He allowed his claws to transform back to their human shape, and crouched down next to his scowling partner. “What’s the damage?”
“I’m more pissed than anything,” Jeremy muttered, his voice rough with disgust. Gritting his teeth, he pulled his shredded shirt away from his bleeding ribs. “It was stupid to let that bastard get a bite of me.”
“I owe you one,” he admitted gruffly, fully aware that Jeremy had risked his own safety in trying to get to Torrance.
“Hell, you owe me more than one,” Jeremy drawled with a low, shaky laugh.
Lifting his nose to the wind, Mason took a long, deep breath, searching for that strong vinegar smell that had been on the wolves. “Everything we didn’t kill has hightailed it outta here. But we need to clear the scene as quickly as possible.”
Wincing, Jeremy pulled his shirt off over his head, revealing ribs that had been slashed on his right side. Balling the ragged fabric into a wad, he pressed it against the bloody wounds in the side of his throat. “Yeah, and then let’s get the hell home. I’m in serious need of some of your secret stash of Lagavulin. After this shit, I’ve earned it.”
Mason gave him a long, critical look of assessment. “I guess you’re feeling better than you look, if you can be thinking about raiding my best Scotch.”
“Aw, it’s just a flesh wound,” Jeremy shot back in the crisp tones of a proper British accent, repeating the classic line from his favorite Monty Python movie.
Mason’s chest rumbled with a rough laugh, his relief sharp that the jackass felt good enough to crack a joke. It was going to take a few days before he was a hundred percent, but with their rapid-healing traits, he knew Jeremy would be back in fighting shape in no time.
Unfortunately, Mason wasn’t so sure about Torrance. Wondering how he was going to go about soothing his fragile little human life mate, he headed toward the Tahoe.
* * *
Mason hadn’t taken more than three steps when the back door opened and Torrance slid out of the backseat, her dark green eyes roaming the ground, pinging from one downed body to another. Once dead, a Lycan returned to its human form—and her surprise at seeing naked human corpses in place of the dead werewolves was evident in her stark, stunned expression.
Then she looked their way, and a sharp cry fell from her lips as she started running toward them. Mason opened his arms, ready to catch her, when she sailed right past him, falling to her knees beside a grinning Jeremy. “Ohmygod,” she gasped, her small hands fluttering in front of her, as if she didn’t know where to touch him without hurting him. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, honey,” Jeremy replied with a warm smile, making Mason roll his eyes.
“Are you sure?”
“If he can flirt with you,” Mason muttered dryly, “I’d say that’s a pretty good indication that he’ll make it, Torrance.”
Whispering loudly enough for him to overhear, she leaned closer to his partner and said, “Is he always such a grouch after he wins a fight?”
Hazel eyes glittering with humor, Jeremy somehow managed to both laugh and wince at the same time. “I think he’s about to bust a jealousy gasket, so go easy on him, Torry.”
She cast a quick look up at his scowling face, giving him a critical once-over, a flash of relief filling her expression when she eyed his human hands. “I think you may be right,” she murmured, regaining her feet and moving a little closer to where he stood. “Thanks for—” her hand gestured over the horrific scene “—everything.”
Mason studied the hectic color in her cheeks, the way she nibbled at the corner of her lower lip, and just like that, he nearly staggered beneath the torrent of hard, provocative images swimming through his head.
Aw, hell. Wiping at the sweat streaming down the side of his hot face, he wondered what kind of bastard it made him, seeing as how he was rock hard in the middle of so many corpses. Huh. Probably a really a sick one…with a really dirty mind.
He cleared his throat, trying to get past the uncomfortable lump of lust that was nearly choking him. “Are you okay?” The growl that rumbled with those words sounded thoroughly pissed, and he winced at the rough sound.
“Yeah, he didn’t even scratch me,” she told him with a wobbly grin. “So I won’t be going furry anytime soon.”
He still felt shaken, but managed to smile down at her with a crooked twist of his lips. “That’s only if you’re bitten, Tor.”
