled sweetly up at him as she placed her hands on either side of his nose. She waited until he started to ask what she was waiting for before she snapped it back in place.
The barest whisper of a pained grunt escaped his lips before he glared down at her and muttered, “Спасибо.”
Her smile grew. “You’re welcome.”
After a moment, he grudgingly returned her smile.
“What the fuck is this all about?” Riddick grumbled.
“This must be how cleaners make up,” Harper stage-whispered. “It’s kind of sweet…in a weirdly violent kind of way.”
Hunter and Mischa arrived about twenty minutes later. Hunter whisked Nikolai away to Council headquarters, and Mischa took Vi home.
Riddick drove Harper, Lucas, and Seven back to the Harper Hall Investigations building, where Lucas had left his car. In the parking lot, when Riddick and Harper turned to go inside, Lucas said, “Wait. I need you to hear this.”
Taking Seven’s hands, he said, “By shifter law, we’re already married. But here’s the thing. I was going to ask you to marry me the old-fashioned human way, too. Maybe sometime this summer or fall. But I changed my mind.”
Even though she saw him trying not to smile, there was a tiny little part of Seven that braced at his words and berated herself for believing—even for a moment—in happy endings for someone like her.
“After what happened today,” he said. “I don’t want to wait until summer or fall to marry you. I want to marry you now.”
She blinked at him. “Now?”
“Well, not tonight, obviously. But as soon as we can arrange it. Everything that happened tonight…” he paused, as if chilled by the memory. “It made me realize I don’t ever want to be without you again. If you want me, I intend to ask your brother for your hand in marriage. And then you better get used to having me around, because I’m not going anywhere.”
Seven felt as if all the air had just been sucked out of her lungs. “If I want you?” she asked, stunned. “Are you crazy? I’ve wanted you since the beginning!”
Then he kissed her in a way he never had before, slow and reverent. His right hand curled around the nape of her neck, and the other stroked her now-wet cheeks.
“Don’t cry,” he murmured. “I can’t take it.”
“I’m not crying,” she answered. She totally was, though. “I never thought I’d have this. You. Us. I’ve never felt this before. I’m so…happy.”
“It’s new for me too, beautiful,” he said, brushing the hair off her forehead. “But there’s no one else for me. If you give me the chance, I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you stay happy.”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Ugh, I’m gonna puke,” Riddick muttered, holding his stomach and looking a little green, like he really might vomit at any minute.
With a sigh, Lucas let go of Seven and held his hand out to Riddick. “I know we haven’t always gotten along. But I love your sister and I want—no, I need—to spend the rest of my life with her. I know I don’t deserve her, but no one will ever love her more or try harder to make her happy than I will. Do we have your permission?”
Riddick stared at his hand for a minute with an ugly scowl riding his features. But when Harper jabbed her elbow into his ribs, he sighed and took it. “Yes, damn it. You have my permission.”
Then he let go of Lucas’s hand and punched him in the stomach with a quick jab.
Lucas grunted, but didn’t double over. “What the fuck was that for?” he growled.
“That’s for touching my sister in the first place,” Riddick growled right back.
“I’m marrying her, for Christ’s sake!”
“That’s why you’re not dead.”
“Um…thanks?”
He sniffed and looked away. “You’re welcome. Whatever.”
“Aw, this is so beautiful!” Harper cried, then pulled them all in tight. “Group hug!”
In the middle of that group hug, Seven realized that she’d managed to find something more precious than she ever could’ve imagined. These people were more than just family. No matter where she went or what happened or what she did, these people would always be there for her. They were her true north. They were home.
She’d told Riddick she could never be Grace, and that was true. But what Seven hadn’t realized until this very moment, was that she owed everything she had to Grace Riddick. Grace had died so that Seven could live. And by God, Seven intended to live and love enough for both of them. Grace’s sacrifice would not be in vain.
“Thank you, Grace,” she whispered. “I owe you one.”
