by S. Young
However, their alpha, their chief, was leaving for dangers unknown and the pack had requested a run of solidarity, hoping their combined energies would imbue him with their strength and support.
Conall would not say no to that.
He sighed and strolled over to where Callie sat in her wheelchair. After Ashforth dropped his bomb, Conall and James had gone to Callie to break the news. The hope that bloomed in her eyes was hard to see. That hope meant he could not fail.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, hands on his hips.
Callie gazed up at him with the same pale gray eyes his mother had also given to him. James stood by her side. As always. “I can witness this now, knowing I’ll get to run soon.”
No, he would not fail.
A few months ago, his little sister complained about fatigue and pain in her lower spine. Conall had asked her to go to Inverness to see their pack doctor, Dr. Brianna MacRae, but she’d refused.
Until the first time she couldn’t shift.
Her body just refused to give in to her wolf, even on a full moon. That’s when she finally allowed him to drive her to the city where after several tests, Brianna announced Callie had what wolves commonly referred to as apogee. Brianna knew of it but hadn’t ever seen a case before because it was so rare in wolves. Just like the human disease cancer, it was an uncontrolled division of abnormal cells in the body. In Callie’s case, it was a malignant tumor on her spine.
Unlike cancer, there was no way to beat apogee, and the cases were so few, little funding had gone into developing treatment. Conall had given money to Brianna to share her research with a wolf in Sweden who was already studying the disease, but Callie would be long gone before they made any breakthroughs.
There was not a lot of time left to save her, and Conall couldn’t lose another member of his family.
He wouldn’t.
Chucking Callie under the chin, he grinned as she rolled her eyes and turned back around to face his waiting pack and the Canids. A man of few words, he merely watched them as the sun began to dip below the horizon, turning the leaves of the trees from green and plum to black. A burning, tingling sensation skated down his spine, signaling the call of the full moon.
A growl burrowed up from deep in his gut and he felt the sting of his teeth elongating. He yanked his shirt over his head and threw it aside. “Ceannsaichidh an Fhìrinn!” He bellowed their clan motto in Scottish Gaelic, the words warped by the guttural rumble of his wolf.
His pack lowered to their knees; everyone but Peter and Richard Canid followed suit. A pack alpha did not bow to another pack alpha, that was understood. Richard, however, should have been on his knees beside Sienna. His father clamped a hand on his shoulder and forced him to them.
While Conall’s packs’ expressions strained from the forced beginnings of the shift, Richard’s strained with distaste. Conall concentrated every inch of his powerful energy toward the recalcitrant pup and watched the blood leach from Richard’s face as he felt the power of the alpha overwhelm him. He fell to his knees, trembling.
Conall’s pack felt his power too, their own growls, purrs, and howls filling the air. And then as one they all cried, “Ceannsaichidh an Fhìrinn!”
Truth Conquers.
Their truth conquered them every full moon, and they reveled in it.
5
The studio apartment Thea rented was farther into the Nowa Huta district than the last, which meant an even farther and more expensive commute to the pub restaurant on Stolarska. But there didn’t appear to be any vampires nearby, so Thea was calling it a win.
Not that the shitty apartment with its stained mattress could normally be considered a win.
However, the apartment was not what was on Thea’s mind. For the last few days, she’d felt like someone was watching her and she was constantly on guard. Suspicious that the vampire called Abram might have followed her scent, she’d been looking over her shoulder everywhere she went. Today that feeling of being watched was heightened but since there was no internal warning of danger, she didn’t let herself get too worked up about it.
Still, it was annoying. Every time she swept the busy bar for a possible source, she couldn’t find anyone paying any particular attention to her.
Well, that wasn’t strictly true. The middle-aged American couple she was serving were watching her with a gleam in their eyes she recognized and did not like. She nicknamed them The Oranges as soon as they walked in because they were both wearing fake tan. They weren’t exactly orange, but it was obvious their current skin color had been purchased. The Oranges signaled to her as she was passing. “I’ll be right there,” she promised.
Once she’d given an order to the kitchen, she reluctantly returned to the couple’s table. “Would you like to see the dessert menu?”
Mr. Orange curled his finger at her. An unpleasant feeling roiled in Thea’s stomach as she bent toward him.
“My wife and I,” he said in her ear, his lips almost touching her skin, “were wondering …” Thea felt his hand smooth over her ass. “If you’d like to join us at our hotel after your shift? We’ll generously compensate you.”
If Thea hadn’t been exposed to the worst of humanity at such a young age, perhaps she would have scoffed to hear such a story. It was so cliché. A western couple with more money than sense trying to pick up a poor fellow countrywoman in a foreign country working a menial job, to prostitute her for their shared pleasure.
Well, clichés were clichés for a reason.
They were often goddamn true.
And it wasn’t the first time Thea had to brush off that kind of offer.
She pushed his hand from her ass and straightened. “I’ll bring you and your wife the check and then you should probably leave.”
Mr. Orange’s face reddened to blood orange with indignation while Mrs. Orange’s lips pinched together. Not long later Thea gave them the check and returned to get the cash they’d left while they were over at the alcove by the door to the kitchen, shrugging into their coats.
