Wolf Pawn (Wolves of New York #2)

by Bella Jacobs

  But I’m equally certain she won’t want anything to do with me now that she’s sober and been put in her place.

  Again, I hope she’s pregnant already, and that I won’t be forced to drug her again. Or to seduce her. Or to order her to spread her legs and get ready to take my seed, no matter what she thinks or feels about having a child.

  I curse beneath my breath and slow my pace down the hall.

  There’s nothing sexy about drugging or strong-arming a woman into sleeping with you, but when it comes to Willow my body has a mind of its own. Even imagining her glaring up at me from her sheets, defiantly spreading her thighs, makes me hard.

  I drag a hand through my hair with a curse, pausing by one of the modern art pieces hanging on the wall to pull myself together.

  I’m still there, only about halfway to regaining control of my cock when Diana calls out from farther down the hall, “Maxim. You’re up early.”

  I exhale, relieved to see her.

  Nothing like your little sister popping up out of the blue to kill a hard-on.

  I turn, frowning as I see her dressed in a red jogging suit with her hair tied up in a ponytail. “Where are you going? I told you, no jogging outside until—”

  “Until the world isn’t ending,” Diana finishes with a nod. “I know. I’m going to the gym. Have to stay in shape in case I’m ever allowed to go back to school and field hockey practice, right?”

  I sigh, suddenly overcome with empathy for her, my little sister who just wants a normal life. “I’m sorry, Diana. I wish it was safe for you to go to school and out for a run. I wish…” I trail off with a shake of my head. “I wish a lot of things but wishing doesn’t do much good. Hopefully, we’ll have the situation under control before the winter solstice and you can start back to school in-person next semester.”

  “It’s fine. Online school is good in some ways. Less homework most days, for sure.” She crosses her arms, her shoulders lifting closer to her ears as she adds, “And I understand wishing things were different. I wish that, too. A lot.” She looks up at me, a very adult look of disappointment on her face. “What if it had been me, Maxim? What if my mate had drugged me and taken advantage of me?”

  My throat closes up and my heart skips a beat, but I force out a lie, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes, you do,” she insists softly. “Willow saw you dump her wine over the railing last night after you…did what you did. She’s not stupid, Maxim. She is in fact, very smart. She figured it out right away.”

  “She shouldn’t have talked to you about any of that,” I snap. “That’s our private, adult business, and you’re—”

  “I’m not a child,” Diana cuts in before I can finish. “I’m eighteen years old. And I know enough about sex to know how hurt and angry and humiliated I’d be if the man I was supposed to marry did to me what you did to Willow.”

  “There are things you don’t understand,” I say, ignoring the voice in my head shouting that she’s right.

  But Willow lied to me. And not a little lie, either.

  “You’re right,” Diana says. “There are so many things I don’t understand. I don’t understand why the entire world is going crazy over this stupid prophecy or why Bane apparently set off a bomb in our tower or what he and Kelley are up to. But you know what I do understand?” She pulls in a breath, holding my gaze as she adds in a soft, merciless voice, “I understand why Bane thinks you’re dangerous. Because I think you’re dangerous, too. And I know what you did to Willow is disgraceful. You should be ashamed of yourself. I sure as hell am.”

  “Go to your room,” I say softly, too angry with her and disgusted with myself to think of something better to say. “I don’t have time to explain myself to you right now. I have a pack to protect.”

  “Sorry, I can’t go to my room,” she says with a smartass twist of her lips. “Because you kicked me out of my apartment so you could hold your fiancée prisoner there.” She starts around me, her hands lifted at her sides. “But sure, I’ll get out of your hair, big brother. Stay busy and maybe you can avoid thinking about how deeply you fucked up last night.”

  “Keep talking to me like that and you’ll be moving back in with Nanny Pat,” I grit out through a clenched jaw. “Children who can’t control their mouths belong in the nursery, under lock and key.”

  Diana’s eyes flash with a vengeful stubbornness that’s way too fucking familiar.

  I’m pretty sure I saw it in the mirror this morning, in fact.

  I pull in a breath, about to say something to that effect—that we’re too much alike and should take time to cool off before we say something we can’t take back—when she says, “Fine. Lock me up in the nursery. It’s not like I’ll be there for long. I’m sure Bane will let me out once he takes over.”

  Fury and the sting of betrayal dumps into my bloodstream. “Careful, little girl. Threatening your Alpha is treason. Unless you want to end up in a cell, charged as an enemy to this pack, you should choose your next words very carefully.”

  She clenches her jaw and narrows her eyes, but she doesn’t say a word for a long, loaded moment.

  Then she whispers, “Fine. See you later, brother. Good luck with all your very important business.”

  Then she turns and runs down the hall, slipping into the elevator behind two women dressed in childcare worker uniforms.

  I hesitate a beat, wondering if I should call someone to head to the gym to check on her, but Hermione is getting some much-needed rest, and Diana will likely be easier to talk to after her run.

  And I should be the one to talk to her.

