The wall he’d erected between them shattered, and a rush of questions from them tumbled through his head. A soft whimper sounded from the rear of the truck, and he pressed his foot harder on the accelerator. Skidding off the rough road onto the smoother surface of the highway, he wrestled with the wheel, almost tipping them over in his haste. The wolf whined again, and he forced himself to ease off the gas. They would both end up dead if he didn’t get a grip.
Connor? Caitlyn’s soft voice threw him the lifeline he needed.
Fixing himself on his twin like a sextant to the North Star, Connor pushed on through the dark night.
His sister brushed his thoughts again. Hold on, Con. We’re coming….
Chapter Eleven
Pain filled her mind, crawled into every corner of her brain and tormented her. She buckled beneath the weight of it, unable to do anything other than succumb to the welcoming blackness that promised relief. The roller coaster lurched into a sharp bend, throwing her back against the seat. Why had her daddy made her ride it when he knew it made her sick? She’d been excited all week because he’d promised they’d visit the amusement park for her birthday. Now they were here, though, the big rides weren’t the fun she’d expected them to be. She didn’t like being so far from the ground. The ride twisted again, and she whined in fear. Whined? Why do I sound like an animal?
Awareness flickered through her. Wolf. She was still in her wolf form. The floor beneath her vibrated. Not a roller coaster, a car. Pain speared into her shoulder, bringing another wave of nausea. A harsh sob broke the silence, followed by a snarl and a loud crack of plastic. Connor?
She tried to open her mouth, but it wouldn’t work right. Too many teeth, wrong size and shape. Searching inside, she sought their bond. There. A throb of emotion, beating in time with her heart. She reached out, but it slipped past her. Tired. She was so tired.
Bright lights hurt her eyes. She pressed them closed.
Bailey. Can you hear me? I’ve got you, baby. Love. There was so much love in those words, they brought tears to her eyes.
She tried to answer, couldn’t form the words. She needed to do something important, but she couldn’t remember what it was.
Shift. The command blasted through her skull.
That was it. She needed to shift. She needed to take her human form. Reaching for her wolf, she reeled back from the boiling fear and anger. Are you there? Can you help me? The wolf snarled, flooding her brain with images of claws and teeth. Gone. That chiding awareness, the soft exasperation she most often felt when trying to connect with her other half was gone, lost in a maze of pain and madness.
“Shit, she bit me.”
“Hold her, hold her.”
“Steady now.” Voices swirled around her. The ground beneath her vanished, came back again, colder and harder than before.
“Give me room to work,” a soft female voice spoke. A gentle hand stroked her head. “Shh, Bailey. You’re safe now. My name is Hannah, and I’m going to make the pain go away.”
Warmth flooded through her, carrying away the pain. The loss of it was such a relief. She could rest now, sleep now.
“Caleb, Connor, help me. She’s fading.” The woman spoke again, her tone sharper, more urgent.
The warmth surged again, reaching for her, wrapping her in gossamer strands. Why wouldn’t it leave her alone? She just wanted to sleep. The strands solidified, encasing her in a steel cage.
Don’t you dare leave me, Bailey. You fight for this. You fucking fight for us! Connor’s voice pulled at her, holding her tight as the bars of the cage expanded, twisted together to form a thick tether securing her in place. Her mating bond, she realized. The bars of the cage melted, merged into a warm blanket cocooning her. Scents of pine and citrus filled her nose, blending with top notes of sharp fruit and rich honey and vanilla. Strange fragrances she didn’t know and yet recognized instantly—the scents of home.
“Open your eyes, pretty girl.” A deep voice caught her attention. She blinked up into a pair of dark-gray eyes. Faint lines fanned the skin around them, so like Connor’s and yet not. The lines crinkled, and the eyes softened into a smile. “I am Stefan Burrows. You belong to me, now, Bailey girl. You are one of mine, and I want to see you. I want to meet the woman who has tamed my beloved eldest son. Shift now.”
