by Eve Langlais
In addition to being well versed on the history of the lycans and on hand for whenever Penn and the pack needed tactical briefing, Tora had loved everything about decorating and designing. Their house had been an attestation to the sleek, clean lines she adored, each of the rooms decorated with her keen eye for colors that matched whichever person accepted its personality. Kira had paid close attention to everything her mother wanted to teach her, even the things—like decorating and most of the household duties an alpha female was expected to perform—that she could actually care less about.
Standing at the doorway of this kitchen, she knew her mother would like what had been done here, the warm welcome of the rustic theme that was carried throughout each room she’d seen so far blending seamlessly with the cool efficiency of the modern touches that promised whoever worked in this kitchen would provide nourishing meals for all who dared to enter.
Despite the title and all the enhanced power over their pack, the alpha female’s main responsibility was to care for the pack by feeding them and taking care of their house. To some—namely, Kira—that might seem like an old-fashioned or maybe archaic mentality, but to the lycans it was the way of their world and it in no way demeaned the alpha females. Especially since another one of their duties was to direct the pack’s strategic planning. If there was a confrontation expected, the alpha female would give instructions on when and where it was best to attack. Of course, it was the alpha’s choice whether or not to follow her directives, but since the alpha females had been trained their whole life for this job, their alpha usually respected that skill and did as they suggested.
It all seemed way too subservient for Kira, and as she had when her mother had explained these points to her time and time again, she shuddered, the beast in her already prepared to rebel. Shaking her head from those thoughts, Kira vowed once again that she would do more, be more, than what the lycan world mandated. She had to.
“You do the cooking here?” she asked after clearing her throat. There was no scent of another female here, and by the way they’d all circled around her last night she’d figured she was the closest in the vicinity. Of course, the way they’d all commenced upon her could have also been because they knew she’d come from a Hunter pack. Circling their prey was a definite possibility to which she supposed she might actually owe Blaez with his high-handedness last night an apology for sparing her life.
“I like to eat good food, so it made sense that I learn how to prepare it. The others, they aren’t as interested in the taste of their cuisine as they are in simply getting the nourishment that they need,” Channing continued talking in that light, casual manner she was beginning to associate with only him. As he still moved around as he spoke, Kira couldn’t help but watch how familiar he was with this space and how completely comfortable he was with what he was doing.
He took down two frying pans, turned to the double-doored stainless-steel refrigerator to retrieve eggs and a carton of milk. After putting those on the counter he went back to the refrigerator, this time grabbing cheese and spinach. All the while his muscled biceps bulged and stretched with each movement. There was strength there, no doubt. Strength and complacency, two things Kira hadn’t thought she believed a lycan could possess. How could one be content with living such a sheltered and solitary existence? But for their packs, especially for the Devoteds, lycans did not socialize with any other humans. If they held a job that required them to do so, then they did. If not, it was as if the two were living on separate planets. How was that considered a good thing? She wondered.
“It’s still so early. Do you normally cook at this time?” Kira asked because it seemed the more she stood in this kitchen with Channing, the more she wanted to know about him, about this house and this pack.
“No,” he told her. “You’re in luck today because I’m preparing my famous cheddar and spinach quiche. Needs time to cook, so that’s why I’m up early.”
She nodded. “I don’t like spinach.”
He turned to face her, lifting a brow. “Sit down and tell me what else you don’t like, Kira.”
And he would listen, she thought as she stared at him contemplatively. This lycan who should have been her sworn enemy would let her sit in his kitchen and ask him question after question. He would answer her too, she realized. And it would be the truth, or the truth as to his way of thinking. Nobody in Penn’s pack ever listened to Kira, unless she was telling them it was time for dinner. In the last few months they hadn’t even spoken to her unless it was to put her down or come on to her. None of them had the common sense to know the two didn’t go together and would most likely always end in her rejection of them. Then, it wasn’t etched in stone that lycans were the smartest creatures on earth.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I should go.” Kira had to admit to herself that didn’t sound very convincing; still a part of her had felt she’d at least had to say it.
Channing didn’t immediately reply, but Kira still stood there. Why didn’t she simply walk away? He wasn’t doing a damned thing to stop her. She could go, walk out the door, and not look back. But her feet hadn’t moved. She simply stood there as if rooted to this spot, watching this stranger prepare his morning meal.
“He’s not going to let you,” Channing finally said in a quiet, reserved tone.
“What? Are you talking about Blaez? I’m not a part of his pack, so why would he want to keep me here?”
My release. His words from last night echoed in her mind and Kira’s entire body flushed as if he were once again directing her to a most delicious climax.
Thankfully oblivious to her discomfort, Channing had a glass bowl that he’d set on the island and he began cracking eggs and dropping them inside, as if she weren’t here interrupting what was probably usually a solitary activity.
“He won’t let you go back out there where you can be snatched by any other alpha, or beta for that matter, and either used or killed. That’s not something he can allow,” Channing continued.
“But he’s a Devoted. Why should he give a damn what happens to me? I’m not his concern.”
