by Ava Benton
“I was face-to-face with him. He’s sick. His eyes were red, with black rings around the irises.”
Roan stopped pacing and stared at me with his jaw almost on the floor. “He fed off a rabid animal,” he announced.
“Yeah. He must have. It explains the chances he’s taking, too. I mean, it was bad enough that he attacked Maggie the first time. To show up in broad daylight? He’s pushing his luck.”
“It’s not just that,” Drew said. “We went to the bar where Vincent’s spy first heard about the attack from the guy himself. His name is Kurt Mitchell, and up until about four months ago he was a normal enough guy.”
“Tiger shifter,” Carter added.
“Yeah. So everybody at the bar agreed he seemed to make a change around three or four months ago. He’s moody, angry, tense. He went from being everybody’s friend to being that guy you want to avoid when you see him.”
“He was shooting his mouth off almost a week ago, talking about some bitch he followed to work one day. He saw her at some coffee shop and waited all day for her to get out. He couldn’t get her out of his head, he said.” Carter glanced at his brother.
“And?” I prompted.
His face fell. “And he said a car came by, and that was the only reason he didn’t get what he wanted from her. But he would.”
It was enough to push me over the edge. I started breathing heavy. I was about to let go.
“Control yourself,” Roan ordered in a sharp voice.
“... can’t…” I panted, feeling that familiar pull deep inside me.
The dire wolf in me roared just like it had back in the parking lot, when I had wanted more than anything to tear the shifter limb from limb. And I could have, if we weren’t in public. And if she wasn’t watching. I was afraid of what she would do if she saw me shift.
“What’ll she do if she sees you like this?” he asked. That got through to me, just like it had in the parking lot. It was enough to keep me holding onto my human consciousness. I breathed more slowly and felt more and more like myself until the urge to shift was no longer there.
I looked around at them. “That’s why I went after him. I’m telling you, I could feel what he wanted to do. It was that clear. Maybe it’s the sickness, I don’t know, but he wasn’t able to hide what he was thinking. It was almost like I could hear him. He might as well have been talking right to me.”
“I guess that’s possible.” Roan glanced out the door to where Maggie was waiting. “And she knows now?”
“It was kinda hard to hide it when I fought the shifter—Kurt,” I amended. “I mean, no human could’ve made it through that the way I did. I wasn’t even bleeding anymore by the time we got to the hotel.” I lifted my shirt to show them how my wounds were starting to close over. It had been a couple of hours and would probably be a couple more before the scars faded away.
“And she didn’t run screaming?” Drew asked.
“I think she was too deep in shock,” I said. I couldn’t tell them about the way she looked at me, how disgusted she obviously was. How much it stung to know I disgusted her.
“She’ll get over it. Hope did,” Roan offered.
“That’s different. She was already hot for you at the time,” Carter chuckled.
“What can I say? I’m irresistible.” Roan glanced at me but didn’t say anything. He knew how I felt, didn’t he? He must have known. Did it tear him up inside when she first shrank away from him the way it stung worse than the wounds on my chest when Maggie did it to me?
My cousins left, promising they would find out more about Kurt. Roan told me he would call Vincent and inform him of what was going on. We were close to zeroing in on our man. Maybe if he had the name, some of his guys could do a little detective work of their own.
Before he left the suite, Roan turned to me. “You can fool them, but I’m a different story. I know why you went after him. It’s the same reason why I went after the bear that tried to attack Hope in the woods.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He rolled his eyes. “You feel like you would do anything to keep her safe, right? Like she’s yours to protect. Like you would die if you let her down—if you let anything happen to her. Right? And how dare that fucker look at her the way he looked at her. How dare he have the sort of thoughts he was having. She’s yours. Not his. And you’ll kill him if he tries to touch her ever again.”
I couldn’t tell him he was wrong again. It would be too big a lie. “Do you ever get tired of being right?” I muttered.
He snorted. “Be careful with her. She’s still hurting over what happened.”
“You don’t have to tell me that,” I said with a smirk as he left. Some things, I didn’t need my big brother to tell me.
That left the two of us. Well, the one of me, since Maggie was still outside. I wondered if she would ever come in on her own. What did I have to do to get her to trust me again?
12
Maggie
Mom. I wish I could talk to you about this.
I wished I could’ve talked to anybody at all, frankly. It was one thing for Ramona to know I was attacked, but she didn’t know who my attacker was. And Bridget was a good friend, but she was a little too flaky. I could admit that about my closest friend. She might not be able to give me the support I needed—and she would probably freak out if she knew I was staying with a shifter.
A shifter. The thought made an icy shiver run down my spine. An animal. What would happen if he ever lost control around me? I could still see him throwing my attacker into that bus. I remembered the sight of his fangs extending.
The thought of leaving town was starting to look better all the time. It wasn’t fair that he didn’t tell me who he was before we started staying together. I should’ve known all the facts.
Not that it made a difference. I was between a rock and a hard place. Either leave town—and leave Mom—or rely on a bunch of shifters to protect me. I believed that they wanted to. They had my best interest in mind.
He could have died. That guy could’ve killed him because of me.
