Trained to Protect

by Lynn Hagen

  “What do you mean you’ll deal with him at home?” Werth narrowed his eyes. “Since when do you take suspects home to interview them?”

  “Since when did Maltese become a suspect?” Vince countered with a thread of steel in his voice. “For all you know, I could’ve been the target.” He waved at the clothing store behind him. The large window had been shot out, leaving a gaping hole in its wake. “Or they could have been after Jean-Luc”—he jabbed a finger at the onlookers—“or one of them.”

  Though he highly doubted it had been anyone in the crowd since the sidewalk had been deserted when they’d left the store. But Vince’s anger was roiling that the sheriff was ready to pin something on Maltese without a shred of evidence.

  Vince might be convinced that this had something to do with Maltese, but he wasn’t gonna take him to the station to get grilled. He would take his mate home and talk to him in a cozy environment—one that didn’t have a large two-way-glass window and a steel table.

  “I just meant that the shooter had to be after him,” Werth clarified. “There’s no other explanation.”

  “He’s a victim,” Vince argued as the pulse at his temple throbbed. “Even if this is about Maltese, that doesn’t make him a suspect.”

  Sheriff Werth pulled to his full height and glared at him. “What’s gotten into you? Since when do you defy an order?”

  The only way Vince would be able to get out of this was to tell the truth. In a lowered voice, he said, “Because Maltese is my mate.”

  Werth’s dark brows shot up. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me that from the beginning?”

  “Because I haven’t told him yet,” Vince said between clenched teeth.

  Dillon chuckled. “I knew there was a reason you were acting all weird about him.” His smile slipped as he sobered. “You have to get to the bottom of this.”

  “Really?” Vince looked wide-eyed at his best friend and partner. “Thanks for the advice.”

  “You’re an asshole,” Dillon said.

  “I’ve already thought about that,” Vince said. “This could have something to do with one of Taren’s followers. This might not have anything to do with someone in Maltese’s past. Until we’ve dug deeper and looked at all possible angles, I’m not assuming anything.”

  “I’ll put a guard detail—”

  “No.” Vince hadn’t meant to cut his boss off. “I don’t need anyone lurking around my house. I can keep Maltese safe.”

  With a curt nod, Werth walked away, heading toward the clothing store where Vince saw a shaken Jean-Luc standing in the doorway. He didn’t blame the owner. Jean-Luc had not only had the scare of his life he would have to replace that pricey window. Insurance would probably pay for the replacement, but his premiums would suffer.

  “I thought we were friends.”

  Dillon’s question pulled Vince’s attention back around. He furrowed his brows. “We are.”

  “Then why in the fuck didn’t you tell me he was your mate?” Dillon’s hands were on his hips, and he was glaring at Vince. “Since when did we start keeping secrets from each other?”

  “Since I haven’t told Maltese yet.” Vince looked at the side mirror and frowned. His mate had his eyes squeezed shut, and he was shaking like crazy, even more than before. “I gotta go.”

  “I’m stopping by later to check on you guys,” Dillon said as Vince headed to the driver’s side.

  He got in and maneuvered around the patrol cars that still had the streets cordoned off before making his way home. Maltese didn’t say a word, and Vince didn’t want to start a conversation until they were home, even though it gutted him not to pull Maltese into his arms and comfort him.

  He pulled into the driveway, got out, and went to his mate’s side of the truck. Vince thought Maltese would argue when he lifted the demon from his seat and carried him inside, but the guy didn’t utter a single word.

  That worried him. From what he’d learned so far, Maltese was a scrapper, loud-mouthed and demanding that he do things on his own.

  He set Maltese on the couch and then went into the kitchen to make some tea. When he brought the mug to the living room, Vince saw that his mate hadn’t moved a muscle. He was seated on the edge of the overstuffed couch, staring at the window, his phone clutched in his hand.

  “Drink this. It’ll make you feel better.” Vince wiggled the phone out of Maltese’s tight grip and set it on the coffee table. When Maltese didn’t reach for the mug, Vince set it aside and sat on the coffee table, taking his mate’s hands in his.

