Lycan Packs 1: Lycan Instinct

by Brandi Broughton

  “Answer it, but one wrong word, and he’ll hear you die.”

  She picked up the phone and sucked in a breath that did little to calm her nerves. “Hello?”

  “Mackenzie—”

  “You’re impatient, wolfman,” she said, purposefully cutting him off and using the nickname she’d given him. If Richard didn’t already know Rafe was a ‘werewolf’, she’d make sure he did now. “I’m on my way to the restaurant. Are you so hungry you can’t wait for me to change out of this god-awful blue jumpsuit?”

  A pause, though brief, convinced her that he’d caught her tip. His next words were soft but audible. “Actually, I’ve a change in plans.”

  Mackenzie closed her eyes as she and Richard listened to his every word. His voice was like a lifeline just out of reach.

  “I feel like a celebration...to honor the death of a fellow Lycan.”

  What the hell? Her eyes snapped open. Rafe’s words sent a ripple through Richard that she felt to her bone.

  “We’d been after Anton a long time. We’re hard to kill, as you well know, but every werewolf has a silver bullet with his name on it.”

  Richard’s arm tightened around her neck, the gun pressed firmly against the base of her head. She held her breath and waited for the sound of gunfire.

  Instead, he grabbed the phone and brutally shoved her aside. Mackenzie caught herself against the wall, turned to face the gunman. His aim wavered, a sure sign of his agitation.

  “You fucking bastard. She’s dead, you hear me?” His lips pulled back in a snarl, his teeth grinding.

  Whatever Rafe said made his eyes widen, then narrow, his mouth curving into a smirk.

  “Your bitch means that much to you, huh?” He licked his bottom lip and suddenly eyed her as if she were a prime T-bone steak.

  “Oh, hell no. I call the shots. You got that? I do. She’s going away. Some place where you’ll never find her. When the deed’s done, once you’ve fulfilled your part of the bargain, and I’ve completed the change, then, and only then, will you get her back.”

  Richard paused as he listened to Rafe’s response. Mackenzie strained to catch a word or two.

  “No! Take it or leave it. That’s the deal.” After another pause, he grinned. “That’s more like it. I’ll call you back. I see any cops other than the one in front of me right now, the deal’s off. You’ll get your bitch back via the mail, one piece at a time.”

  He hung up.

  “Move,” he ordered, gesturing her to the back bedroom. Once there, he sat her on the bed and used a piece of clothing to tie her hands in front of her, but left her feet unbound. When he reached for a sweater from the closet, she debated running for the door but feared he’d shoot her despite his agreement with Rafe. She was all too aware of how many kidnapped victims were dead long before the first call for a ransom was made to their families.

  Unfortunately, he saw her glance toward the door, came forward, and backhanded her. The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth.

  “Don’t be stupid.” He draped the sweater over her wrists and grabbed her arms in a bruising grip. “Come on. Bernardo’s waiting. He’ll take real good care of you.” His laugh said just the opposite. “We’re going down to my car, so no funny stuff. One wrong move and you’re dead.”

  He put his gun in his pocket but used it to jab her in the side as they made their way to the door.

  “Open it.”

  She reached forward, tugged it open. They stepped through the door and angled right toward the elevators.

  A sudden yank and thud behind her had Mackenzie spinning around.

  Rafe had slammed Richard against the wall. His right hand held the man’s throat. His left yanked Richard’s gun hand free. Two powerful collisions with the wall, and the gun fell to the ground. Rafe kicked it toward Mackenzie who wasted no time picking it up with the sweater.

  Richard’s face was turning blue when Rafe released him. Before she could stop him—not that she tried all that hard—Rafe landed a punch to the creep’s jaw. A second to his gut had the man gasping for air. A third sent him to his knees. A fourth knocked him out cold.

  Rafe stood over the prone man, his hands still balled into white-knuckled fists. His nostrils flared, but his breaths came in slow and even. He hadn’t even worked up a sweat, she observed, or released half of the anger still coursing through his veins. He’d never looked so dangerous or more incredible in all the time she’d known him. She suddenly feared for her kidnapper’s life, and her instinctual call to duty took over.

  “Rafe, don’t.”

  His head jerked toward her, his eyes blazing with a fire that confirmed her earlier thoughts. He noticed the cut on her lip, and the sudden pain that shone in his molten gaze made her say, “I’m all right. It’s over.”