Channing looked up, tossing cracked shells back into the box. “You are now.”
When she opened her mouth to speak again, Channing spoke up instead. “Listen, Blaez was born to be a protector. It’s what he does, especially after what happened with his family.”
“What happened to his family?” Kira asked immediately. She shouldn’t care. Nothing about Blaez mattered to her. The only thing on her mind was getting out of here and getting on with her life.
“I’ll just say that Blaez couldn’t be there for them when they needed him most. He’s never forgiven himself for that even though there was nothing he could have done differently to change the outcome.”
“But I’m not his family. I’m nothing to him,” she said, the words ringing oddly in her ears. “And I can’t stay here, regardless of whatever guilt complex he may be nursing.” With those words Kira turned and walked out of the kitchen. She didn’t wait for Channing to respond or even look back to see if his response was a questioning look. No, she had to leave at this instant. She’d stood in that kitchen too long, looking at all the dishes, the notes on the refrigerator, the cups in the cabinet, all remnants of a home. One in which she was the outsider, a feeling that was all too familiar to her.
She came to the front door and pulled on the handle.
Nothing happened, so she pulled again. She pressed the latch and pulled once more. The door would not open and she cursed.
Kira kicked the door once, then again, screaming in frustration. She’d just lifted a fist to pound on it—ignoring her mother’s training to keep a calm head in all circumstances—when Channing grabbed her wrist.
He held it gently, speaking in his quiet tone. “It’s an electronic lock. You need the code to get in or out. It’s specially designed for our safety,” he told her. “Whatever his reasons are, you can trust that Blaez will not let anyone hurt you, K
ira. You’ll be safe here until he can figure out what to do with you.”
She whirled around then, yanking her arm from Channing’s grip. “I don’t want him to figure anything out for me. I don’t want anyone to make decisions for me. Why can’t anyone understand that?”
“I do,” Channing told her. “Believe me, I know all about wanting to make your own way in this world and to your own destiny. Been there, done that, and from the looks of things should have written a book about it.” He chuckled at himself as if it didn’t matter at all that she was smiling in response. “Now, come on, put this heavy bag down, and let me fix you a cup of my delicious homemade hot cocoa. Then you can sit with your feet up and listen to some of my infamous celebrity stories.”
Kira looked up into his smiling face. Her head throbbed with the stress of the situation, yet her heart warmed toward him and his totally confident yet blissful attitude. He seemed genuine, his tone and actions toward her nothing but respectful. She wasn’t used to that from betas, or at least not the ones in Penn’s pack. Each of them had wanted to get her into bed so that he could claim her and lead the pack. When she repeatedly thwarted their advances they showed their truest colors, criticizing her weight, degrading her for not being as svelte and sexy as Tora had been, swearing Kira should believe she was being granted a privilege if any of them would even consider sleeping with her. She hated each of them and she hated her father for allowing the treatment in his house and among his pack and, worse, for commanding that she allow one of them to claim her for the sake of them all.
“Come on,” Channing said again, reaching for her hand. “You have nothing to fear here. I promise.”
Kira had never been made a promise before but was leery of them just the same. But as it stood she could not get out of this fortress, not at the moment anyway. She’d have to figure out the electronic lock system, and that might take some time. On a huff, she readjusted her bag on her arm and reluctantly took Channing’s hand. Couldn’t hurt to play at being cooperative. Besides, his hand was warm and strong as it clasped around hers and he smiled even more warmly at her.
“You are not going to believe the dirt I know about them, and it’s all true,” he was saying, about the celebrities, she supposed, as he headed for the kitchen once again. She followed him, reluctant and interested but determined to not let down her guard and to keep true to her purpose. To keep moving toward finding her own freedom, from men and from lycans.
* * *
“Why did you bring her here?” Phelan asked Blaez the moment he stepped out of his bedroom. “You know she’s trouble.”
His longtime friend and right-hand pack mate had absolutely no idea how true his words really were. The trouble had begun the moment Blaez had touched her, and this morning Blaez was just as angry about that as he had been when he’d finally fallen into a fitful sleep last night.
He hadn’t meant to reach out to her as he stood at that window staring out. His original thoughts had been on the danger she’d been in out in the forest alone. Any lycan could have happened upon her; he could have forced her into a claiming, taken her as his alpha female, and nobody would have ever known. Blaez had no idea why she’d been out there alone, but he damned sure planned to find out. In addition to that knowledge, Blaez also wanted to know what pack she’d come from. He knew exactly what Phelan was thinking right now because he’d thought it himself.
What if she was a decoy amidst a bigger plan to attack his pack? Blaez was a wanted man. There were some who if they knew who and where he was would kill him on the spot. Or they would try. He also knew that he’d kill every last being that came at him trying to take him down. Blaez’s father, Alec, had been a Devoted, committed to upholding everything his father, Lyktimos, had originally wanted for the lycans. By birthright Blaez was obligated to do the same—even though on some levels he hadn’t agreed with Lyktimos’s actions—but he had no plan to lose his life in the name of an old feud that had absolutely nothing to do with him personally.
