No kidding. Patrice wanted to puke at all the silver in the room and it wasn’t even touching her. Alain’s father had gone through this, barely making it home before he laid down and died.
“My father came to you looking for Gina, didn’t he?” Alain asked.
“Yep. Didn’t find her.”
“So you got silver into his system and he died. What did you use?”
“A needle. Silver oxide—quiet and easy. Took a while, but it got him. He couldn’t do anything about it.”
Alain clenched his hands. “Bastard. You murdered my father.”
“I killed vermin. Wolves attack livestock and stupid bleeding hearts want to reintroduce them into the wild. Werewolves are ten times worse. I’m just culling them, protecting my cattle.”
“He was my father.”
“Dumb animal,” Dunstan disagreed, and he kicked Alain in the mouth.
Patrice snarled with rage. She leapt, tearing straight through the window’s glass, dropping her gun and cuffs to free her mouth. For a split second the two armed men gaped, then Dunstan’s brother fired.
The split second let Patrice dive and roll out of the way. She tried to yank the silver net from Alain, but the touch of it burned her. She kept on rolling, the pain in her paw nauseating.
When she came out of her roll, she landed on her feet and forced the shift back to human.
“Police,” she yelled. “You’re under arrest for kidnapping and murder.”
* * * * *
Alain stared up at her, his beautiful mate who stood above him, naked and furious. Her legs were near his face, lovely limbs that he wanted to lick.
If he weren’t tied up, trapped in a net and sick on silver.
Dunstan and his brother both stared at her. The roar of the shotgun made Alain’s ears ring, the acrid smell of powder hanging heavy. Shotguns weren’t made for living rooms.
Geoffrey Dunstan started to laugh. “Did you hear that, Ben? We’re under arrest.” He had to shout, because he’d deafened himself along with everyone else.
“She can arrest me any time,” Ben said, tossing aside his spent shotgun. “Cuff me, sweetie.”
Geoffrey lost his smile. “Don’t. She’s one of the fucking werewolves. A little bit of silver and I can bring my count up to three.”
“Three,” Alain rasped. “Is that all? I thought you were a mighty werewolf hunter.”
“Three in Sedona,” Geoff gloated. “Total of ten throughout the U.S.A.”
“Bastard,” he repeated. He imagined the others had died similarly, poisoned with silver, burning with it until they were happy to die.
Above him, his glorious Patrice began reading them their rights.
Ben laughed again. “Really? You’re arresting us with no gun, no badge, no cuffs? Just your sweet little naked ass?”
She gave him a look of contempt and Alain’s heart swelled with pride. No more shy Patrice, but a werewolf who knew her power.
“I’m not stupid. I called in backup when I came out here. Said you probably had a missing woman up here against her will. Where is she?”
“Around,” Geoffrey shrugged. “Where’s your backup?”
“On their way. I imagine some of your neighbors might also report the sound of a gunshot.”
“A lot of hunters up here.”
“In a neighborhood?”
“Fucking New Agers,” Ben growled under his breath. “And their fucking crystals.”
Geoffrey Dunstan aimed his shotgun at Patrice. “The police aren’t coming and you know it. Even if they are, I still have time to kill me another couple werewolves.”
Patrice snarled at him. She shifted swiftly into wolf form and before he could aim at her new height, she sprang. The gun flew out of his hands and thunked to the floor, just out of Alain’s reach. The net hampered him, though he could kick Geoff Dunstan hard enough to make him stumble.
Ben Dunstan went for the fallen shotgun, but just then a coyote flew over Alain and landed between Ben and the gun.
Ben stared. “Shit, another one.”
Jackson went for his throat. Alain rolled onto his side, trying to flip the net off him. Patrice couldn’t help, because she was fighting and couldn’t have touched the damn thing anyway.
Patrice was savaging Dunstan. It took Alain a minute to realize she wasn’t trying to kill him. She wanted to keep him alive to arrest him, to punish him legally for what he’d done.
Crazy, honor-bound Patrice.