  Finally, Maltese’s gaze slid to Vince’s face. “I-I got a phone call in the truck.”

  Vince moved to sit beside him and wrapped an arm around his mate’s shoulders. Maltese swallowed as tears sprang to his eyes. “It was the guy I was supposed to meet at the gazebo. He said he was gonna end my life. He even knew my first and last names.”

  Still keeping Maltese pressed against him, Vince reached for the phone and checked the call log. There was no name or number. “Are you sure you don’t know who the guy is?”

  Maltese shook his head as he paled a bit more. “I have no idea.” He turned his head and stared up at Vince. “I’ve been forced to live without my powers for twenty years. I’ve gotten used to living like a human.” Color returned to his face as Maltese clenched his jaw. “I hate feeling so damn helpless. I could’ve taken down that shooter if my father wasn’t such a controlling bastard.”

  “Tell me what happened.” Vince set the phone on the table and leaned back, pulling his mate closer to his chest. Having Maltese in his arms felt good and right, and Vince never wanted to let him go.

  “My father arranged for me to marry Max. We both refused, and I took off. About a year after I’d left home, I ran into Max. He was terrified of some demon named Taren, and I told him I could help.”

  “The masking agent,” Vince said.

  Maltese nodded. “But I warned him up front that going cold turkey could have adverse effects. I guess he forgot when he revealed himself to Dillon, because Max stopped taking the potion. That’s how he got sick.” Maltese shot forward and stared wide-eyed at Vince. “I swear I wasn’t selling him poison!”

  Vince pulled Maltese back down and pressed his mate into his side. “Tell me how your dad stripped your powers.”

  “When I refused to marry Max, my brother held me down while my father made me drink some concoction. I felt my powers drain. He said he’d restore them only if I gave in to his demand.”

  Vince frowned. “But preternatural don’t marry. They mate.”

  “I know, but my dad was convinced that Max’s family was rich.”

  “Were they?”

  Maltese shook his head as he curled in closer. Vince tightened his arm, letting his mate soak in his strength and allowing him to feel safe. “When Max and I were taken to the demon realm, he confessed that his father lived way above his means. He only appeared to be rich, when, in truth, Max’s parents were as broke as mine were. But they both lived that kind of lifestyle and assumed the other was loaded.”

  “And your family hasn’t tried to contact you in all this time?”

  “No, and that was why I didn’t want to take Taren to the demon realm, among other obvious reasons. My family lives there, and I’ve avoided that realm like the plague.”

  “Does anyone stand out in your mind?” Vince asked. “Anyone you’ve had dealings with in the past?”

  “Anyone who wants me dead?” Maltese snorted. “Like I said, I sold potions. I tried my best to stay off the radar so I didn’t make any enemies. I was never in the same place long enough.”

  That had to be one strenuous life to live—always looking over your shoulder and never being able to trust anyone. Vince couldn’t imagine living that way. Not for twenty years. No wonder his mate was so distrusting and relied on only himself. In Maltese’s eyes, everyone was a potential threat.

  “There’s something I need to tell you.” Vince rubbed his hand up and down Maltese’s
arm. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to relax Maltese or if he was bracing himself. “I’ve wanted to tell you, but I was trying to wait for the right time.”

  Maltese pulled back, forcing Vince’s arm away from his shoulder. That look of mistrust, the one Vince hated to see in his eyes, returned. “Just say it.”

  Vince just plowed forward, telling himself he would deal with the fallout if one came. “We’re mates.”

  A burst of several different emotions shot through Maltese’s eyes. His brows dipped, and then they shot up before a frown puckered up again. His eyes went from uncertainty to blazing with anger.

  Maltese jumped from the couch and fisted his hands at his sides. “What kind of sick game are you playing?”

  The only way to prove he was telling the truth was to sleep with Maltese, but his mate looked like he’d rather kick Vince’s ass instead.

