by Paige Tyler
Trent nodded. “No problem. The rig is all yours until we catch a call.”
Diego heard Bree’s heart beat a little faster as Trent stepped outside and closed the door. Brandon’s pulse kicked up a notch as well.
“Before I say anything else, I guess formal introductions are in order,” he said, sitting on the fold-down seat across from them and holding out his hand. “Diego Martinez.”
She leaned forward, clasping his big hand with her smaller one. Diego couldn’t miss how soft her skin was or how badly he wanted to rub small circles on the back of it with his thumb.
“Bree Harlow,” she said, and maybe it was his imagination, but she seemed to hold on to his hand for an extra second or two. “And this is my son, Brandon. You saved his life in that diner. Thank you for that.”
Diego opened his mouth to tell her he was simply doing his job, but the look of true gratitude in her eyes stopped him.
“Brandon is my world, and you risked your life to keep him safe,” she said softly. “If I live to be a thousand years old, I’ll never be able to pay you back for that. I’m not sure how to try beyond saying thank you.”
The heartfelt words tugged at Diego in a way he’d never felt before. It might be his job, but Brandon was her son. Saving Brandon’s life wasn’t just another day at the office. It had been a very big deal.
“You’re welcome,” he said.
His voice sounded huskier than normal, and he cleared his throat as he reached out to shake Brandon’s hand. The kid had a firm grip.
“You said we have a lot to talk about?” Brandon said, sitting back. “Does that mean you can explain what happened to me in that diner? Because it’s been happening to me for months.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Diego saw Bree’s eyes widen in surprise, then fill with pain. As though she hadn’t known her son had been dealing with something like this for so long. Diego had never thought about what it must be like for a mother or father of someone going through the change. Then again, how often did a teenager have to deal with becoming a werewolf?
“How old are you, Brandon?”
Brandon seemed caught off guard by the question, but after a moment, he sat up straighter, squared his shoulders, and put on his I’m-older-than-I-look face.
“I’m fifteen,” he said, pinning Diego with an expression that dared him to say anything. “I’ll be sixteen in four months.”
Diego resisted the urge to chuckle, even if his first instinct was to reach over and ruffle the kid’s already tousled hair. He couldn’t imagine being fifteen years old and dealing with claws and fangs. He’d been an adult when it happened to him, and even with Hale helping him through it, the whole werewolf thing still seriously messed with his head.
“Do you remember exactly when you realized there was something strange going on with you?” Diego asked, wondering if Brandon’s change would follow the typical steps considering he was so young.
Brandon looked introspective for a moment. “I got shot about two months ago. It was right after that.”
Diego wanted to ask how Brandon had gotten shot, but that was something they could talk about later.
“What kind of things started happening?” he prompted.
Brandon frowned. “I can smell things way better than I ever used to. And I keep having these weird dreams about running through the woods. They’re so real it’s like I’m really there, then when I wake up, there’s blood in my mouth and my fingertips are bleeding.”
The kid was quiet for a long time, and this time, Diego didn’t rush him. He remembered dealing with those exact things and how much they’d scared him.
“I thought it was just my mind playing tricks on me, you know?” Brandon continued, his heart beating a little faster now. “But when I have the dreams now, I wake up and my bedsheets are all ripped up. It’s really freaking me out.”
Diego opened his mouth to tell him it was okay and that all of this was normal—at least in the beginning—but before he could say anything, the kid spoke again.
“The past week has been the worst,” he said, his voice on the edge of panic. “My muscles twitch and spasm all the time, my bones hurt like hell, and my teeth come right out of my gums and get longer, then go back in again. Like in the diner earlier.”
Brandon was breathing so fast he was on the verge of hyperventilating, and yellow swirled in his eyes. Diego reached out for him, knowing the teen was close to losing it right there in the back of the ambulance.
Bree got to her son first.
She enveloped his clasped hands in hers, squeezing them tight. That simple touch, along with a mother’s loving proximity, seemed to be all Brandon needed. He calmed within seconds.
“Honey, why didn’t you tell me about any of this?” she whispered, a mix of concern and disappointment on her face. “I’ve been worried about you for weeks, but every time I tried to get you to talk to me about it, you shut me out.”
“I’m sorry, Mom.” Brandon’s voice was soft, his eyes full of chagrin and embarrassment as he looked at her. “I wanted to tell you so many times, but I didn’t think you’d believe me. I didn’t believe it myself, and it was happening right in front of me. I thought I was going crazy or something.”
Bree blinked quickly, like she was fighting tears, then turned to look at Diego. “Can you tell me what’s happening to my son?” she asked, her voice close to breaking. “I was sure this was some kind of drug addiction, but after hearing the things he’s describing, it doesn’t sound like any kind of drug I’ve ever heard of.”
Brandon flushed, making Diego think Bree had touched on a separate issue they’d have to deal with. Later. After they got through the werewolf thing. That was going to be hard enough for these two to handle.
“Yeah, I know what’s happening.” Diego looked from mother to son and back again. “I know because I went through the same thing eight years ago. It was scary for me, too, but I promise it has nothing to do with drugs or insanity.”