Geoff’s hand flopped by chance onto the gun. Alain kicked hard, spinning the weapon away from him. Ben Dunstan rolled, trying to dislodge Jackson, and managed to get his hands around the gun.
It fired.
Chapter Nine
Patrice screamed.
Ben Dunstan crawled out from under Jackson, who had reverted to his human form. Ben’s shirt was covered in blood, but he stood up, unhurt.
Both barrels had gone off, Patrice realized through the deafening noise. Straight into Jackson, who lay limp in a pool of his own blood.
But he can’t die, Patrice thought desperately. He’s a god.
But hadn’t he told her his mother was human? And the guns were loaded with silver shot.
Ben looked a little surprised. Patrice took that surprised moment to leap on him. One furious swipe of her paw across his head and he fell, unconscious.
“Patrice,” Alain rasped.
Geoff Dunstan, who had been rolling on the floor, head bloody from where Patrice had bitten him, suddenly slid a silver chain around Patrice’s middle.
Her howl shook the walls. It hurt, burned like nothing else ever had. She saw Alain look at her in despair, struggling against his own bonds.
He’s my mate, her wolf thought desperately. I need to help him.
“We need to help each other.”
The voice was Alain’s—his wolf’s voice.
Aching and weak, Patrice put out her paw. She saw herself changing back to human, the silver chain draining her power. With the last of her strength, she tore at the net, jerking it from Alain’s body.
Alain looked pale and sick, his wrists still bound. He closed his eyes—his beautiful silver eyes—and Patrice felt him look for the wolf. She collapsed to the carpet as the chain held her fast.
The power that surged was far weaker than Alain’s usual shift, but his form grew and changed and grew some more until a huge black wolf was getting to his feet, paws shaking off the bonds.
Geoffrey Dunstan tried to grab the net, but too late. His eyes widened as he looked up and up and up at Alain as a wolf. Alain’s eyes blazed and his lips curled back in a long snarl.
“Fucking werewolf,” Dunstan whispered, then Alain knocked him aside with one blow. His werewolf claws raked the man’s face, blood spattering to the carpet.
“Don’t mess with my mate,” he growled.
Dunstan tried to run. Alain leapt on him and bore him back to the ground. The chain slid from Patrice’s waist, easing the pain. Still she lay panting and weak while Alain brought his paw up to finish Dunstan off.
“Wait,” she gasped. Patrice crawled to the handcuffs she had dropped and climbed painfully to her feet, scooping up the cuffs. Alain, deep inside his wolf, growled as she tried to push him away from Dunstan.
“No,” she said. “I’m arresting him. That’s what people do.”
Alain met her gaze with a furious silver one. They looked at each other for a long time, Patrice trying to project how much she understood what he needed.
Alain gave a long, rumbling growl but finally backed away.
Dunstan, released, tried to get up again. Patrice summoned the last of her strength, put her foot on his back and slammed him back down, clicking the cuffs around his wrists.
This was the police officer in her, not the werewolf. Alain wanted him dead—she wanted him in prison. Maybe this was her way of not letting the beast take over.
Dunstan swore and tried to wriggle away but his injuries and the cuffs held him fast. Strong, stee
l, police-issue handcuffs could put even a large man in Patrice’s power.
Alain lowered his muzzle to Dunstan’s face, teeth bared. Dunstan babbled, “Don’t make me a werewolf. Please, don’t make me a werewolf.”
“Stupid asshole,” Alain rumbled. Patrice understood him but Dunstan did not.
“That’s not how you become a werewolf,” Patrice said. “That’s the movies.”
Dunstan’s eyes widened. “Then how do you… Oh, God, you have sex with them?” He eyed Patrice in new terror.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she said.
She turned away, Alain pressing hard against her side.
Jackson lay on the floor behind them, covered in blood. Patrice knelt next to him, shaking all over, and took Jackson’s head in her lap. Alain lowered his head and nuzzled him.
The man’s brown eyes fluttered open. “Did we get him?” he rasped.
“Yes,” Patrice whispered. “We got him.”
