EnemyMine

by Aline Hunter

Something was definitely wrong.

  He stopped the men with him, lifting his hand as he reached for the handle on the door. “Stay here. Keep an eye out.”

  Several of the shifters growled their discontent, wanting to follow him, but they obeyed the command. If there was danger inside—or worse, a device that could blow them all to kingdom come—he wanted to make sure that the pack survived. Another loss like the one before would not only weaken the pack, it might possibly force them to branch out and seek other Alphas for protection. Not to mention they’d have to find a new Omega to keep things running smoothly in the city.

  Shit.

  There wasn’t even a squatter inside, the building nothing more than walls with flaking paint, dust that littered the stairs and garbage from people who had used the spot for refuge in the past. He thanked his shifter genes as he climbed the stairs, his footsteps blessedly quiet, allowing him to move without detection. Uneasiness continued to ride him, a nagging voice inside his head warning him all was not as it seemed.

  Ava’s scent grew stronger as he continued up, making his heart accelerate. His female was in danger and now she was within his reach. Possessive and protective instincts consumed him, making his fingers tingle as his nails became claws.

  Anyone near his mate was as good as dead.

  He knew he’d made it to his destination thanks to his nose. Drawing a large breath, he scented Ava, hoping to determine if she was injured. If she had been wounded, the damage was minimal. He couldn’t detect the rusty aroma of blood. Of the smells he’d identified earlier—of the men who’d recently been inside the room—only one lingered. However, the scent was fading, telling him the people responsible for his mate’s attack were gone.

  Cracking the door open with his boot, he peered inside, making out the edge of a bed. He allowed the wolf to rise, feeling fur brush the inside of his skin. His teeth sharpened, becoming long and deadly.

  With a swift kick, he knocked the door inward.

  The air shifted, the motion of the door sending a layer of dust spilling through the air but little else. His gaze flew to Ava, her small form resting on the stained mattress atop the cheap metal frame of the bed. Judging by the rust along the head and footboards, the bed had probably been abandoned around the same time the building was.

  “Ava?” he whispered and rushed to her.

  He growled when he kneeled, finally smelling a hint of her blood, seeing the circular rips in her sweater. Although he wasn’t certain, he had a pretty damn good feeling she’d been shot with darts of some kind. There was also a small circular bruise on her neck, the skin healed over and on the mend. She didn’t stir when he stroked the spot. Thankfully her chest rose and fell, the motions steady and smooth. Apparently the sedative was still working on her system, meaning the Shepherds had given her something strong enough to last.

  The heavy weight on his shoulders disappeared. Ava was here, and she was safe.

  Thank fucking Christ.

  He forced his claws to retreat as he turned her to her stomach and untied the ropes holding her hands at her back. Then he lifted her and brought her tiny body to his chest. “Let’s get out of here, Pinkie.”

  This time he didn’t hesitate or proceed with caution. He ran to the stairs and headed down. By now his inner alarm was practically shrilling. Something wasn’t wrong, it was totally fucked-up. Whatever the Shepherds had planned wasn’t good. The sooner he returned to the pack, the sooner he could figure out what was going on. The threat wasn’t visible but he could feel its presence. There was a heightened sense of awareness. The strange turn of events had been organized, a careful plan taking place right in front of him.

  And somehow—for some reason he wasn’t yet aware of—he, Ava and Trey were part of it.

  * * * * *

  Nathan clicked off his cell phone and tossed it on Diskant’s desk. All the calls were made, the Alphas in the areas closest to Shepherd compounds informed of their locations. If the packs were going to move against their enemies, they now had the information to do so. Until Diskant got back, he’d done all he could as the Beta of the pack.

  Feminine laughter drifted to the office from a bedroom upstairs, reminding Nathan he wasn’t alone. Although he was accustomed to Diskant and Ava’s mating, Emory and Mary’s pairing was brand new—meaning he couldn’t help but envy the man who’d found his destined female. At one hundred and thirty, he wasn’t as old as Diskant or Emory, but he experienced the need for his mate, the desire to find the one and only person who would complete him.

