He’d been here in the room for twenty-nine hours now, only leaving three times:
To give his statement to Cola.
To take a call from Santiago, who had wanted to thank him and pass on the message “he’s forgiven” from Muñoz.
To talk to the two wolf doctors the Trust had flown in specially to look Park over and give the esteemed medical prognosis to “sleep it off and then we’ll see.” They hadn’t even stitched up his gunshot wound, which they assured Cooper was nonthreatening and that any attempt to close it would just get ripped back open when Park shifted.
Joyce had also requested to speak with Cooper, but Cola had left it up to him. After some thought, Cooper declined. He knew Joyce would just want to know how he had “mastered” Park in that state, and Cooper had no interest in feeding his obsession. He had more important things to worry about.
Like what if Park was never...himself again? They’d move somewhere isolated, of course, with plenty of space. Somewhere with cool weather, but not too cool. If he asked, Eli would probably agree to visit often so that Park had someone to run around with. Cooper would make sure Park was happy, in whatever state he ended up. Every day, forever.
Behind Cooper, stretched across the bed, Park was unknowingly following the doctors’ orders to a T and had been unconscious since the warehouse. Of course, he’d been in fur that whole time, so they couldn’t bring him to the hospital. The retreat was also a no-go, currently overrun with Trust agents interviewing the staff and guests while others retrieved the bodies of Lee Llcaj and Thomas Kreuger, which Joyce had admitted to sinking in the lake.
Instead, Cola had commandeered this quaint, empty inn—with its ugly wall-to-wall plush peach rugs and ridiculous flowery canopied beds that were about a foot higher than any bed needed to be—as a temporary hospice, and Cooper had settled in to wait. And wait.
About two hours ago, Park had started shaking and whimpering so badly Cooper had shouted the two doctors in, but eventually he had just shifted into skin, mumbled something about saltwater and fallen back asleep.
“A good sign. He’s almost through the last of it if his system’s relaxed enough to shift,” the doctors had told Cooper. What had been a shot through the side of his lower neck in fur now looked like two separate grazes over the top of Park’s shoulder, which the doctors bandaged before leaving Cooper to his vigilance once more. They were clearly eager to get back to the other reason they’d been brought in by Cola: to collect and organize the entirety of Joyce’s research.
Well. Most of it. Cooper allowed himself a quick glance at his own suitcase, zipped up and innocuous by the foot of the bed, and noticed Park’s eyes were open and watching him.
“You’re awake,” Cooper said, shocked.
“Am I?” Park whispered, voice wrecked. “That feels like a foolish choice on my part.”
Cooper hurried to grab him a water and hovered by the bed when Park refused to let him pour it into his mouth himself. Park held the bottle oddly, squeezed between his palms, like a child whose hands were too small. Cooper tried not to worry about that and failed.
“How do you feel?”
“Hungover,” Park groaned.
“That’s the withdrawal from Joyce’s alpha treatment.” Cooper shouldn’t be smiling, but he couldn’t help it. Every complaint out of Park’s mouth, every annoyed look, felt precious.
Park reached up to massage the bandage on his shoulder, wincing. “How big was the needle?”
“Oh no, that’s from the gun.”
Park looked surprised, then grimaced. “So much for a nice little vacation and getting some fresh mountain air. I’m having a hard time...remembering. There’s a big blank spot. I was...getting dressed at our cabin. There was a knock on the door. I knew it was Joyce, but... No, nothing.” He rubbed at his head. “What’d I miss?”
“Not too much,” Cooper said. “Joyce became obsessed with Dr. Nielsen’s abandoned research and went off the deep end developing a formula to make all wolves alphas so that no one would ever feel submissive to another again. Experimented on the escapees from rebel packs Vanessa’s been sheltering. Didn’t work. Became complicit in Kreuger murdering Llcaj in a drug-induced rage. Killed to cover his tracks. You know how well that always goes. He’s in the Trust’s custody. They’ve seized his research. I stole the parts about us, blah, blah, blah, I’m glad you’re okay.”
Park was staring at him wide-eyed. “St—What do you mean the parts about us?”
“He dosed you with his special treatment to see if he could break our pack bond and pit us against each other. I saved your ass. And right, he dosed me, too. That’s why I was feeling so off after the river.”
“So it wasn’t...” Park started to ask, frowning.
“Oh no, I probably do have PTSD, that seems obvious now, and I still want to find a therapist, preferably one who isn’t poisoning me this time, but somehow I doubt that’s what was inspiring me to want to sexually claim you in front of all and sundry.”
Park coughed. “Well, best leave the theorizing to the professionals.” His expression twisted suddenly. “Wait, if we fought, how did you beat me?”
“Not you, too.” Cooper tsked. “You and Joyce underestimate just how powerful a little appropriate fear and vulnerability is sometimes.”
He paused, the meaning of his own words kicking him in the ribs. Go ahead and be vulnerable, then, you big wuss. Ask him.
But here? In this ugly room? The downstairs swarming in Trust agents, and Park filthy and shaky and looking very much like someone who had just spent thirty hours as an animal?
