Hunting Season

by Kate Rudolph

  Luna spun around on the stool to better face Stasia. "I'm sorry to abandon you, but it's a great opportunity."

  "You're not abandoning me." Jobs changed, this was fine. Really. Stasia would get over it.

  But Luna still wasn't done talking. "I just know your schedule is sporadic. I didn't want to disappear on you."

  Right. That would have been much worse. Luna was her friend, and Stasia didn't know if it would last beyond this job, but at least Luna was warning her. "Thanks for letting me know. And good luck."

  Luna had to go help a patient, and Stasia couldn't stick around. She had another meeting to go to, though this one wasn't on any schedule.

  As she stepped outside, she didn't see Owen or her security detail, but she was sure they were following. Her father didn't hire imbeciles. She headed back down to the subway and got on a train towards Midtown.

  Owen magically appeared next to her, and Stasia hated that she was a little relieved. That half a second where she'd thought Luna was about to betray her had been a shock, and the trauma of yesterday was still a little too close.

  "Where are we going now?" Owen asked with a smile, his dark hair ruffled and dangerously sexy.

  She hated it. How was this guy so upbeat? And hot? She had treated him like crap, ignored him for hours, and now he was all smiles. What was wrong with him?

  "I guess you'll find out."

  They didn't speak any more. Stasia had been talking to patients for hours and it was tiring. She didn't need to spar with the guy she was about to get rid of.

  Their stop came up fast and Owen followed her off the train without a word. Men and women in suits crowded the Midtown sidewalks and Stasia kept a wary eye out, certain one of these people meant her harm.

  No one accosted them and they made it safely to the Selby Building, its signature door surrounded by twisting crimson sculpted lines almost as familiar as home after all these years.

  She already had her badge ready and waved it across the sensor to get into the elevator to go to the executive floor. Her father's office was the biggest, of course, with windows that wrapped around the corner and allowed him to look out over all of Manhattan.

  When she was little, she used to think looking out of these windows let her see the entire world.

  Her father wasn't sitting behind his desk, and the surface of the desk was completely empty, a sign that he wasn't coming back for the day.

  One of his assistants, Melody, if Stasia recalled the name correctly, came in. She wore a lavender pant suit and had her blonde hair held back in a tight bun. "He flew out for a meeting this morning. Is there something I can help you with, Dr. Nichols?"

  Stasia liked Melody. She hoped her father didn't end up marrying her when he got bored with Riley. "My brother?" she asked. AR was a decent substitute.

  "I'll get him." Melody hurried out of the office.

  Owen stood quietly beside her as they waited, swaying a little as if he couldn't quite manage to keep still. She wanted to reach a hand out to stop him from moving, but she feared a part of that was just because she wanted an excuse to touch him.

  No. She wasn't doing that.

  Thankfully, AR walked in before Stasia's baser instincts could take over. At forty-four, AR was ten years older than her and the heir apparent to their father's empire. He was the oldest, the only child from her father's first marriage, and the man she and her siblings turned to when they couldn't get ahold of Armand Selby.

  It didn't mean they were close. Stasia tried to think of the last time she'd seen her brother. Thanksgiving? Christmas? No, he'd skipped the holidays because of a work event. No matter what, it had been months.

  AR took a seat behind their father's desk like he owned it and placed a leather bound folio in front of him. He gestured for her and Owen to take their seats, but Stasia remained standing. Owen followed her lead.

  Interesting.

  "I was pulled off an important call for this." AR blew out a breath in frustration.

  "I'm sure." Every call was important when billions were on the line. But she could make this easy enough. "Fire him and you can get right back to exploiting poverty-stricken nations."

  Owen's head snapped her way, mouth dropping open. "Really?"

  "Really?" Her brother was more droll.

  Stasia wanted to pace, but she focused all that energy internally and spoke. "I agreed to the detail while you looked into the issue. Surveillance at a distance. Not a full time babysitter."

  "I'm not—"

  "Talking right now." She shot Owen a glare as she spoke, just to make sure he understood. Owen might have been present, but this wasn't his conversation.

  AR leaned back in their father's chair and crossed his arms. "I want you safe."

  She believed it—she and AR weren't close, but they were still family. That didn't mean he got to make decisions for her, though. "And your people can't keep me safe enough?"

  "Stas…"

  "Answer my question." Selby Group employed utterly competent people and Stasia had already made a big concession to allow them to watch her.

  But AR had clearly expected this. He opened up the folio on the desk to reveal a tablet. He swiped at the screen to wake it up and then scrolled to find what he was looking for before swiveling it around for her to take a look.

  Stasia approached the desk and looked, but she wasn't sure what she was seeing.

  "Security found evidence of surveillance in an empty condo across the street from yours," he told her as he scrolled to the next image, which showed an empty apartment. "When we scanned your phone they found spyware. They removed it. This wasn't random and it could happen again. Your best shot at safety is to let…" he looked at Owen as he trailed off and then continued, "Gibson's guy protect you."

  Stasia felt strangely offended that AR hadn't bothered to learn Owen's name. If he wanted to know something, he knew it. "His name is Owen. Who the fuck is Gibson?"