They hadn’t left a tip.
At all.
The guy felt her up and then attempted to prostitute her and he hadn’t even had the decency to tip her.
The bitter ugliness that Thea tried so hard to fight down bloomed in her chest. Pasting a serene expression on her face, she strolled toward the kitchen and just as she reached Mr. Orange, she pretended to trip on a chair leg. Colliding with him, she expertly slipped her hand inside his coat to the inner pocket where he kept his wallet and withdrew it. As they fumbled against each other, she slipped the wallet into her apron pocket.
It all happened in a matter of seconds. No one was the wiser.
“I am so sorry.” She gave an embarrassed, innocent smile as she stepped away from him.
“Clumsy girl,” Mr. Orange huffed, tugging on the lapels of his coat.
“Really, I’m so sorry. You have a wonderful day.” Thea turned away as Mrs. Orange muttered something insulting about Thea to her husband, thinking she couldn’t hear.
Smirking to herself, Thea wandered through the kitchen, grabbed a filled trash bag, and stepped out into the alley behind the restaurant. The feeling of being watched lessened, and she dumped the trash before opening the wallet. She grinned seeing the wad of zlotys and promptly hid the wallet beneath the wheel arch of the left back tire of Anthony’s car. Zuzanna said the car had sat untouched in the alley for months because he hated driving in the city.
If the Oranges returned before her shift was over, looking for the wallet, they wouldn’t find it on her or in her locker. After her shift, she’d grab the wallet and dump everything but the cash.
That Thea didn’t even feel guilty about it probably made her a terrible person, but there was no one in her life to judge her, to care about her actions, so why should she?
As Thea stood from her haunches, the hair on her arms and neck rose like she’d walked through static. Reflexive instinct made her whip around, and she choked ou
t a gasp at the appearance of the tall man towering before her.
Where the hell had he come from?
The surrounding air shifted and an earthy scent like damp soil passed over her.
She knew that base scent.
He wasn’t a man.
He was a werewolf.
Hence all her hair standing on end.
But the back of her neck wasn’t tingling, and her heart wasn’t beating fast, so apparently, he didn’t present a danger.
Still, she glanced around, freaked out he’d gotten this close before her instincts kicked in.
How?
Looking at him, Thea wanted to take a step back, but she worried he’d misconstrue it as a sign of fear. Not that it mattered. Thea knew wolves could smell fear.
Staring up at the powerfully built supernatural that stood at least six and a half feet tall, Thea should’ve probably felt fear and would have if her danger signals had been blaring. A deep scar cut through the werewolf’s left cheek. He looked battle-hardened. Cold determination blazed out of his startling pale gray eyes.
Despite the simplicity of his clothing—T-shirt, jeans, and hiking boots—everything about him screamed warrior. It was the scar, the scary ruggedness of his countenance, and the aura of power that emanated from him, caressing her skin like a hum of energy. She would bet her life he was an alpha.
What the hell did an alpha werewolf want with Thea?
His gaze flickered to the wallet under the wheel and his upper lip curled into a sneer. “A thief too.” He looked back at her in icy regard. A shudder rippled down Thea’s spine. “I shouldnae be surprised.”
He sounded Scottish.
“Who are you? What do you want?”
And then something happened Thea never expected. The hulking werewolf moved faster than she knew werewolves could. As fast as she’d seen a vampire move. It was too late to react, to respond.
Something pricked her neck.
Fury blasted through her as she glared up into his cold eyes.
Determined to teach the wolf a lesson, Thea readied herself for battle … and then she finally noted the almost-empty syringe in his hand just as the burn began. A familiar substance clung to the base of the syringe.
No!
He’d found her.
Ashforth had found her.
The burn spread and Thea’s knees buckled as a familiar agony rushed through her. She could almost visualize the concoction merging with her blood, heating her cells to the boiling point. Refusing to scream, she fell to her knees and curled in on herself, choking back the misery.
And then like always, the pain became too much, and her body did what it needed to do to protect her. It shut down.
Everything went black.
Upon arriving at the shabby, dank flat in Budapest, Conall had detected Thea’s scent immediately. It was floral and fresh, like summer back home, but there was also a touch of something heady and sweet. Similar to toffee or molasses but not quite either. In fact, it was a scent he had never come across before and it marked Thea as different.
As soon as he inhaled the remnants of her presence in the shithole flat, Conall closed his eyes and let his mind take him to her, tapping into that internal GPS of his. Like a magnet, he felt his mind, his body, tugged northward.
He needed to travel north.
Following the otherworldly pull of his gift, Conall followed Thea’s scent through Slovakia and into Poland.
Sensing her nearby, Conall opted to sleep first and paid for a room at a hotel in Kraków’s Old Town. Refreshed and more than ready to grab his murderess and get the hell back to his sister and pack, Conall felt Thea’s presence grow nearer to him as he ate breakfast in the hotel.
His nose led him to the restaurant on the street just off the main square, and peering into the bottle-green windows, Conall spotted his prey.
At first, the look of her struck him, the impact far greater in reality. Watching her move through the increasingly busy restaurant, the male in him was sorry that her outside did not reflect her inside.