  “I tried to tell you in my truck outside the diner, but you fell asleep.” He recalled starting the conversation, beating around the bush to gauge Maltese’s reaction, but when he’d looked at Maltese, the guy had been knocked out. “Tell me you don’t feel the pull between us,” he argued. “Tell me you don’t feel a connection.”

  Maltese darted around the coffee table and headed for the front door. Vince shot to his feet and slammed his hand against the wood. “Will you stop trying to run away from me?”

  “You’re full of shit,” Maltese mumbled, but his words weren’t as heated as before, as though he were too afraid to believe Vince was telling the truth. His mate’s hands were still fisted, and he wouldn’t look at him.

  “You think I go above and beyond for just anyone?” he asked. No way would Vince have spent close to twelve hundred dollars on some random guy he was helping out of a tough spot. But for his mate, Vince would’ve spent ten times that amount to make sure Maltese had the things he needed. He wanted to build his mate’s confidence and for him to look dazzling at his first official job.

  Maltese scowled. “For all I know, that could’ve been a jilted lover shooting at us. Do you pull this bullshit with every stray you bring home?”

  Vince snapped his head back as if Maltese had physically struck him. “You’re not a fucking stray.”

  He hated that Maltese thought so little of himself. He knew that his mate had had a hard life, but hadn’t anyone encouraged him or given him praise? Was he really this jaded?

  “Get your hand off the door,” Maltese said between clenched teeth. Vince was stunned to see tears in the demon’s eyes.

  “I’m not pulling any kind of stunt,” Vince said in a softer tone. “I swear to you I’m telling the truth.”

  Maltese’s lips thinned as he swiped at his tears, as though he was pissed he was crying. The silence between them stretched on as he waited for his mate to say something else.

  “You’re just trying to sleep with me.”

  Vince snorted. “If this was about sex, I would’ve just used my wily charms and dashing good looks to lure you into my bed.”

  Maltese gaped at him.

  “Not even a hint of a smile?” Vince wiggled his brows.

  The side of Maltese’s mouth twitched.

  “You can do better than that.”

  “You’re deranged.” Maltese went back to the sofa and dropped onto the cushions. Vince wasn’t sure if he trusted Maltese’s easy compliance.

  If he walked away from the door and Maltese ran to it to make his escape, Vince was gonna be pissed.

  He eased into the recliner as Bella entered the room and rubbed her body on his legs. He petted her head all of five seconds before she hurried over to Maltese for some affection. “Like I said, I wanted to tell you, but you haven’t exactly been receptive to me.”

  “We shared a laugh over lemon cake,” Maltese squawked. “I don’t laugh…with anyone.”

  Vince’s brows drew down. “That’s…sad.”

  “Gee, thanks for reminding me how crappy my life is.” Maltese picked Bella up and curled her into his arms as he glared at Vince.

  “Will you stop…” Vince scrubbed his hands over his face. “I know it’s hard for you to trust, but…I want you to let me in, Maltese. I’m not dicking you around or trying to pull a fast one on you.”

  Vince knew he wasn’t going to gain his mate’s trust right away, that he would have to work at it over time, but he couldn’t help being frustrated at the moment. Fate had given him Maltese, and the demon looked at Vince as though he were the enemy.

  He wasn’t sure what he could say or do to convince Maltese otherwise, aside from sleeping with him.

  Vince looked up when he felt hands around his wrists. Maltese ever so slowly shook his head as he curled his lips in and licked the bottom one. “If you’d lived my life, you’d understand why I am the way I am.”

  Vince swallowed as he stared into Maltese’s eyes. “I’m not asking you to drop all your walls and throw caution to the wind. I know it’ll take time for you to realize I’m in your corner. But I’m not lying to you, Maltese. We really are mates.”

  Maltese closed his eyes, said something under his breath that Vince couldn’t make out, and then opened his eyes and nodded. “Then prove it to me.”

  “How?”

  Right there, in front of Vince, Maltese stripped out of his clothing.