“Really?” she asked with obvious surprise.
“Yeah,” he drawled, shaking his head at her stunned expression. “Not everything you see in the movies is real, honey.”
“Well, even though all of it nearly scared me to death, I’m fine, thanks to you.” She gave him a shy smile, then looked him over from head to toe. “I can’t believe it, but you don’t even look like you got a scratch.”
“I’ll be feeling it tomorrow,” he confessed with a deep sigh, knowing his body would feel battered and bruised. “Trust me.”
She took a step forward, looking as if there was something else she wanted to say, when Jeremy pulled himself to his feet and joined them. “Looks like Simmons has been building his own little gang, and now he’s got an army of head cases following him,” the blond snorted, still pressing the balled up shirt against his neck, the cuts across his side streaming with crimson color, until the warm spill of blood met the waistband of his jeans, darkening the faded denim. “This must have been his goon squad demonstration.”
“You sure you’re gonna be okay?” Mason asked, eyeing the wash of red running down Jeremy’s side. Generally, loss of blood from these kinds of injuries couldn’t kill them, but it could make them sick as hell, sapping their strength. “Do you want me to call some meds down from Shadow Peak?”
“Naw, I’ll live. Let’s just wrap this up, get in the Tahoe, and get the hell outta here.”
At the mention of the SUV, everything suddenly came rushing back at him, and Mason turned to stare down at the woman who’d managed to turn his entire life on its head and damn near give him heart failure, all within the mere span of twenty-four hours. God only knew what kind of havoc she’d end up creating by the end of the week, not to mention over the course of his lifetime. Her gaze flicked from him to Jeremy, then back again, and he smiled with grim satisfaction the second she caught his furious expression. “I thought I told you not to get out of the Tahoe,” he rasped, trying to control the tremor of fury that settled into his throat at the thought of what she’d done.
“You didn’t say anything about driving it, Mason,” she pointed out calmly, blinking up at him with those big green eyes, making him want to throttle her for putting her life in danger. At the same time he wanted to slide his mouth over hers, tangle his tongue with her own in a deliciously wet, carnal act of dominance and possession, and kiss her rebellious little backside into submission.
He drew in a deep breath, tall body shuddering with anger and the lingering traces of abject terror at the knowledge that something could have happened to her. “At this moment,” he stated in a silky murmur, “are you or are you not in the SUV, Torrance?”
Despite the lingering fear he could scent on her skin, her expression turned mulish and she crossed her arms, all but glaring at him while her toe began to tap against the road. “I didn’t get out of the damn thing until they started breaking their way into it! Should I have just stayed there and let them eat me?”
He took a step closer to her, invading her personal space, but she didn’t budge—and he couldn’t help but admit that he was proud of the way she was standing up to him. Proud…but still pissed. “If you had stayed down, like I told you to do, then I would have gotten to them before they could reach you.”
He paused to take a deep breath, getting ready to launch into her about the damn branch and the Lycan she’d used for batting practice, but she made a soft, feminine sound of irritation and muttered, “Why don’t you just stop being an ass and say, ‘Gee, that was really swell of you to try and help out, Torr
ance. Without you, I could have had my head chewed off.’”
Jeremy wheezed under his breath, trying to stifle his laughter—not out of any sort of loyalty to him, Mason knew, but because it hurt like hell. “I was not about to have my head chewed off,” he said grittily, insulted that she’d thought Curry and those other runts could get the best of him.
“That wasn’t what it looked like from my point of view,” she countered, her tone just as grim as his had been. “It looked—”
“Okay, kids, we need to save this delightfully entertaining…disagreement for later,” Jeremy cut in, pushing his blond hair off his forehead. “Right now we need to clear as much of this off the road as we can, call for some cleanup, then get the hell home.”
“I’ll get Brody,” Mason grunted, turning away to put in the call.
