She may not be a true shape-shifter, but she was more than human now.
He just had to figure out exactly what she was.
And soon. Before their enemies arrived.
* * *
The dream came again… Struggling on the floor, screaming as he lunged at her, biting with a face that seemed to shift and change and grow as his teeth sank into the mound of her right breast, tearing away flesh and branding her, hot waves of blood streaming from the bloody little hole. Then the stranger, his weight crashing down—
Tiffany forced herself to wake up, gasping for air. The remnants of the dream were stark and clear. For the first time ever.
“He bit me,” she said slowly. Why haven’t I remembered that before now? She jerked the vee neckline of the men’s shirt she slept in aside, and stared down at her breast, at the smooth flesh of it. It had never borne a mark. Not now, not the morning she woke in the hospital under arrest, the day after she had killed Jimmy.
“I’m losing my mind,” she whispered, shaking her head, running her fingers over the smooth flesh. She could remember it, the tearing, searing agony of it, the pain, the hot wash of blood, the pleasure in Jimmy’s eyes, and his thirst for more. The ragged, bloody hole where he had torn the flesh away from her body.
But there was no mark. If he had truly bitten her, she would have carried that scar for life.
And his face couldn’t possibly have been changing the way she remembered.
It just wasn’t possible.
So she was losing her mind.
“Ms. Morgan.”
She went stiff.
Tiffany knew that deep, almost growling voice. That voice had fueled a couple of very interesting dreams during the long, empty years in jail.
Ben Cross. Slowly she turned and met a pair of golden-brown eyes across a distance of a few feet. She hadn’t even considered that he would try approaching her. And now she realized just how foolish that had been. His persistence had known no bounds, so why had she suddenly expected that to change?
“I’ve no desire to speak with you, Mr. Cross. I don’t give interviews,” she said firmly, stifling the urge to stare as she gazed upon the man who had been calling her on a monthly basis for five years.
The phone calls had started within a month of her incarceration. At first, he’d just offered to come in and speak with her about her ordeal. Then he’d offered to “interview” her for a book deal. Then he’d offered to interview her regarding her books. Although how he had discovered that piece of knowledge, she didn’t know. Then he’d just started calling to pester her.
Politely. Always politely.
But the phone calls never stopped.
A year into her sentence, letters had started coming, along with research books on magic and shape-shifters, and ghosts. The majority of her better books had in fact come from the man staring at her with those mesmerizing golden eyes.
Holy hell. It was a damn good thing she hadn’t known what he looked like, otherwise she just might have given in to those interviews. Just for writer’s curiosity…but damn.
His dark brown hair fell into his eyes in loose waves and he absently brushed it back. Head cocked, he studied her intently. “You didn’t really think I would just up and leave you alone, did you?” he asked, curiously.
She had the odd impression of a pup staring at her with his ears pricked. Or a wolf… Shaking her head, she focused on a point just beyond his shoulder. “Actually I hadn’t thought of it.” Her eyes cut back to him as she added, “Or you.”
“Ouch,” he said mildly, those amazing eyes dancing with humor.
Of course, if she had known what he looked like… Oh, that would have been torture in there, she thought helplessly.
Underneath the green chamois shirt he wore, there was a ribbed undershirt that stretched across his wide chest, his skin gleaming gold, muscles clearly evident beneath the clinging fabric. Worn jeans clung to his lean hips and long, muscled thighs as Tiffany cursed her peripheral vision and forced herself to meet his eyes.
They looked…hot, hungry…
Hell, his eyes—gleaming, glowing… The striations in his eyes were starting to swirl and shift…
Unbeknownst to her, a soft whimper escaped her as she stared hypnotized into those eyes. She had seen eyes like that once upon a time and fear arced through her. A gasp fell from her lips and she retreated, her eyes wide and unblinking on his face.
And as she watched, the look left his eyes, his lids drooped, the odd tension seemed to leave him, and a gentle smile curved his mouth, the full lower lip curving just slightly. “I’m no threat to you, Tiffany Morgan,” he said softly, his voice intense.
He turned and left.
Ben had to force down the rage.
She had more of their kind inside of her than he had suspected. She had scented his hunger—it was too much like Marcus’, and she didn’t know Ben. It had frightened her, the sharp, biting scent that had filled the air all around her, making her slim body go stiff and her pretty blue eyes go wild.
And the scent of magic had strengthened. Witch. She had witch in her as well, how much, how powerful, he wouldn’t know until he got closer, touched her, searched her. Tiffany had been suppressing the magic, and the wolf, for so long… She had pushed it deep. Or her mother had.
He was starting to suspect it was the latter. Adrienne had been oh so powerful. And very desperate, he imagined, to protect her young babe.
Stalking around his car, he waited a moment before climbing in. He didn’t want to drive. He wanted to run…to hunt…to attack…
His hands clenched into tight fists as he lifted his head to the sky, the ends of his dark brown hair waving in the soft breeze as he battled against the rage and hunger in him.
The wind blew, bringing with it a familiar scent, and he growled menacingly. Marcus. He wasn’t here. Not now. The scent was old. Days old. The rogue Inherent was stalking Tiffany again.