  He blinked and reached for her, but stopped when her hands became pinned between them. With a curse, he took out a pocketknife and cut her free, then pulled her back into his arms.

  “I could kill him,” he murmured into her hair.

  “I know,” she whispered against his chest.

  “I want to for ever daring to touch you.”

  She pulled back, placed a hand on his cheek. “I know. But you won’t.” When his eyes heated again in defiance, she rushed on. “You’ll let me haul his ass to jail, where he’ll be caged for the rest of his life. You’ll let the system work as it was meant to, for his father, for Shumaker. For me.”

  His jaw ticked, but he nodded and pulled her against him again. Because he needed it, because she did, too, she remained there until a groan came from the man on the floor.

  She moved quickly to roll him on his stomach, and then used her former bindings to tie his hands in back. Looking up at Rafe, she asked, “How’d you know? How’d you know what to say to him?”

  “A portion of the raw news footage Drake gave me showed Anton and Richard in the background. They exchanged the envelope her disk came in. When I arrived, I wasn’t sure you were here yet, until I heard voices. I listened.” Pain etched across his face. “God, that killed me.”

  She rose and hugged him again.

  “I couldn’t just barge—”

  “No, you did the right thing. You did what you had to do, and I’m alive.” She tried to think of something, anything that could ease the tension in his body. “I’ll be sure to thank the landlord for not soundproofing the apartment.”

  His laugh, albeit weak, was music to her ears.

  Suddenly she remembered. “Bernardo! He’s in the garage. I’ve got to call a unit, get them here ASAP.” She moved away, but Rafe grabbed her wrist.

  “Don’t bother to rush. His driver has more than his hands full.” When she gave him a puzzled look, he added, “You’ll spoil Luc and G’s fun.”

  “Rafe!”

  He smiled. “Don’t worry. He’s alive.”

  Rafe was right, as she learned several minutes later when they brought a bound Richard Robertson down to the garage to meet the arriving officers. Bernardo was indeed alive; however, he no doubt wished he was anywhere but hogtied to a support column. His hands were bound close, but not close enough, to protect his groin from the leashed wolf, which took an evil delight in growling a few inches away.

  Handing Richard to an officer who promptly folded him into the backseat of a patrol car, Mackenzie approached the grinning Lucian Stone.

  “Citizen’s arrest,” he offered.

  “You have a cruel sense of humor, Lucifer.”

  He shrugged, his grin widening at her use of that nickname. “We all have our little pleasures in life.”

  She swatted his shoulder. “Well, knock it off. I don’t want to give this guy anything to use against us in court.”

  As Luc and G backed up, she waved some officers forward to release the suspect.

  Rafe watched the police car drive away. Richard sat slumped in the corner against the door. “He’ll try for the insanity defense.”

  “He’ll try,” she agreed and silently vowed to be
there every step of the way to ensure his attempt failed.

  “Think he’ll turn on his boss?” Luc asked, referring to Bernardo, who was complaining rather loudly to the officers about how he’d been minding his own business when the nut and his dog attacked him. Mackenzie nearly laughed at hearing so many words come out of the man’s mouth all at once.

  “Yeah, he’ll talk. I’ll make sure of it,” she promised. Her sudden grin reminded her of Richard’s brutality; she tentatively touched her split lip.

  Are you all right, Detective?

  Gabe’s voice had her looking around for the man before she realized the sound was in her head. She glanced at the wolf, smiled, and held out a hand.

  “Hey, boy,” she said for the benefit of the officers still standing nearby. “We’re all going to be all right, I think. But I know you.” She narrowed her eyes playfully and patted his head. “You won’t trick me into petting your belly again.”

  Male laughter erupted around her and inside her head. It was an unusual feeling, but one that seemed right.

  Rafe made to hug her, and she grabbed his arms. “Hey, none of that. I’ve got a reputation to uphold, prisoners to interrogate, reports to file, work to do.”

  “Tomorrow.” His eyes narrowed. “Tonight, I’ve got other duties in mind.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Despite the audience and knowing she’d be teased without mercy tomorrow, she let him pull her into an embrace.

  “Like thanking your landlord for starters.” He gave her a peck on the tip of her nose.

  “I was thinking a thank-you card would do.”

  “Not good enough.”