A few minutes later, when he’d finished on the phone and turned back around, he found Torrance moving in a slow circle, looking over the gruesome scene with a calm strength that astounded him, considering her fears. Then she came to a hard stop as she stared at the human body of the golden wolf who had, for some bizarre reason, apparently tried to save her.
“Ohmygod, I think he’s still alive,” she gasped in a hoarse rush, moving closer to the long, lean body that lay curled on its side, the chest moving slowly in and out. “He’s still breathing!”
“What do we do with him, Mase?” Jeremy muttered under his breath.
“Hell if I know. We don’t—”
“You can’t do anything but take him back and make sure he’s okay,” his little redheaded hellion announced with firm conviction, dropping to her knees beside the young Lycan’s body and checking his pulse. Her other hand lifted, brushing the thick chestnut locks back from a face that looked too innocent to belong to a killer—but Mason knew better than to take things at face value.
“Get the hell away from him, Torrance.”
She cut a sharp look up at him, slim brows pulled together in a frown. “He’s just a kid, Mason.”
“He’s also a killer,” he barked, ready to reach out and pull her away. “And a monster, remember? One of the things you hate.”
Anger washed over her features in a warm wave of crimson heat. “Hating and fearing are two different things. And he’s not a killer,” she argued, refusing to back down. “He saved me, and you’re going to help him.”
Mason snorted a harsh sound of disgust. “Says who?”
“Says me.”
He arched both brows high on his forehead, wondering how a woman could be so full of contradictions. She was fascinating, obviously—but Mason had a grim feeling she’d spend the rest of her life keeping him on his toes, if not running him through the emotional wringer. “And if I don’t?”
“Then I’ll help him on my own,” she vowed, crossing her arms over her chest as she glared back at him.
“I knew it,” he rasped, planting his hands on his hips and shooting her a baleful glare through narrowed eyes. “I damn well knew you were going to be trouble. The second I caught your scent in that damn café, I knew you’d end up complicating everything!”
“Me?” she gasped in outrage, surging to her feet so that she could poke him in the chest with one pointed finger. “You insufferable jerk! Since meeting you, I’ve been attacked twice, had my apartment trashed, my workplace vandalized, my friends terrorized and been forced to put up with your mercurial mood swings.”
Jeremy made a rough, choking noise at her back, as Mason’s irritation escalated. “I do not have mood swings.”
Torrance snorted. “Hah! Tell that to anyone who knows you!”
“She’s got a point, Mase,” the blond drawled.
“You want me to leave you out here to bleed to death?” he snarled, glowering at his grinning partner.
“Don’t listen to him, Jeremy. He’s just…cranky.”
“Oh, damn,” Jeremy snickered, the low laughter quickly turning into a groaning sound of pain as he clutched at his side. “Stop making me laugh, woman! I’m in shreds over here.”
“Will you both just shut up?” he muttered, and then, in a softer tone, he stared down at her and said, “You know, you’re awfully lippy for someone who’s supposed to be afraid of me, Tor.”
Her mouth compressed into a hard line as she continued to glare at him. “I’m too irritated to worry about being afraid right now.”
He wanted to say more, but his cell phone began buzzing on his hip. “Dillinger,” he clipped out, after flipping open the phone.
“Hello, Mason.” The connection was crap, crackling and weak, but he knew it was Simmons. “Did your little honey girl enjoy her mountain welcoming party?”
“Yeah, it was a blast,” he drawled, mouthing the bastard’s name to Jeremy and Torrance, who were both watching him closely.
“I just wanted to make sure she knew what she was getting into with you. And, of course, it’s fun putting you in my place. How’s it feel to be the hunted one?”
“You can only hunt something that runs, Simmons. You want me, you know where to find me. Unlike you, I’m not chickenshit enough to hide like a coward.”
“Ah-ah-ah,” Simmons scolded. “Make me angry, and I’ll do more than just kill your little redheaded plaything the next time I get my hands on her. I’ll give her a taste of what a real man is like. Then eat her while she’s still warm from coming.”