How Kira fit into his life’s plan Blaez had no idea. The only thing he knew for certain where she was concerned was that she needed protection and it appeared that he would be the one to provide it for her.
“Would you prefer I’d left her out there alone?” he asked Phelan in a clipped tone as he closed his door behind him and stepped out into the hallway.
Kira’s scent was here already, lingering on the air until his entire body vibrated once again with need. He had intended to hit the gym for an hour or so in an attempt to work off some of this residual tension, but since Phelan was here, demanding answers, that probably wasn’t going to happen.
“I would prefer if we didn’t have a Hunter sleeping under our roof!” was his heated retort. “This might be exactly what her pack wants. Hell, she probably positioned herself out there in the woods knowing you liked to do a nightly perimeter check, and used the damsel in distress bit to get you to bring her inside.”
Blaez frowned at Phelan’s words. “Don’t insult me,” he said with the baseline simmer his tone often took when he was becoming irritated. “Or her for that matter. Does she look like any part of her is a ‘damsel in distress’?”
“No. What she looks like is an alpha female traipsing along in our woods by herself. Oh, did I forget to add an alpha female from a freakin’ Hunter pack? Hell, man, you know they want you dead. You’re watching them walk right up on you and not doing a damned thing about it.”
They were still standing in front of his room, Blaez hearing his close friend’s words while battling with his body’s need to be close to Kira once more. Reaching into her mind last night had pushed Blaez into a very unfamiliar place. That’s precisely why he’d made it a point to never mindchat with the women he was with. Blaez had only ever had sex with lycans; it was part of the Devoteds’ credo, to stay true to their lycan nature at all times. Nyktimos had declared that after he watched his mate suffering through her life as a lycan before finally hanging herself. The guilt over having changed her without her permission had continued to plague him even after she was long gone.
Still, Blaez had started that conversation with Kira knowing how it would end, but not knowing the ultimate effect it would have on him. His body had reacted to her every response and not just her words. He could hear her breathing and smell her arousal, and when he closed his eyes he could see her lying on that bed playing with herself. The more she’d fingered herself, the harder he’d stroked his cock. When she came, her heart pounding, chest heaving, fingers drowning in her pussy, Blaez had come too, arcs of his thick white semen splashing against the windows in front of him.
Even now the thought had his body hardening, so he started walking, knowing Phelan would follow.
“If she’s a decoy we’ll know soon enough. And we’ll have leverage when they attack,” he told his second in command.
Phelan grabbed his shoulder then, but when Blaez turned, looking at him with narrowed eyes, the beta let his hand fall slowly down to his side.
“We don’t negotiate with them. We kill the sonsofbitches!” Phelan exclaimed.
“No. We try to live peacefully until there is no other choice but to defend ourselves. And rest assured, if this is a plan to attack us by the Hunters, we will do just that,” he said in a tone that should have ended this conversation.
But Phelan continued, “What if it’s more than that?” he asked him. “I saw how you looked at her.”
Blaez moved immediately, stepping closer so that the few inches he was taller than Phelan were noticeable. They stared eye to eye. “You. Saw. Nothing.”
Phelan’s reply was a muscle twitching in his jaw, the scar beneath his left eye that had been left by a very angry fury years ago pulsating. He was angry, which wasn’t new for Phelan. The lycan had joined the Marines to quench the rage that simmered inside him. Twelve years later, Blaez was sad to report it hadn’t worked. Phelan was just as pissed off as ever, and considering he’d joined a pack of Devoteds, there weren’t too man
y outlets he could find in the mountains of Montana to assuage that particular ailment. But Blaez didn’t give a damn; his goals where Kira was concerned were going to be made clear, here and now.
“I will handle this,” he continued. “I will handle her. Do you understand?”
Phelan nodded just as there was a loud screech coming from downstairs.
Blaez moved with lightning-fast speed, descending the steps with his feet barely touching them, stopping in the kitchen his gaze already intent on her, as she’d been the focus of his chase. He’d known Kira had left the room he’d locked her in last night, had known the second she’d popped that lock and attempted to sneak away. Of course, he’d also known that she would never make the escape she planned, since she had no idea how to disengage the locks on the doors and windows of the house.
Nobody could get in or out of the fortress he and his pack mates had renovated without them knowing, as was their plan. A year ago, when the existence of the Shadow Shifters—half-human, half-feline shapeshifters—had been unveiled to the human world on national television, all otherworldly beings that walked this earth alongside humans had been put on notice. Their time was coming soon. And just like what had happened since the Shadow Shifters were discovered, the human’s mass panic, combined with the interspecies fighting, had created a world in a constant state of war, a place of mass hysteria, confusion, death, just as Lykaon had tried to tell the people of Arcadia before Zeus had arrived to permanently shut him up.
If the human world thought living among big, deadly cats that looked like humans most of the time was scary as hell then they could never be prepared for all the wickedness that came with Blaez’s world. The one where lycans were the norm along with furies, demigods, age-old rivalries, and gods that did not take kindly to being ticked off.