Brandon seemed to relax a little at that. His mother, on the other hand, seemed to tense up even more.
“While I know exactly what you’re going through, it isn’t going to make what I have to tell you any easier to understand. Mainly because it’s complicated and hard to believe,” Diego continued. “Your first instinct will be to tell me I’m crazy, then run out of here screaming and never look back, but I need you to trust me.”
Bree’s beautiful, dark eyes filled with alarm. “You’re starting to really freak me out. Just tell me what’s wrong with my son.”
“There’s nothing wrong with him,” Diego said gently. “Your son is going through a change that started when he was shot. Everything he’s experiencing—the claws and fangs, the ways his senses have gone haywire, the strange dreams, the muscle spasms—are simply his body adapting to its new abilities. It’s his inner wolf coming out.”
Bree stared at him in confusion. “I don’t understand what you’re saying. What new abilities? And what the hell do you mean by ‘inner wolf’?”
Diego took a deep breath. Damn, he wished someone else from the Pack was here to explain this. Because he was already screwing it up.
“I know this is going to sound crazy, but your son is a werewolf.”
Bree didn’t say a word. Expression suddenly hard, she stood, yanking Brandon to his feet and starting for the door.
Diego caught her arm. “Bree, please. Remember when I said I needed you to trust me? Let me finish and all of this will make sense.”
She glared at him. “How can you seriously expect me to listen to this? What you said isn’t just insane. It’s impossible!”
Diego cursed silently. Knowing it was probably the very worst way to handle this volatile situation, but not having a better idea, he leaned back and let his own inner wolf partially out. He allowed his eyes to change from deep, dark brown to vivid yello
w-gold, upper and lower inch-long canines to slide out, and deadly looking claws to extend. He could have pushed it all the way, until his clothes fell off, thick fur covered every part of his body, and he grew a frigging tail.
But that might be a bit much for Bree and her son to deal with at the moment.
Turns out the fangs, claws, and glowing eyes were over the top as far as Bree was concerned. She let out a little scream and scrambled backward until she thumped against the far side of the vehicle. She probably would have fallen out the door if it had been open.
But at the same time his mother was freaking out, Brandon froze solid. Then a second later, he stepped closer, his expression equal parts relief and concern.
“This is real?” he asked. “This is why I grew fangs in the middle of the diner full of people? I’m turning into a monster?” His eyes went wide. “Crap! Is that why the guy in there was shouting about monsters? Did he know what I am? Was he going to tell the world about me?”
Diego let his body shift back, the corner of his mouth edging up. “That’s the same thing I said when I went through my change, so I understand what’s going through your head. You aren’t turning into a monster, and that guy had no idea you’re a werewolf. He was messed up, that’s all. As far as what’s going on with you, things are merely a little out of control right now. Your fangs came out in the diner because you were frigging scared. Once you gain control of your abilities, that won’t happen to you anymore. I can help you gain that control, if you’ll let me.”
The inside of the ambulance fell silent, the sounds from outside the only thing filling the space. That was it. He’d made his pitch. Now, it was up to Brandon—and Bree—to accept his help or walk away.
Diego held his breath as Brandon turned to look questioningly at his mother. When Bree gave him a tremulous smile and nodded, it was as if a weight he hadn’t even realized was there lifted from his shoulders. When had this kid become his responsibility?
“This is totally insane, but if you can help my son, I don’t care how crazy it is,” Bree said, stepping away from the wall and turning her gaze on him. “You saved our lives. That earns you the benefit of the doubt.”
Diego was so relieved, he felt like laughing, but he restrained himself. Neither of them would appreciate him laughing at a serious moment like this.
“So,” Brandon said, hope warring with worry on his face. “How does this work? Are there classes for something like this, or will this be more like an on-the-job thing?”
Diego opened his mouth only to close it again. Damn, he didn’t have a flipping clue how to answer that question. But he knew someone who would.
“There are some people I’d like you to meet who will help you and your mom have a better understanding of what it means to be a werewolf,” he said.
“Other people?” Bree said slowly. “You mean other werewolves?”
Brandon’s heart thumped faster again. “There are other people like us in the world?”
Diego grinned. “Other werewolves? Yeah, you could say that.”
* * *
When they stepped out of the ambulance, Bree’s heart was thumping so fast she was sure it was about to jump out of her chest and run screaming across the street and down the sidewalk—where it would probably be squished flat by the crowd still gathered behind the crime tape. Because seriously, that was the kind of morning she was having.
Not only had she and Brandon almost been killed, but now it turned out her son was a werewolf. If Diego was to be believed. And for reasons she couldn’t come close to explaining, she did believe him. Bree wasn’t sure which one of them was crazier. Diego for claiming to be a werewolf or her for believing him.
Now, she and Brandon were going with Diego to the SWAT compound so they could supposedly meet up with even more werewolves. Nope, that wasn’t crazy at all.
Her first instinct was to say hell no. Actually, her first instinct had been to grab Brandon and run for the hills. But something about Diego made her instinctively trust him. He barely knew them, and yet he seemed to genuinely care about her and her son. Her ex-husband had never looked at either of them that way, that was for sure. She was stunned at how good that made her feel.