Yes. God, yes. Anywhere. Anyhow.
“Oliver, will—” Cooper blurted, at the same time Park spoke.
“I—”
They both stopped and looked at the other.
“What were you going to say?” Park prompted eventually.
“Nothing important, you first,” Cooper said, heart beating out of his chest. If it beat its way all the way out and abandoned his body entirely, sick of the bullshit, he figured he would deserve that.
Park was worrying at the scar on his lip thoughtfully. “I just wondered what’s going to happen to the retreat now.”
Cooper shook his head. “Vanessa and Paul have been cleared. They really had no idea what Joyce was up to. I don’t know if their relationship or the retreat’s going to make it, though, considering. According to Cola, De Luca is practically taping his name under every pot, pan and cabin to seize the moment the dust settles.”
“He’ll make it solely a luxury retreat,” Park said. “Or some other asset for the family. Vanessa’s dream of a haven for rebel runaways getting on their feet will be dead.”
Cooper watched Park’s troubled face. “Yes, probably,” he said slowly.
Park drummed his fingers over his leg. “How would you feel if I...extended my protection for a while and invest in a sort of co-ownership?”
Cooper blinked at him. “Would that mean moving here?”
“No, no. It would be considered by other wolves to be our territory, but we would still continue as we were, working for the Trust and living up there. Depending on what Vanessa says, I might ask Eli to help be my representative here. He’s just had an ugly breakup in Cape Breton and could use some space. Plus, with his experience and connections they could expand. Take in more than just a couple of local runaways at a time.”
Park’s gaze was far off, clearly plotting. He shook his head and refocused on Cooper. “But this is your decision, too.”
“Is it?” Cooper wondered out loud. “I’m hardly able to bring anything to the equation.”
Park gave him a look. “There you go again, reducing value to money, same as the house-shopping. Can you please trust me when I say you actually contribute a hell of a lot to everything we do? If it ever looks like I’m throwing money around, it’s because I’m just
trying to keep up with you.” He put his hand on Cooper’s leg.
Cooper shook his head but sighed resignedly. “I guess I’ll have to. Apparently I find you very trustworthy.” He took a deep breath. “Which is why I think we should do it. Help the retreat. Keep it a haven. At the rate we keep getting injured on this goddamn job, we won’t be in the Trust forever. It might be nice to settle into a nice relaxed retirement of infiltrating rebel packs and rescuing runaways in the middle of the night.”
“Sounds like bliss,” Park said, smiling warmly, and began rubbing Cooper’s thigh. “Your turn. What were you going to say?”
“Oh.” Cooper blinked. Wet his lips. Contemplated exiting the room via the window. Contemplated how he’d feel if they left this room, went back to DC, and he still hadn’t asked him the question. Worse than a window exit, definitely. “Nothing much, I just want to get married.”
Park’s hand stilled and he stared at Cooper. “To me?”
Cooper rolled his eyes. “No, to Cola. While you were unconscious we fell in love over your sickbed. How awkward. Of course to you, dickhead. And I know you said it’s not really a wolf thing. And if you’re really opposed, just tell me and obviously we won’t and can carry on as we have, and I’ll still be happier than I’ve ever been. But...if you don’t care either way, well, then I do. Er, so to speak.”
Cooper was breathing very heavily. It felt like he’d been talking forever. Had he rambled? Oh god, he’d rambled. Had he remembered the important parts though? From Park’s shocked expression, he wasn’t sure. Better safe than sorry.
“I want to marry you, Oliver.”
“But...why?” Park stuttered.
“Oh, the usual reasons,” Cooper said. “Insurance benefits, uninhibited access to your wealth in case a mad scientist ever turns you into a regular wolf-wolf and I need to buy us a secret estate, tax deductions, you’re the absolute love of my life, visitation rights, et cetera.”
Park blinked at him rapidly, and to Cooper’s surprise, his eyes looked a little shiny. “Oh,” he said, and cleared his throat. “Um, no. I mean, I’m not opposed,” he corrected hurriedly.
“Well then.”
Cooper shifted awkwardly in place and looked at the ugly carpet, but it was very far down and he worried if he knelt there it would look like he was paying last respects at Park’s deathbed. He scrambled up and knelt on the mattress instead, forcing Park to look up at him, startled. Was this old-fashioned? Did he look like an asshole?
Cooper swung one leg over Park’s body so that he now knelt over his hips, then sat back on his crotch. “Right. I think we all know why we’re here,” he said boldly.
Park raised an eyebrow. “I thought I did. Now I’m not so sure.”
Cooper took Park’s hand. Someone was shaking, and Cooper was pretty sure it was him. “Unfortunately, I used up all my good lines already—”
“Those were your good lines?”
“And I know we haven’t been together very long.”
“To be fair, you did just agree to retire with me, so that counts for something.”
“But basically, you make the bad bearable and the best better, and there’s nothing good in life that I don’t want to try without you. So, would you maybe want to try out marriage with me?”
Park exhaled dramatically. “You’re lucky I wasn’t raised to dream of this moment because that was complete and utter shi—”
Cooper kissed him and Park’s hand came up to wind through his hair and hold him close, each pouring the gentle, trembling thrill of joy into every touch.