  How long would he wait? A decade? A century?

  His lifetime?

  He dry washed his face with his hand. Thinking about what he didn’t have would only make him an ass to everyone around him. The pack didn’t need that shit right now. Maybe it was time to take one of the shifter females up on their offer of a night of no-strings sex—sex that would quench his bestial hungers and give him a few months of peace. Lowering his hand, he grinned. Andrea had been pissed as hell when Caden had told her no. She’d probably love the chance to show the human what he was missing. What better way to establish her sexual prowess than a night in the Beta’s bed?

  A fracturing noise indicated the door leading to the garage opened. He cracked his neck, hoping for good news, and his sense of smell kicked in. Slowly he rose, forcing the wolf to remain silent instead of exhibiting a low, rumbly growl of warning. The scent was unfamiliar but he knew the intruder—no, he corrected himself as he picked up two other smells—intruders were human.

  With a quiet motion, he opened the desk drawer containing a gun. He unlatched the safety and stepped around the desk, walking toward the door. Whispered voices became louder and he heard footsteps approaching.

  “I’m going upstairs. Stay here,” a deep male voice instructed.

  Nathan almost growled again. Mary and Emory didn’t know they had company.

  Shit.

  The creak of the stairs as someone climbed put Nathan in motion. Emory needed to be warned there was a threat to his mate. Remaining silent until a window to protect the home arose wasn’t going to happen.

  “Yoohoo,” he said softly, getting the attention of two men at the foot of the stairs.

  They turned, giving him plenty of access to their bodies. Two shots hit them dead center, bullets piercing their upper torsos. Although the gun had a silencer, the sound of their bodies dropping echoed in the quiet house. Nathan rushed for the stairs, screaming as he went, hoping he was in time.

  “Emory! You’ve got company! Get your ass in gear!”

  He felt a pinch in his shoulder, knocking him off course, before he heard the poof of the gun obviously equipped with a silencer. He stumbled when the bullet passed through him and embedded in the stairs, cracking and splintering wood. Blood gushed from the wound and didn’t stop, pouring over his shirt. He gazed down at the damage, noting the pain radiating through his torso, the burn spreading through his muscles.

  Silver. Fuck.

  Just as he spun his head around to look at the Shepherds at his feet, he saw the gun pointed at him. The man Nathan had shot in the chest was almost done for, but not quite. He winced as he pulled the trigger, getting off one final shot.

  Lights exploded behind Nathan’s eyes, blinding him as a sharp pain nailed him in the temple. He bowed over with the pain, trying to stay focused. The world rotated, the room spinning beneath him. Warm wetness dripped down the side of his face, the blood hot and pulsing from the wound. He lifted his hand to assess the damage, angry when his arm wouldn’t cooperate. The lights started to dim as darkness took over.

  Nathan would have laughed if the situation wasn’t so fucked up. He’d been shot several times in the last few months—each time by Shepherds—while defending females who belonged to other men. As he crumbled to the hard stairs beneath him, he found it ironic that he would think of a mate of his own minutes before he died protecting someone else’s.

  Life’s a bitch and then you die.

  He g
roaned, fighting a battle he couldn’t win. As he dove headfirst into the blackness, he hoped Emory had gotten ample warning and was able to protect Mary. At the very least, if this was the end of the line, Nathan wanted the satisfaction of knowing his sacrifice wasn’t in vain.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Mary gasped when she was tossed to the ground, landing with a thump when her ass connected with the hard floor. Emory didn’t follow her, taking up the space on the other side of the bed facing the door. She’d heard Nathan’s furious bellow, knew something was wrong, but she hadn’t had time to comprehend anything. The moment he’d called out Emory had moved away from her, shoved her from the bed and launched off the mattress.

  “Stay down.” The words were more of a snarl. Emory didn’t sound like a man, his baritone deeper. “No matter what happens, don’t move.”

  The door burst open and her heart dropped to her stomach. She recognized the man standing in front of her. He’d not only ruined her life but he’d ruined every hope and dream she’d had as a woman. Even now he appeared larger than he was, more monster than a man. He lifted his hand and pointed a sleek-looking gun at Emory.