  She’s my sister, and I love her. I need to mend the rift between us as best I can. With time to prepare, I can find a way to make her understand why I did what I did last night without spilling too many personal details.

  I believe that.

  Or I tell myself I do, right up to the moment I push inside Diana’s apartment to see Willow’s guards passed out on the kitchen floor and a note on the marble countertop that reads—

  Maxim,

  I’m gone. So is your sister.

  And you have no choice but to let us go.

  Don’t try to find us. If you do, and you force us back here, you won’t like what my pack gift has to say about you, Shadow King. Stay here, stay quiet, and I’ll do my best to save your pathetic excuse for a life.

  Come for me, and I will be your worst fucking nightmare.

  And that?

  That’s a promise, big bad. And I never break my promises.

  Here’s hoping our paths never cross again,

  -Willow

  I crush the paper in my fist, my jaw clenching so tight it feels like it’s about to snap in half.

  Then I grab my phone and put out an all-points alert for the capture and containment of both Willow and Diana.

  There’s no way my sister’s been able to get out of the building yet. I will catch her, and Willow, and then we’ll all have a long talk about what comes next for fated mates who threaten their Alphas and sisters who betray their brothers.

  Willow clearly assumes she’s in control.

  But she has another think coming.

  I’m no Shadow King. I’m a man determined to keep the people he loves safe, even if he has to hold them prisoner to make that happen.

  “You can run, little wolf,” I mutter as I pace in front of Diana’s windows, waiting for the medics to arrive for the guards. “But I will catch you.”

  And I will.

  It’s only a matter of time.

  Willow and Maxim’s story continues in

  WOLF QUEEN

  Available Here.

  (The Wolves of New York series

  is complete and ready to binge!)

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  And keep reading for a sneak peek

  of UNLEASHED, the first in the Dark Moon

  Shifter
series.

  About the Author

  Bella Jacobs loves pulse-pounding action, fantasy, and supernaturally high stakes, mixed with swoon-worthy romance and unforgettable heroes. She's been a full time writer for over a decade and is deeply grateful for the chance to play pretend for a living.

  She writes as Bella for her trips to the dark side and can't wait to take you on her next adventure.

  Visit her at www.bellajacobsbooks.com

  Also by Bella Jacobs

  Wolves of New York Series

  Wolf King

  Wolf Pawn

  Wolf Queen

  Wolf Mate

  The Dark Moon Shifter Series

  Unleashed

  Untamed

  Unbroken

  Supernatural in Seattle Series

  Fangs for Sharing

  Sneak Peek

  Please enjoy this excerpt from

  UNLEASHED

  by Bella Jacobs!

  ABOUT THE BOOK

  One woman on the run. Four dangerously sexy bodyguards. And a war brewing that will change the shifter world forever…

  I’m living on borrowed time, fighting for survival against a deadly new virus that has no cure and a cult doing its best to brainwash me. But when a mysterious note shows up on my windowsill one night, its chilling message--Run, Wren--launches me out of the frying pan and into the fire.

  Within hours, everything I thought I knew about my life, my family, and my origins is obliterated, and I'm racking up enemies at an alarming rate. Between the cult I've just escaped, a violent shifter faction out for my blood, and an ancient evil who eats "chosen ones" like me for breakfast, my last hope is to join forces with four dangerous-looking men who claim they were sent to guard my life.

  Luke, a werewolf with a rap sheet. Creedence, a lynx shifter who never met a mark he couldn’t con. Kite, a bear kin with a mean right hook and heart of gold. And Dust, my childhood best friend and dude voted least likely to be a secret shape-shifting griffin.

  But are these men really what they seem?

  Or are my alpha guardians hiding a secret agenda of their own?

  I’m not sure, but one thing is for certain—choosing the right allies will mean the difference between life and death. For me, and everyone I love…

  WREN

  I’m about to retreat to my room to find my center, but before I can make it out of the kitchen, the door bursts open and my mom calls, “Wren, baby! There you are! Oh honey, I’m so glad you’re home!”

  A moment later, her arms are around me from behind, hugging me tight before turning me gently around and lifting her shaking hands to my face. She’s barely five feet and a smidge tall, a good seven inches shorter than my five eight, but Abby Frame has a presence that fills a room.

  I’m immediately enveloped in her warm energy and the glow of her smile as she says, “It’s happening, sweetheart, the day we’ve been praying for.”

  “What’s happening?” I glance up at Pops, who’s still standing by the door, his muddy boots on the mat.

  He smiles tentatively in response, hope and caution warring in his brown eyes as he waves Mom’s way. “Let Abby tell it. She’s the one who found the doctor. She should get to share the good news.”

  I shift my focus back to Mom, forehead furrowing. “Another doctor? Mom, you know I’m happy to go see anyone you want me to see, but I’ve already been to—”

  “Not just a doctor,” Mom breaks in, practically prancing in place as she grips both of my hands tightly in hers. “A research scientist and doctor on the cutting edge of Meltdown virus research, who’s just put four children into permanent remission with his new procedure. Six months out, and there are no signs of the virus returning. And we got word this afternoon that the doctor has room for you on his schedule! You’re next on the list!”