  “No?” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Oh, that’s right. It’s so hard to buy for a man who can own the universe.” She stared into his eyes. “What do you give a man like that?”

  “Your heart.”

  She smiled. “You got it, wolfman,” she said, and pressed her lips to his.

  THE END

  ...FOR NOW...

  Author Bio

  Brandi lives in a log home with her husband, son, and a salt-and-pepper schnauzer who believes he owns the place.

  She loves to hear from her readers. You can contact her through any of the following Web sites:

  www.lycanpacks.com

  www.brandibroughton.com

  www.darnitromance.com/brandi

  Also available from Cobblestone Press

  Breaking in Levi by Ann Cory

  Chapter One

  “Damn.”

  Victoria switched off the radio and resorted to humming to herself. All of the decent radio stations were crackling with static, and she hated the quiet.

  With a brief glance up at the rearview mirror, she noted that no one was behind her. Since dinner at the rustic little café, she’d been the only one on the road, a fact that was strangely comforting and disturbing at the same time. Her only concern at the moment was finding a rest area. Three cups of coffee with her hot chicken and Swiss sandwich had proven too much for her bladder, and she was having a difficult time clenching her thighs together while driving. As a green sign loomed in the distance, she crossed her fingers. Please, oh please.

  REST AREA 1 Mile

  Victoria let out a sigh of relief and sat up straighter in the seat. She’d never been partial to going to the bathroom outside behind a bush. Especially alone. Remote or not, anyone could be out there, waiting for the opportune moment. She put on the blinker and slowed, taking it easy pulling into the rest area. The parking lot was empty. Not even the typical row of truckers snatching up a catnap en route was present. It unsettled her to be the only person in the vacant lot. Parking under a dim street lamp, as close to the women’s restrooms as the wide sidewalk allowed, she turned off the engine and drummed her fingertips on the steering wheel.

  “Get a hold of yourself girl. You’ve watched one too many episodes of Unsolved Mysteries.”

  Only a sliver of a moon peeked through the dusky sky. The drab cement building loomed in front of her. Taunting her. She’d traveled miles to find this one, so waiting for the next rest stop might be unwise. Pee her pants or use the desolate looking toilet. She took a deep breath and decided she had no choice but to go in.

  She threw open the car door and made like when she was a little girl needing to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, knowing full well there were monsters under her bed. She didn’t care if she looked like a scared little girl. She dashed for the restroom, fearful those same monsters loomed in the shadows and beneath the car.

  Her uncomfortable heels pinched her toes as she sprinted into the foul smelling restroom. The first three stalls were backed up and looked unpleasant. Only the handicapped stall was usable. She crossed her fingers that some elderly woman in a wheelchair wasn’t going to come in right then. Up went her skirt. Down went her black nylons and black silkies. Relief spread throughout her body.

  In her haste to go, she’d forgotten to check one very important thing. No toilet paper. She sighed and reached for her purse, but remembered it was still in the car, safely tucked away from prying eyes beneath her jacket.

  The sound of a car engine bothered her, but there were more pressing matters than another vehicle pulling into the rest stop. Like toilet paper. She rummaged inside the pocket of her skirt and came up with a crumpled tissue. It would have to do.

  Victoria reached for her nylons and managed to make a sizable run in them. She pulled them off in frustration and shoved them in the metal box on the wall. The cruel edge of her shoes raked against the back of her ankles as she slipped them back on. Blisters were unavoidable. She got situated in her clothes, flushed the toilet and walked to the sink to wash her hands.

  The reflection in the mirror displayed a tired, worn out looking woman in her late twenties, who was seriously deprived of any fun in her life. There was no reason to try and fix her smudged make-up, in another four hours she would be in a luxurious hotel running a warm bath.

  Sick from the putrid odor of the unkempt facility, she hurried outside. Then her knees nearly buckled. A stranger on a motorcycle was parked where her car should be.

  This can’t be happening, she thought. Her car was gone!

  She wasn’t sure whether to approach the biker or not. In a black leather jacket, faded jeans with holes in the knees, and a look on his face that had trouble written all over it, he didn’t exactly radiate a warm welcome. Men who rode bikes were bad news. At least that’s what she’d always been told.

  Anger took the place of her immediate concern and she marched up to him, propped her hands on her hips and pinned him with a glare. “Okay, asshole. Where the hell is my car?”