Deep, dark green rolled over her, speaking of the shadowed places only forest creatures knew. The strong base note around which all the other scents curled drew her closer. His gray eyes shifted, glowing molten gold, and the fierce wolf rose, demanding her obeisance. The gnawing fear slid away. Reaching with tentative mental fingers toward her wolf, she gasped in relief. The feral madness had vanished, the creature focused on the dominant who commanded them.
Using the bond to steady herself, Bailey pressed forward, welcoming the flood of fresh agony wrenching her body. She knew this pain. It was part of her. Giving in to the shift, she welcomed the shiver as cool air caressed her bare skin. The ground beneath her back felt cold, and she blinked when one of the figures crouching beside her shifted and a beam of light struck her face. Pavement. Headlights. She was lying in the road. Warm hands grabbed her as she tried to sit up, lifting and twisting her until she sat in her mate’s lap. He held her close, nuzzling the top of her head, whispering her name over and over.
An older couple knelt in front of her, Stefan with the same coloring as his son and a woman with a blunt, red bob. A younger woman, with the same red hair and green eyes rested against a huge, fierce man. His high cheekbones and black eyes spoke of a Native American heritage. To the other side, a heavily pregnant woman leaned wearily against a softer, kinder-looking version of her mate.
“Where are we?” Her throat hurt, and she tried to clear it.
“Here, drink this. You’ve lost a lot of blood. Hannah’s healing can only do so much.” The younger male thrust a bottle of water at her. The cap had been removed, and a straw stuck from the neck.
“Thank you, Caleb.” Connor took the water, held it where she could reach the straw.
The cool water washed the arid, parched feeling from her throat. She sucked it down, draining half the bottle before she released the straw with a gasp. Lethargy stole over her limbs, and her eyelids fluttered closed. She forced them open, lowered them again when the older woman touched her leg.
“Rest now, darling. We’ll keep you safe.” The soothing voice of the woman held more than a hint of command. Nodding against the warmth of her mate’s chest, Bailey did as she was told and drifted away.
“Connor!” She sat up with a shout, staring around the unfamiliar room. The walls were painted a soft green, the dark furniture spread throughout the space looked spare, masculine. Soft light filtered through a gap in the heavy drapes. The scent of her mate lay everywhere, faded though, not recent.
The door swung open, and a cute moppet with a mass of dark-brown curls peeked around it. “Aunt Bailey, are you okay?”
Aunt? She blinked in surprise at the little girl. Taking her silence as invitation, the child pushed the door back and scampered in, landing on the bed beside her with a bounce. Round chocolate-brown eyes blinked up at her, and the little girl reached up her arms for a hug. Completely disarmed, Bailey gathered the child to her, holding her close.
“Jessie? Jessie, oh there you are. What did I tell you about disturbing Bailey? She needs to rest.” The pregnant woman from the side of the road waddled in, the affection in her voice negated any scolding in her words. Pressing her knuckles into the small of her back, the woman crossed to perch on the edge of the bed. “I’m Hannah, Caleb’s mate, and you’ve already met my daughter, Jessie. How are you feeling?”
Jessie nestled closer, showing no signs of wanting to break the cuddle anytime soon. Bailey rested her hand on her glossy curls. A prickle of warmth teased her skin, followed by a feeling of peace and relaxation stealing through her.
“Jessie.” Hannah’s voice held a warning note.
�
�Aunt Bailey is nervous, Mama. I just wanted to make her feel better.”
“I know, baby, but that’s enough now.” Hannah switched her attention from her daughter to Bailey. “We’re healers, my daughter and I. Jessie still has something to learn about control though.” She said it so matter-of-factly. Healers, like it was no big deal, the same way someone might tell you they were a hairdresser or a teacher. What did one say to such an amazing revelation? Her mind blanked.
Footsteps in the hallway saved her from uttering something completely inane. The two redheaded women entered the room. Mother and daughter, they had to be from their familiar looks.
“Darling, you’re awake!” The older woman swooped down to press a kiss to her cheek, leaving her hand resting on Bailey’s shoulder. One thing was becoming abundantly clear—these people did not know the meaning of personal space.
The younger woman paused at the end of the bed, giving Bailey a shy smile. “I’m Caitlyn, Connor’s twin, and this is our mother, Marjorie. We were so worried last night when Connor reached out to us. We hadn’t heard from him in months.”