  Owen spoke up. "My boss."

  "A friend," AR added. "I knew you wouldn't trust one of my men so close to you. Owen doesn't report to me—not your comings and goings, not your job, nothing but direct threats to your safety. I know you, Stas, give me a bit of credit."

  She really didn't want to. But AR had thought this through. It wasn't like she thought this was some big conspiracy between AR and Owen to watch her every move. She appreciated that her brother had thought about her feelings.

  She pulled the tablet closer and scrolled through the pictures. There were the telltale white bricks of her building. And there was Gramercy Park. It was where she lived her life.

  A shiver threatened to overtake her and her fingers started to shake. Owen took half a step closer to her, as if he sensed her unease. Strangely, that made her feel a little better.

  "You said this will be taken care of in a week?" Her voice didn't shake. She didn't sound scared. Good.

  "I hope so. My investigators are good. If it drags on for more than a week, we reassess."

  She didn't like the thought of the investigation going longer, but it had to be acknowledged. "Is this worse than Bermeja?" She'd hoped that would be the worst attack of her life, and since she'd had to overhaul her entire career afterwards, she didn't want to experience it again.

  A dark look crossed AR's face. "They put hands on you."

  "I don't want to uproot my life again." She'd had a path, a mission. All that was gone now.

  "I'm going to make sure that doesn't happen. We like you here in New York." He said it with enough conviction that she almost believed him. Then his tone shifted to something falsely joyous. "You're coming to the birthday party, right?"

  "I don't get to claim attempted kidnapping to get out of that? I've seen the kid once!" What was it with the kid's birthday party? What toddler wanted full grown, childless adults hanging out around her?

  Her brother laughed, showing no mercy. "She's our sister. And you have a bodyguard."

  "Half-sister." She turned to Owen with a sour look. "Y
ou're fired."

  That declaration startled a laugh out of her bodyguard.

  "It won't be that bad," AR tried to reassure her.

  Stasia had been down this road before. "We'll see…" Then her mind snagged on a worry that had been percolating for awhile. "Are they after me because of anything the company is doing? Should I know anything?"

  "We won't let you get hurt," he promised.

  That wasn't an answer, and as she and Owen left, she couldn't help but wonder what her brother and the Selby Group were hiding.

  Chapter Seven

  Stasia had a library. Of course she did. Wasn't that a requirement of rich people in these kind of places? The cherry paneling gave the entire room an old world feel that was at odds with what Owen had observed of the doctor. And it made the room dark, despite the sunshine streaming in through the windows. Three lamps were shining bright to combat the darkness, and there were still pockets of shadow around the room.

  Judging by the desk, the library doubled as Stasia's office, but the two large couches made it a decent place to have a meeting with the security detail. This was the first time Owen was officially meeting anyone other than Peters, and he wanted to make sure they were just who Stasia needed to keep her safe.

  Peters was backed up by Doug Griffin, Rene Beaufort, Russ Hill, Jessie Morgan, and Cathy Rivera. The six person team was working in three shifts with hours overlapping so four people would be watching Stasia during the core hours of eight AM to eight PM. Stasia wasn't the type to go out much on weeknights, apparently, so night coverage was less than day.

  From the way the surveillance team sat, Owen was willing to guess that half of them were ex-military: Beaufort, Morgan, and Rivera. He wasn't sure about the others. His attention kept snagging on Hill.

  Russ Hill was probably Owen's age, maybe a little older, and had the kind of All American good looks that made people very surprised when a man turned out to be a serial killer. Not that Hill was a serial killer.

  Probably not.

  But he captured Owen's attention, and Owen still didn't know why. Had they served together? Gone to school together? Rode the subway together? His mind was caught on the puzzle, which only had him half listening to Peters as he went over the protocols Stasia was supposed to be following.

  "You'll liaise with me during core hours," Peters was telling them, "and then Rivera or Griffin during their shifts. Any questions?"

  Stasia sat at her desk and leaned back in the chair, thinking for a moment before shaking her head. "I appreciate that you're here to help me. I'll try to make this as painless as possible for you."

  That would have startled a sound out of Owen if he wasn't still snagged on Hill. He didn't like that guy and he couldn't put his finger on why. But since Stasia had no questions, the meeting was over. The surveillance team got up and started filing out of the room.

  Did Owen need to bring up his uneasiness about Hill? Or was he on high alert and overreacting?

  Hill made it to the door and looked over his shoulder, his face half-obscured by one of the room's deep shadows. Seeing him like that was enough to trigger a dark memory in Owen, one he would never be able to forget.

  How could a person forget the night their life changed forever?

  Dense forest. Denser shadows. Torches flickering in a slight breeze, barely illuminating the clearing around them. It was like something out of an ancient fairy tale. The Black Forest, evil magic, scary sigils dug into old trees, and the scent of decay in the air.

  One moment Owen had been heading back to base, the next he awoke, bound with thick rope and barely able to move.

  There was red paint—he hoped it was paint—all over his naked arms and chest, and the wooden slab under him felt worn from years of use.

  At first he could barely make out the forms at the edge of the light, and then he was certain they were demons sent to drag him to hell. Owen had never been more than casually religious. Until now. Now he would pray to every saint to save him.