When they finally pulled apart, bumping noses affectionately on the way, Cooper couldn’t stop smiling. “You didn’t say yes.”
Park rolled them over, hissing slightly when he bumped his wounded shoulder, but powering through until Cooper hit the bed on his back and Park was pressed over him, framing his face with his hands. “I guess you’ll have to ask me again tomorrow.” He kissed his cheekbone quickly. “And the day after that.” Other cheekbone. “And—”
A knock on the door barely preceded it opening, and Cooper sat up quickly. Or tried to anyway, as Park didn’t seem in too much of a rush to get off of him.
Cola walked into the room, wearing another typically bright outfit, this time a fuchsia dress. She eyed their positions disinterestedly. “Oliver, I see you’ve recovered at least some of your faculties.”
“I’m getting married!” Park crowed.
Cola frowned. “Maybe I spoke too soon. Why on earth would you do that?”
“Oh, the usual reasons,” Park said, grinning at Cooper.
Cola looked like she’d already moved on. “Congratulations, I’m sure. Unfortunately, I have some bad news.”
Park had the sense of mind to get fully off Cooper and cover his nakedness with the comforter. “News? Is it Joyce?”
“No, no. Not anything to do with the case. Your landlord has been trying to reach you, Agent Dayton. I’m afraid there’s been a break-in at your apartment.”
“My—” Cooper looked at Park. “What about Boogie? My cat—?”
“Yes, he also mentioned your neighbor insisted you know your domestic animal is safe with her and entirely unaware of the incident.”
Cooper exhaled, grinding the heels of his palm against his eyes, and felt Park rub his back soothingly. He’d forgotten for a moment that Boogie was staying with Ava this time. Lucky his air conditioner had broken after all. Maybe too lucky...
“Any idea who’s responsible? Or what they took?” Park asked.
“Oh, we know who it was. She was still there waiting when the police arrived. It seems Dr. Emily Freeman has been found. Or rather, she found you.”
Shocked, Cooper looked at Park, whose previously joyous expression had darkened to something reserved and dangerous.
“Waiting?” Cooper repeated. “For me? In my apartment? Why?”
“That I can’t tell you,” Cola said. “But she’s insisting she’ll speak only to you, Agent Dayton. Are you ready to finally close this case once and for all? Or should I tell her you’re busy planning your nuptials?”
“I think I can probably multitask.” Park slipped his hand into Cooper’s and squeezed. “With a little help, of course.”
* * *
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please visit her website at www.charlieadhara.com.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to the whole Carina team for their support and dedication to making this series the best it can be.
Angela James, without whose encouragement I would not have written this story.
My editor Mackenzie Walton, whose sharp insight, sensitivity and genuine kindness are immeasurable. I can’t imagine writing these books without trusting that the first pair of eyes on them will be hers.
My parents, who supported me, listened to me plot endlessly, guessed the killer discouragingly fast, and told me not to forget the sex or the wolves. Critical help, as always. But honestly, I would not be here without them.
About the Author
Charlie Adhara writes contemporary, mystery, paranormal, queer romance. Or some assortment of that, anyway. Whatever the genre, her stories feature imperfect people stumbling around, tripping over trouble and falling in love. Charlie has done a fair amount of stumbling around herself, but tends to find her way back to the northeast US. When she’s not writing, Charli
e is reading, hiking, exploring flea markets and acting as an amateur cobbler for her collection of weird shoes.
To learn more and stay updated, follow Charlie on the usual suspects!
Website: www.charlieadhara.com
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Read on for an excerpt from
Thrown to the Wolves.
Cooper Dayton looked up from the picture-perfect guidebook he’d picked up in the Halifax airport and out the car window. No one in their right mind would be caught running around in this. Certainly not in a dress, flowing or otherwise. Everywhere he looked there was snow. Filthy snow plowed to the roadside, creating bumper-like barriers, clean snow that dragged and drooped the many pine trees that covered the surrounding mountains and hills, snow that looked more like mist as it hovered and danced just above the icy asphalt. It was cold—even inside the car—desolate, unwelcoming and so goddamn bright Cooper kept having to close his eyes just to avoid seeing spots. February was not when he’d have chosen to come to Cape Breton, Nova Scotia, but then again, this wasn’t supposed to be a vacation or romantic getaway or about him at all, really.
Cooper pretended to look back down at the guidebook but instead slyly examined the man in the driver’s seat and the reason he was on this godforsaken trip to begin with. Oliver Park was as stiff and unwelcoming as the landscape around them, with his own distinct frostiness to boot. There were thin lines of tension like parentheses around his mouth and dark circles under his warm amaretto eyes. His gaze seemed soft and unfocused, not the most reassuring thing considering the brutal cliff-side hills he was steering them up and down.
“I’m fine,” Park said, and Cooper jumped. So much for being subtle.
“Of course you are,” he said quickly. The sounds of the struggling heater and occasional crunch of tires on ice washed over them for a long minute. Then two. “But if you wanted to talk—”
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