  Chapter Six

  “This is Maverick,” the alpha wolf said when he answered his phone.

  “I need a favor.” Orlando leaned back in his office chair, staring through the glass walls of his office at his squad room. The damage had been mended from when the gunmen had seized the station and opened fire. The bullet holes were gone, the ceilings and walls repaired, the desks that had taken hits replaced, but nothing would bring back the deputies he’d lost that day.

  “I heard about the shooting in town,” Maverick said. “Do I need to send some sentries to help out? I know you’re shorthanded since you lost two of your deputies.”

  Their loss had been a tragedy, and no one deserved to die that way, but Myers had been quietly under investigation for tampering with evidence, lying on reports, extortion, and a whole host of other charges that would’ve gotten him put in the underworld.

  Detective Lewis Keating had been gathering up evidence against Myers before the deputy had been killed. But anytime someone in town gave their condolences, Orlando thanked them instead of telling the person Myers had been a dirty cop.

  There was no use tarnishing the police department. That wouldn’t bolter public confidence in them.

  “No, that’s not why I’m calling.” Orlando turned his chair and looked out the window at the parking lot, his gaze sweeping over the apartment building next door with its manicured lawn, large oak trees, and flowerbeds running along the walkway. “I need Nero to check the footage of any cameras facing Fine Threads. We have no leads, and one of my deputies was nearly killed, along with his mate.”

  Orlando picked up his small spray bottle and gave the plant sitting on his file cabinet a few mists.

  “This seems to be a reoccurring theme lately.” Maverick didn’t sound too happy. “First you and Newt, then Dillon and Max, and now another couple.”

  “The fun never ends when you live in our world.” He set the spray bottle down on his desk. If humans thought their world was filled with violence and destruction, they had nothing on the preternatural world where nonhumans did a hell of a lot more damage, especially when they had powers to wield.

  A human could go into a bank and rob the place at gunpoint. A demon could go in there and level the entire building while setting it on fire by simply producing flames from their hands. Or a guy could slap someone and leave a red mark or bruise. A shifter could do the same and tear half the person’s face off with their claws.

  And that didn’t even skim the surface that elves could shimmer in and out of places, and Panahasi could create vortexes to exit and enter through. Vampires could bespell their victims, ghouls existed, along with shapeshifters who could become anyone they wanted to be. />
  The list went on and on and that was why their world had the Ultionem to police those who used their powers for evil. If humans thought their prisons were bad they should spend a month in the underworld where a person mentally relived their worst nightmares over and over again without a moments reprieve.

  “Ain’t that the truth,” Maverick said. “I’ll have him look through the footage and compile a report of what he finds.”

  “Thanks.” Orlando hung up and sighed before he turned around and dug back into the open case files he’d been looking over, praying Nero sent him something he could work with.

  * * * *

  Maltese was still in shock that he’d undressed and was offering himself to Vince. He was even more unsure of his decision when Vince just sat there staring at him.

  “This was a mistake.” Maltese reached for his clothes, but Vince gently grabbed his wrist.

  “Don’t get dressed.”

  “Then don’t just sit there like…” Maltese bit his lip and looked away, wishing Vince would let his wrist go.

  “I can’t help it,” Vince said. “I’m sitting here stunned that you’re giving yourself to me, and also at how gorgeous you are.”

  Maltese looked at Vince as he furrowed his brows. “You think I’m gorgeous?”

  He could count on zero hands how many times someone had complimented him. In the past, whenever he’d had sex, it was quick and dirty and very little was said. The act had always been two people relieving an itch and going their separate ways afterward.

  The way Vince stared at him made Maltese feel uneasy. The guy was looking at him as though Maltese was the center of his universe.

  Vince chuckled as he pulled Maltese onto his lap. “I think you are the most beautiful man I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

  “I think you need your head examined.” His body had scars from surviving on the street all these years. One particular scar was a jagged mark across his chest from a scuffle he’d had getting away from some lunatic who’d sworn Maltese had to pay for his right to squat in some derelict building.