“I need to tell my teammates where I’m going,” Diego said as they started across the street.
The moment they reached the sidewalk, a man stepped in front of them, blocking their path. Average height with wavy blond hair, he wore a pair of dress pants and a short-sleeved shirt, both of which were slightly wrinkled, as well as glasses. The guy hadn’t said a word yet, but Bree could tell from the way Diego’s jaw tightened that he didn’t like the guy. For some strange reason, Bree found herself not liking him, either.
“Officer Martinez, another day, another violent crime involving a suspect who doesn’t fit the profile,” the man drawled, the smile curving his mouth making her think he relished the idea of such violence. He held out a small recorder. “Can you confirm for the record that this morning’s hostage situation was another case of a delirium overdose?”
Diego regarded the guy as though he would rather have stepped on him than answer the question. “Delirium? Are you serious?”
“Yeah. Everyone’s calling it that now.”
“You’re the only one who’s calling it that.”
The man grinned. “Okay. You got me there. But it’s catchy, isn’t it?”
Diego scowled. “There’s a reason we put up crime-scene tape, Hobbs. Because you’re supposed to be on the other side of it. You know any official statement for the media involving an active case has to come through DPD public relations.”
Since the guy was a reporter, Bree expected him to say something about the public’s right to know. But Hobbs didn’t bat an eye.
“No problem.” Hobbs slanted a sly look at her and Brandon, gray eyes assessing behind his glasses, before he slipped the recorder in his pocket and turned his attention back to Diego. “I’m fine with a comment off the record. We both know there’s something strange going on here. The people involved in this recent crime wave are ordinary, everyday people who wake up one morning and decide to do something out of character—like take a diner full of people hostage. The rumors are that there’s a new drug on the street. I simply need a source to confirm it. I’ll never mention you by name.”
Diego snorted. “Good try, Hobbs. Not going to happen. Once more for the cheap seats, I have no comment on any active investigation, which includes this morning’s events at the diner, or any other incidents of this so-called crime wave.”
“So, you’re confirming there’s a crime wave?”
When Diego merely glared at him, Hobbs looked at her and Brandon, giving them what he probably thought was a charming smile. “Ernest Hobbs, Dallas Daily Star. I can only imagine the trauma you and your son experienced this morning. Care to talk about what happened in the diner?”
“Give it a rest, Hobbs,” Diego practically snarled as he stepped between Bree and the man. “They’ve been through enough. Like I said, if you want a statement, you’ll need to get it from public relations. Until then, get back behind the tape.”
Hobbs looked like he was about to argue, but when Diego motioned toward a patrol officer near the diner, the reporter held up his hands in acquiescence.
“I’m going.” Turning, he walked a few steps, then looked back at Diego. “The DPD can try to keep a lid on this, but that’s not going to work much longer. There are frigging doctors and lawyers knocking off banks and jewelry stores. When this whole mess blows up in your faces, I’ll be right there waiting to print every word of it, laughing my ass off the whole damn time.”
Diego made a sound that was suspiciously close to a growl as he watched Hobbs head for the crime-scene tape at the end of the block.
“Is all that stuff he said about a drug out there making people do violent things true?” Brandon asked, eyes fixed on
Diego. “Is that why the guy in the diner took all of us hostage, then shot himself?”
“We don’t know,” a deep voice said from behind them.
Bree turned to see three cops in heavy tactical gear approaching. Two of them must have come through the windows of the diner with the officer she’d seen earlier because their uniforms were torn in several places.
“But Hobbs is right about people doing stuff you wouldn’t expect,” the man continued. “If we’re being totally honest, he might be right about the drugs. Something is causing them to act strangely, and drugs are about the only good explanation we can come up with.”
It was obvious Brandon had a lot more questions about what happened in the diner, but he also seemed aware that now wasn’t the right time for them.
“Bree, Brandon,” Diego said, “these are three of my teammates—Trey Duncan, Hale Delaney, and Connor Malone.”
All three of the men were built like Diego with muscles piled on top of muscles and attractive beyond all possible reason. Well, none of them were nearly as good looking as Diego, but pretty darn close. Were they all so well built because they were SWAT or because they were all werewolves?
Good heavens, she really had lost her mind. Now she was seeing werewolves everywhere.
Trey was the one with the deep voice. He had intense blue eyes to go with those tones, and Bree wondered why he was a cop instead of a movie star. Hale had dark-blond hair, blue eyes, and a nose that looked like it had been broken at some point. Connor had hair that couldn’t seem to decide if it wanted to be blond or brown and a distinctly California surfer look that totally worked.
She was so busy gazing at all the hunky men around her that she hadn’t realized Brandon was staring, too. Not until he asked the same thing she’d been wondering earlier.
“Are all of you like Diego?”
Connor looked at him in confusion. “You mean short?”
“Ugly?” Trey suggested helpfully.
“Misshapen?” offered Hale, arching a brow at the look Bree gave him. “What? He’s practically as broad as he is tall.”