His fingers tightened to the point that the phone made a metallic groaning kind of noise, grinding and sharp, but he forced himself to remain calm. “I’m afraid we’ve thinned out the numbers of your new little psycho party of assholes. Looks like you’ve been a busy boy lately, Simmons. What’s the problem? Can’t find a woman who will put out for a useless piece of dick like yourself, so you’ve decided to play gang leader?”
Despite the poor connection, he could easily hear the harsh blast of Simmons’s angry panting. “My followers embrace the truth, Dillinger.”
“And what’s that?” he drawled, keeping his tone cocky. “The fact you’re a pathetic bastard who tries to make himself feel like a man by preying on those weaker than himself? Yeah, you’re some hero,” he snorted.
“That we should become what we were destined to be,” the rogue snarled, the words tremoring with his rage.
“Monsters?” he laughed, purposefully goading him.
“Gods!” Simmons roared, and there was no mistaking the madness in his maniacal tone. “The deliverers of death.”
“We’re men, you ignorant jackass. The only one with a God complex is you, and you’re screwed in the head.”
“We are the beasts,” Simmons countered in a calmer tone, obviously striving for control. “The kings. And they are nothing more than a petty food supply. Human nature is weak, Dillinger. How long did you think it would hold us back from realizing our true nature? From what we crave?”
“We’ll see how kingly you feel when you’re tracked down like the dog you’ve become,” Mason promised in a quiet rasp. “And in case you’re too thick to fully understand what I’m saying, I’ll spell it out for you. I’m coming for you, Simmons, and when I get you, you’re dead.”
“You may have taken down my foot soldiers, but not even you and Burns together managed to kill me, Dillinger. I’m not afraid of you.”
Mason smiled, the hard curve of his mouth almost cruel. His hatred for the rogue was strong enough that he could feel its ugly presence weighing heavily in his gut; the kind of hate that could poison your soul. “Then that’s your second mistake.”
Simmons chuckled softly. “Oh, yeah? And what’s my first?”
“Daring to touch my woman.”
With those parting words, he disconnected the call.
Chapter 7
After the bodies had been hidden in the woods, where Mason explained a second set of Runners would later deal with the remains, he used a heavy chain and the Tahoe’s powerful engine to drag the fallen trees off to the side of the road. Then they’d loaded the unconscious Lycan into the backseat with Jer
emy, and Torrance had ridden up front with Mason while he drove the rest of the way up the mountain. It didn’t take them long to reach what he called Bloodrunner Alley, where he and the other Runners lived. Mason had described the Alley as a secluded, slightly sloping glade, surrounded by the wild, natural beauty of the forest, housing only the Runners’ individual residences, since they lived separately from the Silvercrest. There were ten cabins in all, though not all of them were currently being used. And despite the fact they had to go into human civilization to stock up on goods (refusing to buy them from the pack), they had all the modern amenities, from power to hot water and high-speed Internet access, just like the Silvercres’ town of Shadow Peak, built higher up the mountain.
According to Mason, to an unsuspecting human eye, Shadow Peak looked like any other small mountain community. Only the inhabitants knew the truth about the locals, and they seldom encountered unwanted visitors. Still, as a precaution, there were scouts posted for the town throughout the forest, to alert them to any humans who came near, traveling the mountain roads. When she’d asked if the Alley had scouts, as well, he’d said no, explaining that they were so well hidden, they didn’t need them.
He’d also explained that both the Alley and the town itself were built on private land that had belonged to the eldest pack families for centuries, with access only by private roads that were clearly marked. And even when they left the mountains, the Lycans and Bloodrunners blended well into the human world, complete with driver’s licenses and Social Security numbers. Even their genetic makeup cloaked their true identities, as there was nothing in their DNA to alert the medical world of their species. The only real threat to their existence came from the rogue wolves, who threw the laws which kept the Lycan world safe by the wayside in order to satisfy their baser hungers.
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