Thea wore her long dark hair pulled high into a ponytail that swished in rhythm to the sway of her sweetly curved arse. She had the kind of body he loved. Slender in the waist and legs, but fuller in the hips, arse, and breasts. Her body moved with so much grace, it gave away her supernatural status. At least to those in the know.
Ashforth was right. Conall scowled as Thea turned to flash a barely there smile at a patron. Everything about Thea Quinn was a weapon, even her beauty. Despite her dark coloring, she reminded him of summer, just as her scent did. Light, almost ethereal.
The darkness within her was well hidden.
As if she sensed his study, Thea had turned to look out the window and Conall had moved out of sight just in time. He cursed himself for staring at her like a prepubescent pup glimpsing his first naked woman.
A cold determination coiled around Conall. That woman in there was the key to saving Callie. Nothing about her, nothing she said or did, would stop him from dragging her back to Scotland.
He waited.
Trying to watch as inconspicuously as possible as people walked by or into the restaurant wasn’t easy when he was built like a brick shithouse. Thankfully, just as he thought he might need to move along, he watched the scene with the American couple unfold. When the arsehole crooked his finger at Thea, Conall had focused, using his heightened hearing to cut through the chatter of the other diners. Although muffled, he made out the proposition and watched with distaste as the man slid his hand over Thea’s jeans-clad arse.
For a moment, he forgot whose side he was on, cheering his prey on when she shoved the man’s hand off her and suggested he leave.
But then she stole his wallet and as much as the guy was a prick, thievery was dishonorable. Murdering innocent people made you scum. Thievery just made you scummier.
Watching her disappear into the kitchen, Conall followed her scent and soon detected her in the alley behind the restaurant.
When he’d come upon her hiding the wallet, he felt a moment of disgust before he shut his emotions off completely. When Thea turned to him, Conall had smelled no fear, which surprised him considering most people were afraid of him before they even knew him.
He hadn’t enjoyed watching the supernatural fall to the ground in agony from whatever fucking drug he’d injected into her neck. Ashforth hadn’t mentioned that part. Conall had just expected her to pass out.
Instead, whatever pain she was feeling strained her features as she crumpled to her knees. Her eyes had turned from their natural warm cognac to a supernatural bright gold, as a hoarse sound rattled in the back of her throat. And Conall saw it. First the recognition, followed by intense fear.
She knew who’d sent him.
And he’d smelled the musky odor of fear, like fresh sweat, sharpen to an intense coppery, blood-like tang. So strong, Conall could taste it on his tongue.
Terror.
Not fear.
Terror.
Conall refused to overanalyze it. It would terrify anyone to face a man whose wife you’d murdered, knowing what awaited you.
However, he couldn’t ignore the determination and grit he saw in her eyes. She wouldn’t scream. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. And as much as he tried, Conall couldn’t help but admire that just a little.
When she slumped to her side, eyes closed, body limp with unconsciousness, Conall bent toward her. Lifting Thea into his arms, he refused to think of how fragile and feminine and helpless she felt. Instead, he focused on getting her back to the car. People stared at him in suspicion as he strode through Old Town with an unconscious woman in his arms. A few people even stopped to ask what he was doing, some of them tourists. Others were natives asking in broken English. He explained his girlfriend had passed out and he was returning her to the hotel for care.
One man tried to stop him from continuing on.
Conall growled, the wolf rising. The human sensed it and backed off in confu
sed horror.
The minutes-walk seemed to last forever, but finally Conall reached the hotel where he’d parked the rental car. For a second, he tightened his hold on the feminine, powerless form in his arms, ready to gently settle her into the back seat. Then he remembered the photographs of her victims and he practically threw her in with a snarl.
His prey was caught.
It was time to get the hell back to Scotland, hand the murdering little wench over, retrieve his cure, and except for rejoicing in his sister’s recovery, forget the whole bloody thing had ever occurred.
6
The first thing Thea became cognizant of was the whooshing sound she’d soon realize was the noise of the road passing beneath her. Then the smell of leather. The feel of leather beneath her cheek. Followed closely by a slight rocking motion.
Instinct held her frozen, and she automatically cloaked her body in silence. Just until she got her bearings. Eyes still closed, she let awareness move through her, and with it came the memories.
The wolf.
She tensed and then forced herself to relax. Using her preternatural senses, she pushed beyond herself and the scent of earth and something darker, spicier, filled her nose. The wolf was here, driving her somewhere.
And Ashforth had sent him.
Rage and terror fought for supremacy and she was thankful for her cloaking gift that kept her shuddering from being detectable to the wolf. The bastard had injected her with Ashforth’s concoction, one of the few things on this planet that caused her agonizing pain.
If she thought she could get past Ashforth’s hired muscle and no doubt a supply of the drug, Thea would be tempted to stick around to teach the wolf a lesson about manners. Unfortunately, or fortunately, she was all about survival and escaping the wolf was her priority. Thea didn’t know how long she’d been knocked out or where the werewolf was taking her. Needing some idea of her surroundings, she risked opening one eye.