  How did he find me? What do I do?

  “It appears I’ve arrived just in time. I’ve come for my niece.” Elijah Shepherd spoke in the way Mary hated, his calm and collected manner nothing more than pretense. She’d fallen victim to the tone on more than one occasion, even after he’d beaten her the first time. For some reason she’d continued to hope that maybe he would change, that perhaps he’d finally grasped what he was doing was wrong, only to discover he seemed to enjoy being nice before he revealed his sadistic nature.

  “My mate,” Emory emphasized the word, growling as he blocked her from view, “isn’t going anywhere with you. You’re in my domain now. The rules have changed. You won’t get away with throwing your weight around here.”

  Elijah’s lips quirked. “We’ll see about that.”

  Emory charged for the door but didn’t make it to his target, was stopped at the halfway mark. The blaring roar of gunfire that Mary expected didn’t happen. Instead she heard odd airy noises. Elijah pulled the trigger twice and each time Emory’s body jerked. Then, as if she was watching a film, he went to his knees and fell facedown. A loud noise pierced the air, ringing in her ears. It wasn’t until Elijah stepped around Emory’s body—a red stain spreading beneath his still form—that she realized she was screaming.

  A shirt—Emory’s T-shirt—slapped her in the face. “Get up and get dressed. You should be ashamed of yourself, bedding with one of them like a common whore. You should be grateful your parents aren’t alive to see you now, to know what you’ve become.”

  She shook her head, wanting to wake up, thinking it had to be a bad dream. Emory wasn’t dead. A gun wasn’t pointed in her face. She’d wake up and she’d be safe and sound in bed. Nightmares like these were common. She just had to wake up.

  Damn it, wake up!

  “Don’t make me ask again.”

  It’s not a dream. She gazed past the barrel, looking into the face of her uncle. Somehow she managed to manipulate her shaking fingers and slip into Emory’s shirt. Her thoughts were scrambled, fear and disbelief swirling together.

  “Why?” A stupid question, to be sure. Why did he do anything?

  Acceptance made her calm, just as it had when she’d been abused and belittled. Her relative had been raised with the belief that what he was doing was right. He’d attempted to instill those same morals in her, using physical force when she didn’t comply, hoping to beat his demented logic into her head.

  “Stand up. I don’t want to kill you in this den of depravity but I will. God forgive me for wanting to bury you properly with a prayer to see you off. It’s a wasted effort but you are family, no matter your sins.”

  “We have to get something first.” She wasn’t sure how she managed to think clearly, to buy more time. Maybe it was from learning to function under pressure, or perhaps it was because she didn’t want to leave Emory behind. Either way, if she was going to die, she preferred it be here—under her terms.

  “No. If you delay our departure I’ll have no choice but to pull the trigger.”

  He tugged her arm, aiding her when she rose to her feet. Her eyes flicked to Emory. Something deep inside her knew he wasn’t dead yet. She’d know if he was. But that didn’t mean he didn’t need help. When she tried to make a dash for him, Elijah placed the barrel of the gun against the back of her head.

  “I will kill you,” he warned.

  She knew he would, and he’d do it with little or no remorse. In his eyes she had fallen. There was no redemption. Once a person accepted a shifter into their life, or worse, their bed, they were beyond salvation. Burying her with a prayer was Elijah’s sick way of showing the family he was doing the right thing, even if it meant killing one of his own.

  Standing straight, she kept her voice even, determined not to break down or appear weak. “You’re going to want the map before you go. If they keep it, you’re fucked.”

  She stumbled when he slapped the back of her head, sending her hair across her face, forcing her to step forward or fall. “You will show me proper respect. Don’t think because you’ve slept with the spawn from Hell you weren’t taught better. Now move.”

  Her eyes burned with unshed tears as she walked past Emory. Leaving him was more than an emotional pain, it also seared through her physically. Everything inside her screamed to turn around, to protect the male who’d stood between her and a gun. There was only thing to do, one way to slow Elijah down. Nathan had called out for them, so maybe he’d contacted the pack and told them what to expect.