Alain morphed back into human form and brushed a strand of Jackson’s hair from his face. “Stay still, my friend.” He looked at Patrice. “Did you really call in backup?”
“No. But I will. At least I carry a cell phone.”
Her last word ended in a sob. Alain touched her face, kissed her cheek.
Patrice drew a breath, pulling herself together. Then she rose and left through the back porch, finding her clothes and Jackson’s where they’d left them. She dressed quickly and made a phone call, then carried Jackson’s clothes back inside.
Alain had Jackson’s head in his lap, Jackson’s chest black with blood.
Dunstan watched them from his place on the floor. “That shot was packed with silver,” he sneered. “At least I took out one of you.”
Jackson grunted. Patrice knelt beside him, trying to keep him still, but Jackson lifted one blood-streaked finger. “Silver only works against werewolves,” he grated. “I’m a coyote. There’s a difference.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Dunstan said. “You’re still dead.”
“I don’t think I am yet.”
Alain brushed a finger over Jackson’s lips. “Stop talking. Save your strength.”
“Not only am I not a werewolf,” Jackson went on. “I’m also not a man.”
He gently pushed Alain’s hand away and climbed painfully to his feet. Dunstan watched him, open-mouthed
Jackson looked down at Dunstan. “You’re a killer,” he said, voice weak. “Even when you kill the supernatural, it still makes you a murderer. But I’ll be merciful. I’ll let the human police deal with you.” His voice lowered to a near whisper. “If it were me exacting justice, you’d learn what pain truly was. An eternity of it.” He took his t-shirt from Patrice’s hands, still watching Dunstan. “If you ever harm another living being, I will exact justice. I promise you that.”
Dunstan at last looked worried. He believed in power, because he’d seen it in the werewolves. Jackson’s quiet words sounded more terrifying than any werewolf snarl. His power was immense, and it radiated from him.
Jackson suddenly dropped to one knee, spent. He looked at the crimson-stained cloth in his hands and shook his head. “Aw, damn,” he said. “I really liked this shirt.”
* * * * *
They found Gina Wood, still alive, dehydrated and half starved in an empty bedroom on the second floor. An ambulance carried her to a hospital and there she told Patrice her story.
She’d meet Geoffrey Dunstan when she’d first come out here, but after a week or so, she’d realized what a jerk he was and broke it off. Dunstan had taken her a few times to the Last Chance bar and she’d met Thomas Dupree there. They’d started going out and she’d liked him—a lot.
One night when Thomas was out—probably being his wolf, Patrice thought—a man had called her from the bar claiming to be one of Thomas’ friends, saying that Thomas wanted to meet her there. Thomas had done that before and she saw no reason not to believe him.
But when she arrived, Geoff had met her in the parking lot, shoved her into a car and driven her to his ranch. He’d used her as bait to lure Thomas to him and then killed him by injecting him with something. Gina had thought Geoff would kill her too, but he raved that he only killed werewolves, not humans. She should thank him for saving her from the beast. She was terrified, thinking him crazy.
Geoff had kept her locked in a shed, then moved her to his brother’s house just before he sold up all the land. He was tired of Sedona, he said. Too many developers digging up the place.
Thomas’s neighbor, Howard, arrived at the hospital to pick Gina up when she was discharged a few days later. She went back to Chicago after that, Howard going with her to help her settle in. She’d hugged Alain and told him how much she’d treasured his father.
Jackson recovered, his magic repairing his body, but his act hadn’t been painless. He’d evaded death, but he’d suffered. It hadn’t been an easy thing for him to take the shot to save Alain and Patrice.
“I’m divine,” he’d explained to them. “Or half divine. The only one who can kill me is a god. So I always try not to piss them off.”
“Good rule,” Alain said.
“I have my own legends—I don’t share a history with werewolves. That means silver doesn’t slow me down.”
“Don’t rub it in,” Alain grunted.
Alain had taken days to recover from being weakened by the silver net and chain. Patrice stayed with him, taking a brief leave of absence from work. She was weak and exhausted even though she hadn’t touched the silver as long, and knew she needed a rest almost as much as Alain did.