I shivered in spite of the late afternoon sun. It was so scary, watching him fight like that. Screaming his name, wanting him to stop and be safe. Knowing the way it felt when my heart leapt into my throat and almost choked me. The sight of all that blood, wondering how he could’ve survived that sort of attack. Knowing how. And all I could do was turn away from him when he only wanted to protect me.
He could’ve died because of me. How could I not trust him?
I stood up and decided it was time to go back inside. Time for the big girl panties to get pulled up. Time to swallow my pride and apologize.
He was alone—the others were already gone, and he sat on a stool at the breakfast bar. In one hand, he held a glass of liquor. “How did it go?” I asked in a tentative whisper.
“Fine, I guess. The guys are gonna continue taking care of things. We know the shifter’s name, by the way, and we know around how long he’s been sick—maybe three or four months.”
“What does that mean?” I took a few slow steps in his direction.
“It means his illness has progressed. He’s thinking less and less clearly, making big mistakes. Like your attack—morals and principles aside, it was a big risk. And a stupid one. He should’ve known better. Today, too. Big risk, big mistake. He’s unpredictable.”
“Great,” I muttered. He looked crazy, too. His hair was long, a sandy blond, dirty and knotted looking. Like he hadn’t washed or combed it in a long time. I could still remember the way he’d smelled when he was on top of me. Dirty, primal, raw. My nose wrinkled at the memory.
“Can I ask you a question?” I walked around the breakfast bar to the other side of the counter.
He was still looking down into his glass. “Sure. I’m an open book.”
“What do you turn into when you shift?”
A wry smile touched the corners of his mouth. “A dire wolf.”
“I didn’t think they existed.”
“They do. All four of us are dire wolves.”
I nodded, gritting my teeth. I didn’t know what to say or how to act all of a sudden. I told myself he was just Slate. Slate who had watched over me all day long while I worked. Slate who had spent days with me in the suite, reading and chatting and watching movies and eating way too much room service. It hadn’t always been easy or fun, but we had sort of fallen into an easy feeling together. I had been honestly, genuinely laughing when we were getting into the car earlier, before I saw the shifter across the parking lot. I wanted to get back to that feeling but didn’t know if it was possible.
“How’s your chest?” I asked.
“Getting better. Almost healed.”
“No way.” My mouth fell open.
He raised his eyes to meet mine. “Yeah. Practically.”
“But… I mean… you were bleeding out, for God’s sake! You were ground beef!”
He chuckled. “Wanna see?”
I winced. “I’m not sure. I don’t believe you.”
“I wouldn’t be sitting upright, having this conversation with you, if I wasn’t in pretty good shape. Right?”
“I guess…”
He grinned and lifted the front of his shirt until I could see everything from his collarbones down to the waistband of his jeans. Sure enough, the nasty, ugly gashes across his chest and abs were just angry lines, like bad scratches. Nothing more than that.
Before I knew what I was doing, I reached for him with one hand. My fingertips brushed against the lines that used to be deep cuts. “Does it hurt?” I whispered.
“Not even a little,” he murmured. I could barely breathe as I traced the path the shifter’s claws had carved in Slate’s flesh.
My intellect jumped in, and I pulled my hand back like his skin burned it. “Sorry,” I mumbled. What was I thinking?
“I don’t mind,” he said in a soft, low voice. A warm voice. What did he think of me, touching him like that? I could blame it on the stress, I guessed, and I would if he asked about it.
“I’m sorry,” I said again, then added, “not just about touching you. About everything. I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did.”
“It was natural. You’re a girl who doesn’t have a lot of knowledge about my world, is all. Humans and shifters don’t usually make it a point to hang out.”
“This explains so much,” I sighed. It felt good to get it out of my system.
“Like what?” he asked, folding his arms on top of the counter.
“Like… you have a very strong personality. I don’t usually like people with strong personalities.’
“Because you have one of your own,” he smirked.
“No, that’s not why.”
“Yeah, it is. And I feel the same way, for the record. I can tolerate my brother and cousins, but other people? Forget it.” His smirked turned to a smile. “Does that mean you like me?”
“It means I don’t hate you,” I murmured.
He still smiled. “I’m okay with that. Come on. You hungry? We’ll order something for you.”
“What about you?” I asked, following him to where the phone sat on an end table, just next to the room service menu.
“I’ll hunt later. I’m dying for one.”
I stopped in my tracks, and he realized his mistake before he even picked up the menu. His expression was sour when he turned to me. “I’m an ass. Sorry.”
“No, it’s okay. You can be who you are. I’m sorry if it takes me a minute to catch up, is all.” I forced myself to sit down and look through the menu like nothing was wrong. As long as he wasn’t hunting me, I guessed it wasn’t my business.
Where was he?
He had promised I would be completely safe, alone in the suite. I believed him… I guessed. What if the shifter had followed us there after that debacle in the parking lot? It was possible, wasn’t it? I guessed Slate and the others had made sure to warn the staff against letting anybody up to the suite—the elevator required key card access to even travel up to the top floor, and there was no way I could imagine to get around that. A shifter who was half-crazed wouldn’t be able to figure it out without bringing a lot of attention to himself.