Semi-Sane
Book 5: Harper Hall Investigations Series
Dedication
To all the ladies in my Bitch, Write Faster group. Without your support (and constant nagging), this book never would’ve been finished. I can’t thank you all enough!
Acknowledgments
First of all, thanks to my son, Connor, for your unwavering faith and support. I hope to one day be as famous as you seem to think I already am.
Thanks to my husband, Don. I really do appreciate all the times you let me rage and vent about how badly my fictional characters were misbehaving, and never let me feel like I’m too crazy because of it.
Thanks to my parents for their continued support. I hope to one day be as talented and awesome as you seem to think I already am.
Thanks to The Design Dude at Romance Rehab for another awesome cover. Despite your misgivings, I think you did a lovely job with Meth Girl and Mr. Magoo.
HUGE thanks to Renee Wright for your eagle proofreading and editing eye yet again. (Sorry for all the emdash and hyphen errors. I’m sure I’ll understand how to properly use them someday.)
Thanks to LE Wilson, beta reader extraordinaire. Once again, this book never would have made it out of the draft phase if not for you being there to prop my ego and confidence up whenever necessary.
And last by certainly not least, thank you to all the wonderful readers out there who have stuck with Harper and her crew for the duration of the series. Your support means more to me than you could ever know—more than I could ever express (which is saying a lot, because I’m SUPER wordy). Thanks is still totally inadequate, but, yeah, there it is…
Chapter One
As it turned out, Stockholm syndrome didn’t go away immediately after a daring rescue. Nope. Apparently, it could jump up and smack a victim in the face months later. Four months, three days, eight hours, and a handful of minutes, to be exact.
Not that she was counting.
Dr. Violet Marchand was somewhat of an expert on all things Stockholm syndrome for a couple of reasons. Number one, she was a psychiatrist. A damn good one, too. She even had the fancy diploma from Johns Hopkins to prove it. Not to mention she was one of the only therapists in the state of New York to earn a license to treat supernatural patients.
But that was a different story entirely.
The point was that she now had irrefutable, empirical evidence of the impact of Stockholm syndrome on the human body. Her body, specifically. Or, even more specifically, her nipples.
Because at that very moment, she stood in the doorway of her apartment, face to face—or, face to chest, she supposed, because he was really tall—with the man who’d taught her more a
bout Stockholm syndrome than textbooks and years of clinical practice ever could.
Nikolai Aleyev, the man who’d stalked her, fake-dated her, drugged her, and kidnapped her, all to get close to one of her patients—who he intended to kill—was here in front of her. And after everything he’d done to her, her nipples were on high alert, practically saluting the man like a lowly private salutes a four-star general at West Point. Stockholm syndrome in action.
Stupid traitorous nipples.
Violet held up her phone, with one finger poised over the screen to call for help. “One wrong move and I hit this button, which will automatically call 911.”
The bastard had the nerve to smile at her as he held up his hands in supplication. “I mean you no harm, kotehok.”
Kotehok. Russian for kitten. She brutally tamped down the obnoxious, fluttery…Stockholm syndrome-y feelings the nickname set off in her stomach. She refused—absolutely refused—to fall for cutesy nicknames and that low, growly, sexy Russian accent of his.
Well, again, anyway.
And besides, she only had his word for it that kotehok meant kitten, anyway. She didn’t speak Russian. For all she knew, he was really calling her a simple-minded chump in that sexy accent.
Violet lowered the phone but kept it in her hand, just in case. “Who let you in the building, Nikolai?”
He leaned a shoulder against her doorjamb, not looking at all concerned that she had a twitchy 911 finger. “Small woman.” He held a hand up to indicate the woman in question had been about armpit height on him. “About sixty years old. Asked me if I was single. Wouldn’t let me in until I said yes.”
Violet suppressed a groan. Mrs. Copely. The woman was desperately looking for a man to marry her daughter and give her grandbabies. She would’ve let Ted Bundy into the building if she thought his sperm count was high enough.
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