A week later the three of them sat on Alain’s back porch sharing a meal and beer. Patrice liked this, living with Alain—eating and sleeping with him, relaxing with him.
They didn’t have much sex while they both convalesced, but as Patrice’s strength returned, her wolf’s blood began to burn with renewed mating frenzy.
Jackson sent her a lazy smile. He had his hand on Alain’s arm, running his fingers along the inside of his wrist. “You think she’s ready?”
Alain’s eyes glinted. “She might be.”
“Ready for what?” Patrice asked. Something dark fluttered inside her. What were you two whispering about today?”
The way they gazed at her made her nervous. The coffee brown and silver eyes that fixed on her were both beautiful in their own way. She had the sudden urge to run from these men and have them chase her, feeling excited anticipation of what they’d do when they caught her.
Alain said slowly and distinctly, “Clothes—off.”
Patrice’s hand went to the buttons of her blouse. “It’s almost dark. What about the wolf taking over?”
“You still need to learn to control it. This will be perfect. No wolf-turning until after.”
“After what?”
Alain’s eyes glinted. “You’ll know.”
She unbuttoned her blouse, their gazes on her palpable. She opened her blouse under their scrutiny, then took off her bra, her nipples tightening as her imagination went wild. What would it be like if they both…
Patrice moved to where the two men sat side by side on the porch swing. The sun was just down, the sky streaked with crimson and azure and orange above the silhouetted trees. She stopped in front of them.
“Suck me,” she said softly.
Both men smiled. Jackson leaned forward and took her right nipple in his mouth, Alain slanting a wicked glance up at her before he closed his mouth on her left.
Oh, yes. Patrice arched as their tongues swirled hard and sweet on her breasts. She laced her fingers through their hair, Jackson’s like satin-silk, Alain’s rougher and wirier. Both suckled and nibbled until she was squirming with pleasure.
Alain hooked his finger around the waistband of her shorts. “Off,” he said into her skin.
With shaking fingers, Patrice unzipped her shorts. Alain and Jackson skimmed them down her legs, then her underwear.
“She’s not allowed to wear clothes the rest of
the night,” Jackson said.
The November evening was cooling rapidly but Patrice’s blood pounded so hot it didn’t matter. Besides, how could she be cold with these two men to warm her?
“Feet apart,” Alain whispered.
She obediently moved her legs apart. Adam slid his finger along her quim, and then she felt the strong touch of Jackson with his. Both men pushed fingers inside her.
“Yes,” she murmured. Their mouths hot on her breasts coupled with the friction of their fingers made her rock and moan. How lucky she was to have two beautiful men pleasuring her, men who liked to be together. Not rivals, just friends.
Jackson slid off the swing and went down on one knee. “Spread your legs,” he said. “We want to feast.”
Patrice’s heart pounded in fast excitement. She parted her legs and bit back a cry as Jackson lowered his head and licked her. Alain’s fingers were still inside, and she squeezed them hard.
“She’s enjoying it,” Alain murmured.
“She’s tasty.” Jackson’s breath seared her skin. “Join me.”
He moved over so Alain could put his mouth on her and slide his tongue inside. She groaned and rocked on her feet. The two of them took turns tasting her, driving her crazy with tongues and fingers.
They wouldn’t let her come. Just when she reached her breaking point, Alain abruptly drew away. Her cry of frustration was lost in his laugh.
“You have to really want it.”
“I do really want it. I swear I do.”
Jackson laughed as he soothed her, touch bringing her back from her near-climax. “She sounds sincere. What do you want, lovely Patrice?”
“To fuck,” she gasped. “For both of you to fuck me.”
“That can be arranged,” Jackson said.
Alain was silent. She could sense the wolf in him, restless and needing. Jackson would always be the joker, confident and relaxed, shifting easily and quickly whenever he wanted. Alain had a wildness in everything he did, the beast in him never quite contained.
Jackson got to his feet and lifted Patrice in his arms. He carried her into the bedroom, Alain following slowly, as though trying to contain himself.
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