So I was safe. But it didn’t matter how many times I told myself I was fine on my own. I couldn’t stop wishing Slate would come back already—I would never be able to fall asleep until he came back, no matter how long it took. He had been gone for over two hours when I paced back and forth in my room.
A hot bath. Yes, that would help me relax and would pass the time. I told myself that by the time I was finished soaking, he would be back and everything would be okay again. Hell, he’d probably be back by the time the giant master bathroom tub finished filling. I could’ve swum in it.
The water felt good as I lowered myself into it. My muscles immediately started to relax. The bruises were healing pretty well but were still a little tender. I couldn’t help but compare them to the gashes along Slate’s chest. What would it be like to heal almost instantly? Just like that, even a grave injury could be forgotten.
I told myself to let the water wash away all the tension, all the doubt. I didn’t want to feel any of it anymore. I wanted life to go back to normal—like that was possible after everything I had gone through. An entirely new world sat in front of me, and I didn’t know what to think about any of it. I hoped the guys killed that shifter and let me get back to my old life. If they were half as good as they told me they were, it wouldn’t take long. I was a creature of habit. I liked things to be a certain way.
But then, if they got rid of the shifter and let me go back to my life, I wouldn’t see Slate anymore.
What did that matter? He wasn’t anybody to me. Just another shifter, a dire wolf. What the hell would that be like to live with? I couldn’t imagine having an animal presence inside me, having to fight against it. I had the feeling Slate fought against his wolf and sometimes failed to keep it hidden. I understood why he growled sometimes, why he snapped and snarled when he was angry or feeling sharp with me. I understood the strength of his presence, how overwhelmed I sometimes felt even when he wasn’t saying a word to me. The way my senses sort of stood at attention when he was nearby, like when the little hairs on my arms stood up when he got too close. It all made a strange sort of sense, knowing what I did.
He was out there, somewhere, in his wolf form. Hunting. Tearing another animal apart. I dipped lower into the water, until it reached my chin. I wanted to dunk myself all the way under and never come up—that would be easier than trying to figure out what was going on in my head. Why he repulsed me and attracted me all at once.
Why I wanted him to come back more than anything. Even if he never said a word to me and went straight to bed, I would feel better just knowing he was there.
I heard a beeping sound. The card key sliding in and out of the lock at the front door, unlocking. The door swinging open. “Slate?” I called out.
No answer.
My heart raced, and my breath came fast and sharp. He was out there. The shifter. My attacker. He had found me, and he was going to tear me apart, turn the water in the tub red with my blood. And I wouldn’t heal instantly the way Slate did.
I got out of the tub and wrapped a towel around myself. “Slate?” I whispered, tiptoeing across the slick tile. Why wasn’t he answering if it was him out there? I could feel my pulse in every limb, right down to the ends of my fingers and toes. Every step toward the door felt like walking through semi-set concrete.
The knob on the door slowly turned. I watched, frozen in horror, wishing I could run away but knowing I couldn’t. My eyes darted around, looking for a weapon. What sort of weapon could stop a crazed shifter? When I saw the way he fought earlier and knew how strong he was?
I stood there, resigned to my fate, as the door swung open. And it was Slate, Slate who let out a sigh of relief. “I was scared to death when I came back and you weren’t in your room,�
� he breathed.
I didn’t say a word. I couldn’t speak if I tried. Instead, I threw myself into his arms, not caring that I was dripping wet and only wearing a towel. I wrapped my arms around his neck anyway and squeezed my eyes shut and was never so glad in my life to see anybody.
13
Maggie
“What’s this?” he murmured, surprised, but his arms closed around my back just the same. He was so warm—hot, even, just coming in from outside. It was like hugging hot granite, but that didn’t matter.
“I missed you,” I whispered, melting against him. My body seemed to tingle in his arms, pressed against his unforgiving chest. I never intended for anything like that to happen, to end up in his arms, but it had happened, and it was happening, and it felt right. Nothing had ever felt so right. It scared me.
He lowered his head until his lips skimmed my forehead. “You’re shaking.”
“I know. Hold me, please.” I couldn’t be close enough to him. I kissed his cheek, and a little bit of stubble there was rough against my lips. He turned his head in my direction and our lips touched. A bolt of electricity went straight through my body, almost making my hair stand on end. It was like something deep inside my soul cried out. Yes. Finally. This was what I needed. I needed his arms around me and his mouth moving against mine and his tongue probing and swirling and taking ownership of me. I sighed in relief. Finally, I could give in.
His hands slid over my back—gently, so gently, and something about that was right enough to bring tears to my eyes. He could’ve overwhelmed me and taken me any way he wanted to. He could’ve thrown me to the floor and crushed me under his massive body. Instead, he was kind and sweet—but just under the surface, there was a roiling, seething river of passion that could’ve drowned me. He was careful not to let that happen.
Instead, he gathered me up in his arms and carried me to my room like I weighed nothing. When he lowered me to the bed, I held my arms out to him. I just wanted him, all of him, against all of me. He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside before covering my body with his. Just the feeling of his skin against mine was satisfying, along with being able to run my hands over his smooth, firm, bulging arms and shoulders.