The son of a bitch was going to die this time.
Sliding his eyes to the store, he felt a shudder roll through his body as he tamped down the urge to shift as a familiar friend raised his head and whispered, Shall we go Hunting, my friend?
Ben smiled tightly as he closed his hand into a fist, banishing the wild power of the change as he responded to the Wolf. “No. There is nothing there to Hunt right now. My duty lies here.”
The Wolf chuffed and Ben laughed slightly as he slid into the truck. “I got us this far, didn’t I?”
There was no comment from the ancient creature as he settled back into whatever resting space a totem spirit called home, but Ben could feel his mirth. Shaking his head, he settled back to wait on Tiffany.
I’m no threat to you.
Tiffany didn’t understand exactly why she believed him. Why those words meant anything. Why his anger had suddenly felt…comforting. But it had.
“I’m totally sick,” she muttered to herself as she slid her groceries into the car.
The more she thought about his words, the more they disturbed her. But not that way… They should have frightened her, because she could feel the raw energy inside the man, and knew damned well she should be worried about him.
Men were a threat. Men capable of violence? Even more so. And he was capable of violence.
He should have just bothered her. Scared her. Worried her. And he did…but it was worse than that. More than that.
In the best possible, most delicious way imaginable. Squirming on her seat, she bit her lip and started the engine.
“I need to stop thinking about this,” she muttered. Needed to stop thinking about him. Definitely needed to stop thinking about how hot he was…
An image of him surfaced in her mind, that wind-tossed brown hair tumbling into those golden eyes, his skin dusky, that sexy five o’clock shadow that was so enticing on a man. Big shoulders, brawny and wide, a chest she suspected would feel oh so nice, powerful arms, a flat belly…
Her writer’s imagination kicked i
nto play as she recalled just how hot he was.
Tiffany smothered a laugh and laid her head on the steering wheel of the car, snorting in laughter. “Oh, man. I’ve lost my mind.”
After snickering to herself for a few minutes, she sighed, and just rested there. Safe. Something about him had made her feel safe for the briefest instant. That was incredibly freeing.
Lifting her head up, she focused on the drive back home. And another long, empty, sleepless night.
She couldn’t sleep without the nightmares plaguing her.
* * *
Ben prowled the town.
Marcus’ scent was there. And more wolves. Tilting his head back, he drew the scents in, remembering them, filing them away. A wolf pack in this town… That wasn’t right.
There were no wolves around here. At least, there shouldn’t be. No packs were allowed to settle without letting the Council know.
It was law.
There was a Master Vamp an hour to the south, with a well-situated enclave and Ben knew the guy patrolled up here on an infrequent basis. No pack would have escaped the vamp’s notice.
No pack would move into an area protected by the Hunters, would they? It was foolishness. Except it did happen. Too often. That’s why the Hunters existed.
He checked the air again and then sighed. Five different wolves. In a town as small as this? Five wolves living together and not knowing the other wasn’t likely. Thus, a pack.
They hadn’t registered with the Council and that bothered him. Especially with Tiffany around now. If they were here for her…
“Marcus,” he muttered.
That wolf really, really did need to die. But hunting him had proven to be a damn near impossible task.
It was something he knew, all too well. He’d been hunting Marcus for years. But the search was over—Marcus had come to him.
And he would pay.
* * *
Tiffany’s eyes opened.
She forced her breathing to remain even, out of sheer instinct—the knowledge we all carry inside us, that if we move, if we breathe, the predator will hear us.
There was somebody in her house.
Breathing slowly through her nose, she scented something…rich. Like the woods at night. And something foul, like death lurking in those woods. There was no sound, not a squeaking floorboard, nor a breath of a sigh.
But there was somebody in her house.
Marcus?
“I hear your heartbeat, wolf. I know you’re awake,” a soft lilting voice called. “Come on out…let’s not make this any harder than we have. Marcus wants this over with.”
A woman?
Slowly, Tiffany slid from the bed, her eyes on the door. The fear inside her had her heart racing, and she forced herself to take a deep breath and let it out through her nose. Calm…be calm. In the face of our enemies, we show no fear. It feeds them.
Tiffany stifled the urge to laugh hysterically. That damn voice… It sounded so very real, and so familiar.
But her heartbeat slowed. She could actually feel it as she walked backward to the window. There was only one inside. Straining, she tried to listen for a sound outside, concentrating…focusing…
An odd image drifted in front of her eyes and she saw two men. One at the front door. Another at the back.
Caging her in.
Damn it.
Oh, shit…I’m so fucked, she thought. But she swallowed back the fear, and tried to think.
Good girl, the soft, soothing voice whispered. He’s coming…
Tiffany’s heart skittered to a stop. He’s coming? As in Marcus?
“I won’t go through that again,” she said aloud, her voice flat and firm. “I won’t. I’ll kill you first. I’ll die first.”
A lilting laugh sounded through the house and Tiffany knew the woman was on the stairs now.
“Chére, you don’t have a choice,” the woman said in a cheerful, easy voice.