  “Seriously?” My pulse picks up even as my brain fights to keep my blood pressure steady. The brain realized hope is dangerous a long time ago, but the heart never learns. “When? How? What are the success rates? The risks?” The questions spill out of me, but I don’t really care about those things. I’m ready for anything, no matter what the risk vs. reward ratio. If there’s even the ghost of a chance that I can get better, I want that.

  I want to live, to dream big instead of editing every ambition. I want to look into my future and see endless possibilities and love and maybe those children Mom was wishing for.

  My head spins with excitement, making it hard to concentrate on her words as she begins to lay out the details of the procedure.

  But by the time she gets to the risks, I’ve regained my focus.

  “There have been some fatalities. About two percent for children, closer to thirty percent for teens.” Worry creeps into her pale-blue eyes, such a close match to my own that people have always assumed she’s my birth mom, even though that’s where the resemblance between us ends. “You’ll be Dr. Highborn’s oldest patient so far, and that likely means an even higher risk of complications. But when I explained your situation, how…” She swallows. “How hard things have been lately, well…”

  How hard…

  When she explained that I’m dying. That’s what she means. We’ve all been dancing around it for months, looking the other way, “Tra-la-la nothing to see here, folks,” while my organs slowly began to fail.

  But here it is, laid out in the cool, mint-and-earth scented air.

  Pops must have been working in the herb garden, one part of me observes as another solemnly acknowledges, There goes any doubt about that. You really are dying. You haven’t been being a big melodramatic baby, after all.

  “I’m dying.” A sinkhole opens in my chest that widens to encompass the kitchen and then the house and then the entire neighborhood. I feel like I’m in free fall—panicked and helpless as I tumble through an endless black void—but strangely peaceful at the same time.

  There’s a power in labeling things.

  In facing them.

  In looking a monster right in the eye and calling it by its name.

  Death, I see you there. I know you’re watching, but I’ve got my eye on you, too, motherfuckah…

  “No, you’re not,” Mom says, the words as fierce as she is, my tough little mama who has always refused to give up on me, no matter what. “You’re going to be Dr. Highborn’s first adult success story. You’ve got a good chance, Wren. You’re not that far out of adolescence. I mean, as far as I can see, you look the same as you did the day you turned eighteen.”

  “Never could put any meat on your bones.” Pops comes to stand behind Mom, leaving muddy footprints on the tile. His tone is calm and easy, but those footprints make it clear how upset he is.

  Pops doesn’t track in dirt. He lives to get dirt under his fingernails, but he’s too proud of our home to muck it up. He doesn’t own the bungalow, not even after thirty years of on-time disbursements to pay off the second mortgage, but he loves it.

  It’s hard to pay off a house when you’re shelling out thousands of dollars a month for experimental medicine our insurance won’t cover. Even with the help of the Church of Humanity Compassion House scholarship fund, my sickness has brought our family to the brink of financial ruin more than once.

  “How much is it going to cost?” I ask, my voice small, guilt pressing down on my shoulders again.

  I want to live, God knows I do, but I don’t want to ruin my parents in the process. Especially since it sounds like this is a long shot for me, as the first adult guinea pig of this new procedure.

  Mom’s eyes fill, but I know immediately it’s her angry cry, not her sad one. Her gaze is on fire behind the shimmer, and I half expect her to send me to my room for a time out until I learn to control my temper, the way she did when I first came to live with her as a feral four-year-old determined to tear off my clothes and run wild through the neighborhood every chance I got.

  “Don’t you dare, Wren Frame.” She sniffs, and her lips pucker into a crooked bow at the center of her face. “D
on’t you dare talk money at a time like this. Your life doesn’t have a price. We’ve already talked to the bank about a third mortgage, and the lender promised we’d be approved.”

  “But then you’ll never pay off the house,” I say, some twisted part of me driven to make the argument for letting me die, for avoiding the risk when there’s a very real chance there will be no reward.

  “Wren, I swear—”

  “Screw the house.” Pops’s uncharacteristic curse is so firm and loud that Mom and I both turn his way, our eyes going wide. “I don’t care if we lose the house. It’s worth it. Even if there are no guarantees…” He trails off, his throat working as he swallows. “Even a chance is worth it to me. Anything to help my baby girl.”

  And that does it. Those two sweet words from the sweetest man I know break me. My face crumples as I lean into my parents, tears making my voice thick as they wrap me up in their arms. “I love you, Pops. Mom. I love you both so much.”

  “And we love you, miracle girl.” Mom uses the old nickname, the one she and Pops stopped using months ago when my health started to fail like all the others.

  Most people with my condition don’t make it out of their teens, and only a precious few see thirty. If I’m the luckiest of the lucky, I could have six more years.

  I literally have nothing to lose.

  Nothing, except the chance to know what it would be like to be more than friends with the man who, just this afternoon, splashed color all over my black-and-white world, showing me brilliant new things I wasn’t sure existed before.