  Buy more time.

  “The map has to be downstairs,” she said and exited the bedroom. “They have all your addresses. You’re not safe.”

  “What are you talking about?” Elijah guided her toward a set of stairs, nudging her to go faster with the gun that was now pressed against her lower back.

  “Mom and Dad left it for me,” she whispered, staring in horror at Nathan’s body resting in the middle of the staircase. Below him two men also rested, their chests covered in blood. Both of them were dead but one had died with his eyes open—his gaze directed at Nathan—with a gun in his hand.

  “Bless them, Father,” Elijah murmured. She felt the gun jab into her spine. “You have thirty seconds to do as I say. No more, no less. Walk down the stairs and take a right. We’re leaving.”

  Thirty seconds? Her uncle started whispering the 23rd Psalm, sending his comrades to the other side with his best wishes.

  Better talk fast then.

  “Mom and Dad gave me a map of all the Shepherd compounds in the United States. Including yours,” she said quickly. “Emory took it after I arrived.”

  He stopped mid-prayer, narrowing his eyes, shadowed jaw clenching in anger. “You’re lying.”

  “What purpose would that serve?” She posed the question cautiously, trying to appear meek. “You’re already here. I’m going to die. Lying isn’t going to help.”

  “You could be trying to delay your death,” he said flatly.

  Shit. “Or I could be saving the lives of innocent people, including children.” She held her breath, waiting to see if he’d believe what she said.

  “Take me to it.” Again he butted the gun against her back. “You’ve bought yourself a minute.”

  Telling him that she didn’t know where the map was wouldn’t work. There was an edge to his voice now—impatience and worry. He had to know the pack would return and he couldn’t remain in Diskant’s home for long. Her stomach churned at the thought. That was what had happened to Ava. Elijah had to be responsible.

  What had he done to her?

  Swallowing several times to combat the lemony taste of bile in her throat, she walked to the left. She didn’t know where she was going but the best place to start was anywhere aside from where Elijah wanted to take her. Exits were dangerous, so that meant the kitchen she’d visited
was off limits. She passed the large room, acting as if she knew where she was going, when she saw another room to the right. The lighting was dark and she could see several chairs in front of what looked like a desk.

  An office? Please God, let it be an office. It would take more than a minute to sort through drawers and papers. If she could just hold on, keep her uncle distracted…

  “Your time is almost up. Get the map.” She realized he wasn’t going to follow her into the room when she stepped inside and the feel of the gun against her back vanished. Then he started counting back. “Thirty, twenty-nine, twenty-eight, twenty-seven…”

  All she had left was an act, to pretend she knew what she was looking for. She raced to one of the cabinets against the wall and started sorting through files, all the while listening while he counted. When he hit twenty, her heart throbbed. When he hit ten she thought she might faint. Paper after paper slipped through her numb, worthless fingers. This was it. She was going to die. At least she’d had the chance to meet Emory, to know what it felt like to be loved.

  Shock had her lifting her head. Outside the house, horrific growls and snarls started up, as though a pit bull was in the middle of a fight for its life. Within seconds she heard men shouting. A statue on the top of the cabinet caught her attention, the large glass form of a wolf the perfect size for her hand. She went for it, ready to take her final stand.

  “Rest in peace,” Elijah said softly. “God save your soul.”

  She spun around with the statue in hand, lifting her arm in the same motion, and cried out when something hit her left shoulder. She met Elijah’s eyes and threw the object at him, unable to do anything more. He’d pointed the gun at her head when Mary heard a low, threatening growl and saw a dark blur behind him. She sank to the floor—using the cabinet for balance—and watched as Oscar attacked Elijah. The dog jumped onto his back and latched on to the back of his neck with his large jaws. Her uncle screamed as he slammed to his knees. Oscar growled, yanking his head from side to side. Blood streamed from the wounds the raging canine created, splattering on the ground when Elijah toppled to the floor.