Marjorie squeezed her shoulder, drawing Bailey’s gaze to hers. “Not that it made any difference. Our son needed us and we answered. That’s what family does.”
“Where is he? Where’s Connor?” she asked.
***
Connor pressed his head against the window, straining for a glimpse of the clean wooden lines of his family’s home. Lights blazed in the windows, giving the impressive structure a cozy, welcoming feel. He caught a whiff of sweat, blood, and other viscous fluids. The job was done. With the assistance of Alanna, one of the pack trackers, and the males of his family, there was no evidence of the fight with the hunters. They’d returned to the dirt road in the woods and cleared up the bodies, replaced the shot-out tires, and removed the two abandoned trucks. Ven, his sister’s mate, had driven one, Caleb the other. The vehicles had been secured beneath a pair of tarps, behind the gas station Ven operated on the outskirts of Los Lobos.
The bodies of Dale and his father had been hauled deep into the woods behind the gas station, buried and covered to prevent any wild animals from unearthing them. They’d hiked for several miles, a grim task, but one they’d undertaken without a qualm. When Connor had tried to protest, offered to do it alone, his father had silenced him with a look. Stefan wore a veneer of respectability. A peaceful man, a pillar of the community who wanted nothing more than to help the pack rebuild and prosper. His wolf had risen, blazed at Connor through golden eyes. His family had been hurt, threatened by hunters. When it came to protecting his own, there was nothing Stefan wouldn’t do.
Alanna had gathered the dead men’s possessions and traveled on to the Clarke house with Donald Clarke’s body secured in the back. She would set the scene, make it look like a home invasion. It would give her a chance to remove the computers and any other information from the property that might provide clues to the rest of the group of hunters. It would also give Bailey a chance to have a funeral, mark her father’s passing as she saw fit. Whatever misdeeds lay in his past, Donald had given his life to save Connor, and had saved Bailey in the process. Alanna possessed a gift for persuasion. She’d promised to be there when they called the local cops. Any suspicions could be quelled and controlled before they had a chance to take root.
“All right, son?” Stefan looked at him as his brother and Ven climbed from the back of the truck.
“Yeah, Dad. I am now.”
Laughter drifted from upstairs, and the four men followed it, drawn like moths to the flame. Each step took them closer to their mates and farther away from the horrors of the past twenty-four hours.
Connor stepped into the room, smiling at the sight that greeted him. His mate sat in the center of his bed, the female members of his family sprawled around her. A healthy glow warmed her cheeks, so different from the deathly pallor when he’d lifted her into his arms the night before. She raised her eyes, the color on her cheeks deepening when she spotted him.
He nodded to the glass of champagne in her hand. “Drinking?”
Shrugging her left shoulder, she drained the glass. “Doctor’s orders. Bastian called in and gave me a clean bill of health. Your mother….” She paused when Marjorie cleared her throat. A faint blush rose on her cheek, and she gave the older woman a shy smile. “Mom decided we should celebrate my joining the family.”
Connor laughed, his mother was a piece of work. Ever graceful, Marjorie rose from the bed, an unrepentant smile on her face. “Welcome home, baby,” she whispered, stretching on tiptoe to brush a kiss to his cheek. Moving past him, she curled her arm around her husband’s waist and they drifted from the room.
Hannah heaved herself up, her advanced pregnancy making it impossible for her to move with anything like grace. Caleb rushed forward, lifting her to her feet with ease. Satisfied she had her balance, he bent to scoop Jessie up into his arms and steered his little family away to their own part of the house.
Caitlyn stood next, and Connor turned toward her, the words he needed to say drying in his throat. She shook her head, the look of sweet forgiveness in her eyes much more than he deserved. A heavy hand pushed him aside, and Ven swept past him, dragging his mate into a hard embrace. His huge body practically swallowed Caitlyn’s slight frame, but he handled her like a piece of precious spun glass. With a soft laugh, his sister pulled free, tucking herself against Ven’s side.
