* * *
As she took the last stack of books from her cart, the quiet of the library soothing her, Claire fought another rush of tears as though her life depended on it.
Irish. He was all she’d thought about all day long.
While she’d smiled and read stories to the elementary school’s first grade class, as she’d eaten her lunch with Freya, and while she’d hunted down a copy of To Kill A Mockingbird for Mr. Beechum, explaining that it wouldn’t actually teach him how to kill one, she’d managed to stave off tears.
But now that she was alone, and she had the time to remember everything, she just wanted to collapse. Gannon, her night with Irish, it all came rushing back in painful stabs, replaying the events in her mind over and over.
The town was in a total uproar over Gannon’s disappearance, the gossip of his whereabouts ranging from reasonable supposition to the outright ridiculous. She’d even garnered a few sympathetic glances from female pack members who’d obviously missed how vocal she’d been in her disgust of him.
What went down with Gannon weighed as heavily on her mind as what went down with Irish. Her heart began an irregular beat, the one always reserved for Irish alone.
She’d known last night was it. She just didn’t know how to remind her aching heart. Was it better to have had one night with him and experience the kind of bliss she didn’t know existed? Or was it better to have always wondered?
Surely she’d never be able to forget the imprint he’d left—his indelible mark had branded her, and she wanted him more than ever.
But he was right about his sister Hadley and about the rules of the pack.
Hadley… She couldn’t think about Hadley without more tears stinging her eyes.
Lost in thought while she forced herself to stroll the aisles, replacing books, she smacked right into her cart, tipping it over and knocking the books across the floor.
She’d dropped to her knees to gather them up when someone said, “Miss Claire?”
Startled, she looked up to find Hadley’s friend Sarah looking down at her, her eerily pale skin glowing in the dim lights of the library. Claire hid her own face in an effort to wipe her eyes dry with her thumb. “Sarah, what are you still doing here? I thought everyone was gone. I was just getting ready to close up shop for the night.”
Sarah’s eyes shone a dark gray, a look of sheer determination in them. “I need a book.”
There was nothing she liked better than knowing a child wanted a book, especially a teenage child. It was almost a guaranteed feel-good moment. Except for today. Today, she wanted to go home, strip her clothes off, put on her ugliest faded nightgown, climb under her covers, and sleep off this nightmare. “Can it wait until tomorrow? I’m pretty tired tonight, honey.”
“No!” she yelped, then looked around, quieting her voice, her eyes everywhere but on Claire’s face. “Sorry. No, it can’t wait. I need it tonight. It’s for a friend.”
Alarm bells began to go off in her head. Claire rose, putting her hand on Sarah’s arm, her ears alert, tuning into the young vampire’s body language. “What kind of book?”
Sarah looked right past her as she hiked her purple backpack up on her shoulder. “A book for when something bad happens to you. Like, you know, a…a trauma.”
Claire gazed down at this lanky slip of a girl and her chest tightened. “What kind of a trauma, Sarah?”
Sarah didn’t have the time to answer before the roar of motorcycles and the sound of pounding footsteps and angry voices invaded the library. Claire thrust Sarah behind her, feeling the young girl tremble.
“Claire Montgomery!” someone shouted. “Where the fuck are you?”
Courtland? Fear slithered along her spine, rooting itself deep in her belly, but she couldn’t let them see that. She wouldn’t let them see that.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped out from behind the towering bookshelves, crossing her arms over her chest. “Is that you, Courtland Dodd? How dare you barge into my library with your brainless posse like a herd of cattle!”
Courtland and the Dogs came around the corner, stalking toward her, their faces bright with rage. Courtland moved in close, almost forcing her to cower from the stench of him until she remembered he’d eat that up with a spoon.
So she jammed her face in his, snarling, revealing her canines in a threat before retracting them. “Are you here to check out a book? Maybe one on the benefits of bathing?”
“Shut up, you bitch!” he roared in her face, his incisors pushing against his lips, turning jagged as he fought the shift. “Shut up or I’ll shut you up myself!”
“There’s a child here, Courtland! Mind your filthy mouth!” Sarah shook violently behind her, clinging to Claire’s arm. “Go home, Sarah. Go home now,” she ordered.