  But no one was coming.

  In the shadows, he saw a form wearing a giant animal's pelt, head and all, like a robe. There were other fur clad figures, but interspersed with them were normal looking people, men and women in fatigues holding guns.

  The flashback let Owen out and he jerked in his seat, barely managing to hold in his gasp.

  "Are you alright?" Stasia asked.

  "Fine." How was he supposed to answer that? I think one of your surveillance team kidnapped me two years ago and turned me into a werewolf. Yeah, not happening. Already he was beginning to doubt the memory. Why would Russ Hill have been there? And why would a guy who had something to do with secret German werewolf rituals be guarding an heiress in New York?

  Then again, anyone could ask why a werewolf was guarding a New York heiress. All Owen could tell them was that the job market was weird.

  "Did you know your security detail before today?" He wasn't willing to dismiss that memory as fantasy. Just because he couldn't think of a reason why Hill would have been in Germany didn't mean there wasn't one.

  She shook her head. "No, they're my father's people. Should I be concerned?"

  "No. I'm sure it's fine." He had to think more before he said anything about Hill. Accusing him without more information could open up a can of worms he wasn't ready to deal with.

  He probably needed to talk to Gibson.

  But Stasia had her teeth in it and didn't want to let go. "Is it? You look like you've seen a ghost."

  Of course she was the type that couldn't let a thing like that go. But he didn't want her focusing on it, and he certainly couldn't explain werewolves. Not yet. Not to her.

  It was time to change the subject. "What did your brother mean when he said Bermeja? That's in the Caribbean, right? My file says you lived there for a bit. What were you, some resort doctor or something? Living it up?"

  She pushed up from her chair and took a step towards him, gray eyes fiery with indignation. "Excuse me?"

  He'd said something wrong. He could feel it. But there was no backing out now. And a part of him wanted to see how she would fight. She seemed like a good sparring partner. "Your brother said something happened to you in Bermeja." He pushed off the wall he'd been leaning on and stalked closer to her.

  She didn't back down. If anything, his presence fueled her fire. "I was almost kidnapped, but they didn't get as close as the guy got yesterday." She said it with the kind of detachment that came after reciting a terrible story over and over again. "And I was providing medical support after one of the island's hospitals was destroyed after Hurricane Charles a few years ago. Not much time to sip Mai Tais on the beach, I'm afraid."

  "Oh." He should have read the file closer. And he should have read it again after meeting her. Nothing about the woman he'd been following all day matched with the picture he'd drawn in his head. He needed to stop judging her against what he expected.

  But now Stasia was on a roll. "I get it. You think I'm some spoiled princess with too much money and a daddy ready to sweep in and solve every problem."

  She was spoiling for a fight, and the shock of seeing Hill, of that flashback, was still fresh in his mind, keeping him on edge. Owen knew he should deescalate, but he was right on the edge and he wanted more.

  He ran his hand over the cherry wood of one of the shelves. "This house sure says so. What's it cost? Three, four million?" He shared a place with Andre out in Queens, and even there the rent was disgusting.

  She shook her head. "I'm not defending myself to you."

  Somehow they'd ended up standing close together. All Owen had to do was reach out and pull her body flush with his before he covered her mouth with his lips and gave her the searing kiss she deserved.

  She was thinking the same thing. Her eyes flicked down to his lips and then back up to meet his. Was that a dare he saw? Or was he aching too much to read this right?

  His wolf whimpered and scratched inside of his skin, begging him to take her, to make her his. He wa
nted her wearing his mark, wanted everyone to know that she belonged to him. It was primal and possessive and nothing like Owen had ever felt before.

  It terrified him, and yet he couldn't back away from it.

  Stasia held a hand up, just an inch away from his chest. He leaned in against it and could feel his heart pounding against her palm.

  Her tongue darted out and wet her lips. This was happening. Nothing in the world was strong enough to tear them apart.

  Nothing except for the good doctor herself.

  She jerked her hand away and took two steps so she was half out the library door. "I'm in for the night. No more running away. You can sleep in the guest room."

  She was running away. She could feel the heat pounding between them. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. But she was running.

  And his wolf was eager for the chase.

  Chapter Eight

  Was she out of her goddamn mind? In the hour since the meeting with her security detail, Stasia had been hiding in her room. She could pretend it was because it was the most secure room in her house, but she wasn't sure that was accurate. And it definitely wasn't true.

  She was hiding from Owen.

  She could still feel the heat of his body on her hand, the imprint of his skin and muscles, even if there had been his shirt between them. And now all she could imagine was what it would feel like if that shirt wasn't there. Would he be as toned as she imagined? Would he have chest hair for her fingers to play in? Or would he be all smooth and sleek?

  Thinking about it was going to drive her nuts. It was all just hormones and pent up horniness. She hadn't been laid since… oh god, she couldn't remember the last time she had sex. She wasn't exactly the cuddly type and relationships didn't come easy. And one night stands? No, thanks. She needed to know her bed partners.

  She didn't know Owen, but that didn't seem to matter to her brain… or her lady bits.