The big man glowered at him. “She might have forgiven you, but I am not so kind. You made my Little Red cry, and that is unacceptable.” Ignoring the elbow she gave him in the ribs, Ven kept his eyes locked on Connor. “We’ll talk about this later, in private.”
Connor nodded once. He had no doubt the talk would involve fists more than words, and he was content. He’d wronged his sister, and her mate had every right to call him out. They left the room, closing the door behind him, leaving him alone with his mate.
Forgetting everything else, he met Bailey’s eyes. She looked perfect in his bed. Exactly where she belonged. Pushing aside the covers, she climbed out, crossing the room toward him. She frowned at the dirty T-shirt he wore, tugged it loose, and stripped it from his body.
Connor stood still, he didn’t want to touch her, didn’t want to mar her beauty with the ugly things coating him—not that it seemed to bother her. Kneeling down, she removed his boots and socks then stood again to unfasten and strip his jeans from his legs. The sweet delicacy of her cherry-and-almond fragrance filled his senses, pushing the dark things away to be dealt with at another time.
“I love you, my mate,” he murmured.
A tender smile played about her lips. She took his hand, leading him toward the adjoining bathroom. “Come show me how much, lover.”
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Hunger Moon by Merryn Dexter
Chapter One
Troy Lansing paused outside the door of his adopted father’s study and sucked in a deep breath. He held it for a count of ten, listening to Clark raving about whatever latest event had riled his legendary temper. He could walk away, pretend he hadn’t received the demand for his presence. Could find a warm and willing female and lose himself in a sweaty tangle of limbs. Could get in his car and keep driving until he hit the state line and escaped the daily madness of his life among the Brighton pack.
A dull thud impacted the other side of the heavy wooden door, followed by a groan of pain. Shit! Once Clark got physical no one in the vicinity was likely to escape unscathed. Glass crashed and a high-pitched cry sent Troy slamming through the door. He scanned the room, taking in the scene of devastation. His father’s desk had been upended. Papers, folders, and the pretentious gold fountain pen set Clark used lay strewn across the thick Persian rug. A black stain decorated one wall, the viscous ink pooling against the baseboard like spilled blood. Diamond shards of glass winked in the dark ink, the remnants of the cryst
al inkwell Quinn had presented to Clark for his birthday.
Quinn.
Troy schooled his face to neutral as he studied the beginnings of a livid bruise on his sister’s left cheek. Green eyes, a mirror to his own, reflected his blank stare. Never one to be cowed by the worst of Clark’s outbursts, she stood at their father’s left hand. He let his eyes slide past her, noting the pursed lips of the man standing closer to Quinn than her own shadow. Nikolas, another of Clark’s adopted strays, served as the alpha’s hammer, a title his father gave him where others might choose protector or enforcer. Family he might be, but Nik was no brother to Troy. His father’s other “son,” Dutton, slumped unconscious at Troy’s feet having obviously lost his fight with the door.
Clark Lansing stood in the center of the chaos, graying hair hanging across his forehead, lungs working like a set of bellows as he snorted and raged like a Pamplonan bull. The madness clouding his black eyes cleared when he fixed on Troy. “Where the fuck have you been?” he snarled.
“I’m here now.” He edged his voice with defiance. Let the alpha focus on him. Let Troy be the needle to lance the putrid boil of their father’s rage. The scent of his sister’s blood strained his control to the limits. He needed her out of the room before his wolf snapped the steel chains in which he’d bound his other half. Stepping over the fallen man, he closed the distance between himself and Clark, near enough to be perceived as a threat. He kept moving, forcing his father to shift position until he’d turned his back on Quinn. Troy tucked his hands in the front pockets of his slacks, an insolent gesture he paired with the easy smile that served as the cornerstone of his reputation for charm. Now. Do it now, you nasty bastard.
Keeping his eyes fixed on the alpha, he sent the force of his will toward Nikolas. Moving fast for a man of his immense size, the hammer clamped one hand over Quinn’s mouth and the other around her waist, carrying her from the room as though she weighed nothing. Tension seeped from Troy. The inevitable beating to come would be acceptable now he knew she was out of the firing line. Had Dutton been conscious they could’ve worn down Clark’s anger between them, but Troy was on his own.
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