But Sarah clutched her sweater, shivering harder. “I’m not leaving…you here…alone.”
Glaring up at Courtland, she squeezed Sarah’s hand to reassure her. “It’s okay, Sarah. I promise. Go home. Please.”
Sarah sobbed, but Claire heard her back away, heard the scuffle of her feet as she ran for the door behind them.
Lifting her chin, she narrowed her eyes at Courtland. “So what’s this about? Hasn’t big brother come home from the Zone yet? Are you lonesome?”
Courtland snatched her by the arm, lifting her off her feet with a feral growl. “I know what you did, you bitch, and I’m gonna make sure you die for it!”
White-hot pangs of pain shot up her arm, making her grit her teeth to keep from screaming. She grabbed Courtland by the collar and gave him a good hard shake, rattling the earring in his left lobe. “If you don’t put me down, I don’t care how much mouthwash I have to invest in afterward, I’ll eat your face off!” she seethed.
But Courtland shook back, only fiercer, and then dropped her, kicking her so sharply in the ribs she went flying across the floor.
Her head smacked against the radiator with a crack left echoing in her ears. Claire reached behind her, using the heating element for support to sit up, fighting a groan at the shooting spears of pain.
Her head pounded as the Dogs surrounded her, condemnation in their eyes. They knew something. Jesus Christ, they knew. “Get out, Courtland,” she managed to say, fighting a wave of dizziness so violent, she thought she’d pass out. “I don’t know what kind of crazy you’re spewing, but you get the hell out of my library now!”
Courtland bent down to glare at her, putting his hands on his knees, his thick lips forming a sneer. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, you lying bitch. You killed Gannon—and I have a fucking witness!”
Everything stopped in that moment. The world stopped spinning. She stopped breathing.
The time to pay the piper has come, Claire Montgomery.
But then Irish was there, right behind Courtland, putting his gloved hand on Courtland’s shoulder and shoving him roughly out of the way. He gathered Claire up, wrapping his thick arm around her waist to support her. “Back off, Courtland, or I’ll drain you so dry you’ll turn to dust. Right here in front of all your little girlfriends.”
There was a stir in the crowd when Irish’s brother Liam, second in charge of the Fangs, pushed his way past the Dogs to stand beside him.
He affected a defensive stance as the Fangs flanked Courtland’s crew. “Now what’s the problem here, Courtland, and why are you knocking a woman around? Is fighting with the big boys too scary?” Liam taunted, to the tune of laughter from the Fangs.
Courtland’s lips flattened, his face full of rage. “Let her go, Irish. Give her to me. This is pack business.”
Irish rolled his eyes. “Tsk-tsk, Courtland. Didn’t we go through this last night? Harassing a woman is mutual business. Now, what’s going on?” he demanded, tucking her closer as her heart sped up and she fought the urge to collapse in his arms.
“She killed Gannon, and I have a witness. That makes this pack business, Blood Lover. Now hand her the fuck over!”
Irish set her beh
ind him with a protective arm before approaching Courtland, his eyes narrowed, his expression made of granite. “Then your witness is a dumber fuck than you are.”
There was another ripple in the crowd of Dogs, the air in the room draining in tense increments.
Claire’s legs began to fail. She clung to consciousness, afraid of what Irish meant. Oh God. He couldn’t know. Could he? She pushed her way between the two men, searching Irish’s face, sending him subtle signals with her eyes to keep his mouth shut.
As she began to teeter, Courtland’s beady eyes went suspicious. “What the hell does that mean?”
Irish tilted his jaw, rolling his tongue along the inside of his cheek before he said, “Your witness is wrong. Claire didn’t kill Gannon. I did.”
To be continued…
(Cue evil soap opera music)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Dakota Cassidy is the nationally bestselling author of more than thirty books. She lives in the gorgeous state of Oregon with her real life hero and her dogs, and she loves hearing from readers!
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Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Other Works by Dakota Cassidy
Note From The Author
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
JOIN Dakota Cassidy’s Newsletter, The Tiara Diaries!
Killing the Alpha: Fangs of Anarchy part 1 Page 5