Open your heart. Open your soul. The knowledge is there, safe and secure where I put it all those years ago…open…
Open…
Open…
Tiffany’s entire body was trembling and there was a cynical voice in the back of her mind, whispering, You’ve lost your mind, Tiff. Totally gone…
Then the voice became firm and it said strongly, Your name isn’t Tiffany. It’s Shadoe, and you aren’t insane. You are my daughter and you can fight this. Now, do it. Open yourself…
Tiffany felt something inside her break and shift.
Wind whipped through the room. Her eyes moved to the window. It wasn’t open. Her breath froze in her throat and she stared at the door. She shouldn’t have been able to see it so well. It was so dark… Need light…damn it, how can I fight if I can’t see?
Light blazed out of nowhere. Tiffany had to blink at the brightness of it. She searched for a source. Where had it come from? The lamp was off, and the light over her bed was off. Staring around, she saw that everything she looked at was in pure, bright focus. And when she turned her gaze away, it fell into the shadows.
The light was her.
And it was burning.
Ben felt the desperate plea as though she whispered it in his ear. It wasn’t exactly a sweet little nothing…shit, I’m so fucked…
But he heard the terror. Heard the fear. And he knew.
“Marcus…” he rasped as he felt the change tear through him, vicious and uncontrolled. He slammed one clawed hand against the trunk of a tree and fought the howl rising in his throat as the muscles inside his body shifted and changed, a flow of fur covering once golden, gleaming skin. His eyes gleamed yellow-gold in the dark as he rose to the full height of his half-form and took off running, following the scent of her fear, the scent of wild magic that was brewing in the air.
They hadn’t been expecting that, he imagined.
And they weren’t expecting him, either.
The magic was breaking open inside her, spurred by her fear, and as he lunged over the thick growth of bushes surrounding her home, he caught the scent of wolf. Inherent…female…sweet. The wolf was starting to wake within her as well. She can’t handle both right now.
As he hit her street, everything around him a blur from his speed, he focused and reached out. At his touch, the anxious animal, hovering just beyond her subconscious, calmed as he forced his own will upon it.
He slowed to a prowl as he came to her house, sliding his eyes to the man guarding the front door.
He then slid his gaze to the werewolf who only now realized he had company. The bonds he kept wrapped around the Wolf’s power, the power of fear, fell away and he stalked around as the man’s eyes went black with fear, and a urine stain appeared on the front of his jeans.
“I guess you’re not happy to see me,” Ben growled, reaching out and raking one wicked, deadly talon down the werewolf’s cheek, drawing blood. “What, didn’t any of you realize I was in town?”
A whimper, like that of a puppy, fell from the man’s throat and he gasped, “Please—I’m just following orders!”
“Sure. You follow orders, even if you’re supposed to kidnap, harm, rape innocent people…keep saying please. See how far it gets you,” Ben said, staring down at the small, human male. The man tried to change, tried to summon the power of the full moon only a day away and Ben laughed, slamming his own will down on the man. “Pitiful, don’t you know better? I own you.”
The man fell to his knees sobbing and pleaded, “Don’t fucking kill me!”
Ben knelt and reached out, gathered the blood on the bastard’s cheek.
“Oh, I won’t. That is too easy. You get to face the Council. And live out your years locked inside your body, unable to shift, unable to hunt. Until the needs and hungers inside you destroy your mind and your body.”
At the words The Council, the man panicked and screamed. “No—”
With a whisper the entrapment spell settled into place around the werewolf and he fell silent, unable to move, to blink.
> “There now. All wrapped tight, and bound to me, for now. And once you face the Council, that spell will be changed to one where you can’t ever run, can’t ever hunt again.”
Rising, Ben faced the door and kicked it in, snarling and hungry for blood. Halfway up the stairs, he shifted from his wolven form and made himself calm, sucking in air desperately as the shift completed, leaving him naked and full of rage.
“…not fighting,” a laughing woman said. “There is no point to fighting. You can’t possibly hope to win.”
Ben moved into the doorway and asked calmly, “Why not?”
The female werewolf’s eyes flew to his face and she screeched, “Jude! Michael!”
“Hmmm… Jude can’t help you,” Ben said, a smile curving his lips. “Neither can the others, but if you think screaming will help…”
Turning his gaze from the wolf, he said quietly. “Tiffany. Let it go. Stop fighting what is inside you.”
Then he turned to face the charging werewolf who had come to answer the rogue’s scream, leaving Tiffany alone to battle the female.
Whatever was twisting inside her was wild, raw, and alive. It writhed and burned with a life of its own. Clamping it down now was out of the question, so she just had to release it.
* * *
Tiffany heard his deep, insistent voice echoing inside her head as she stared at the slender, almost delicate woman in front of her. Stop fighting what is inside you…
Lifting one hand, she stared at it. Damn it. That was her hand…ivory pale, and glowing? She could feel something burning inside her. Burning and clawing and desperate for release. Her breath came in ragged pants as she lifted her eyes to the woman.
“This is my home. Get out,” she snapped.
The woman laughed, a desperate, evil laugh. “Can’t do that. My boss wants you. He’s going to get you,” she said.
Tiffany fought the storm that was raging inside her. He…he… Who is she talking about?
The Hunters Series Page 50