Savage Revenge

by Shelli Stevens

  But before she could get to the other side of the mattress, he was on it and grabbing her hips, stopping her escape.

  He flipped her deftly onto her back and his large, naked body immediately straddled hers.

  Terror clogged in her throat and she lashed at him with nails that already lengthened into claws.

  “Stop screaming, Sage, no one can hear you.” He growled low in his throat as he avoided her swipe at his face. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Words. That’s all they were, and he proved it by catching her wrists in one hand and pinning them above her head.

  Her hips jerked against his as she struggled to buck him from her. But the determination in his gaze hit her like a fist, and realization began to settle this wasn’t going to end well for her.

  “Please don’t.” Her voice cracked, but rationalizing with him was her only hope at this point.

  He didn’t reply, but reached down between them. Instead of reaching for her top, though, he grabbed something a few inches from her on the bed.

  Rope.

  Where had that come from? It was similar to, if not the same rope she kept in her garage, but she knew she hadn’t left it in here earlier today.

  Which meant he’d brought it in before she’d gotten inside. She already figured he’d broken in through the back door while she’d sat in her car reflecting on her evening, but clearly the man was resourceful and quick.

  “If you keep screaming, I will gag you,” he promised softly.

  That shut her up—for a minute at least. He was right. No one could hear her, but later, maybe once she could think straight, she could use her voice again when the opportunity was right.

  What did he want from her? Clearly he didn’t seem intent on raping her, which had been her first thought after he’d brought her in here. Or at least if he was, it wasn’t going to happen right away.

  Oh God.

  Her stomach heaved and she bit her lip to stop another sob of fear. There wasn’t much she could do about the burning tears of fear that pricked her eyes.

  He disappeared from sight as he rolled her onto her side and pulled her arms and legs behind her. She was almost too numb with shock to struggle anymore as he made quick time tying her body into the uncomfortable, awkward position.

  Had he discovered who she was? Was that why he’d followed her home?

  Footsteps sounded as he moved around the bed and into her line of vision again.

  He squatted down so they were on eye level and pushed a bunch of curls out of her eyes.

  The regret in his gaze confused her. Made her wonder if he was going to apologize.

  But his calm words only held a sickening warning. “If you try to shift into wolf, hoping to snap the rope, you will almost certainly break bones. The way I’ve tied you up will ensure it.” He gave a grim smile. “It would also be fucking painful and there’s no guarantee you’d heal correctly, if at all.”

  Clearly, he’d thought this through. Her despondency growing, she shook her head. “If it’s money you want, I’m sure something can be arranged.”

  He didn’t reply and rose back to his full height. Panic seared through her when he started toward the door.

  Where was he going? He couldn’t just leave her like this.

  “Please, Stan.”

  At her choked words, he paused, but didn’t turn around.

  She held her breath, hoping for the best and bracing for the worst.

  “This has nothing to do with money.” His tone was wary, almost reluctant. “And my name’s not Stan.”

  With both of those statements sending her mind spinning, he left her alone in the room and shut the door.

  Chapter Five

  Christ, did she really have to go in there?

  Yes. Jocelyn Feloray couldn’t stop a shudder as she pushed open the door to the seedy looking bar.

  A few steps inside the dim interior had her designer heels sticking to the floor.

  Could be a spilled beer. Could be some other substance she didn’t even want to begin to analyze.

  Shouldering her Prada bag, she narrowed her eyes and glanced around the room.

  Would he be here yet? Would she be able to pick him out if he was?

  Likely not.

  Following the earlier instructions, she continued across the floor and picked a small table in the corner. Isolated. In shadows. It was the perfect place to do business.

  Especially her kind of business.

  She lowered her bag to her lap, folded her hands across it and waited. Observed.

  It wasn’t long before a waitress appeared. Looking like she was on the tail end of a bender, the girl’s eyes were bloodshot and her blonde hair was so greasy it appeared almost brown.

  “What can I get you?”

  “Vodka tonic. Thank you.”

  The waitress curled a lip as if surprised by her drink choice, but turned away to go put in the drink order.

  Maybe she should’ve dressed down a bit. Tried to fit in a little more, but it had just seemed so cliché. Jocelyn Feloray didn’t wear jeans, and sneakers were saved for the gym.

  Still, her black dress pants and red silk shirt were practically casual Friday attire in comparison to what she normally wore.

  Her gaze slid around the room again, and this time landed on a man at the counter.

  Being watched by men wasn’t altogether a new thing. At forty-two she still easily drew attention from the opposite sex.

  The man stuck out in this shithole nearly as much as she did. Everything about him screamed polished and educated. He wore khaki pants and a crew neck sweater, with leather loafer shoes. His blond hair was trimmed neat and short, and the glasses he wore made him look a bit geeky. Though not unattractive in the least.

  He tilted his head and gave a slight smile when he noticed her staring.

  Rolling her eyes, Jocelyn shook her head and looked away. She had a purpose tonight, and finding a lover was not it.

  Not to mention the last two she’d taken had wound up dead. So, clearly, satisfying her lady parts should be put on hold for a while—at least until the savage shifters that killed them were destroyed.

  Which led her back to why she was here tonight.

  “Vodka tonic.”

  Jocelyn’s attention shifted back to the drink that was set before her.

  “Would you like to start a tab, or will this be it?”

  “This will be it.” Pulling a ten from her wallet she handed it to the waitress. “Keep the change.”

  Without a thank you, the girl tucked the bill in her bra and walked away.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  Biting back a sigh of irritation, Jocelyn glanced up at the man she’d been observing just a moment ago.

  “Is your name Bob?”

  He chuckled and gave a small shake of his head. “No, unfortunately it’s not.”

  “Definitely your misfortune, because then no, you may not join me.”

  She took a sip of her drink and almost regretted that she had to send him away. He was even more attractive up close, though perhaps a little older than her usual type. He might’ve even had a few years on her.

  “Well, I would’ve regretted not trying.” He winked and started to turn away, but paused. “You should try the fish and chips. This place is a dive, but the food is great.”

  She didn’t bother to respond, just held his intense stare as she took another sip of her drink.

  Fascinating man, she thought when he finally turned and made his way back to the bar stool he’d recently occupied.

  She hadn’t wanted to draw attention to herself, but had probably struck out on every count tonight. She’d overdressed and made conversation with a man she wasn’t here to meet.

  It didn’t matter. The intended meeting would be short. Brief. And then she’d be gone and she’d be forgotten. Ideally.

  The door to the bar opened again and a man in a hoodie and skinny jeans strode in.

  This was Bob—cle
arly a fake name, but she’d have expected nothing less. His gaze swept the room before he spotted her and made his way over.

  He plunked down at the table and nodded. “You got what I need?”

  “I do.” She took in the shifty gaze, scabs on his face and missing teeth. Hmm. It was really going to fucking annoy her if she’d hired herself a meth head. “Stay and have a drink. It’ll be a little too obvious if you take the envelope.”

  “Sure. If you’re buying.”

  She waved the waitress down and ordered the man a drink. Then for the next twenty minutes she made small talk with him, chatting with a bland ease that might’ve indicated they were family.

  An aunt lending her nephew money, she thought, sliding him the envelope.

  “Everything you need and that you’ll need to know, is in there.” Everything she already knew about Nathan Larson and where he was headed. Bob would be her eyes. He would track him for her. “Remember. Discretion is key.”

  “It’s cool. I got this.” He slid the envelope into the pocket of his hoodie.

  You let me down, and you’re as good as dead. She kept her smile friendly as she stood. “Thank you for meeting me for a drink, my dear nephew.”

  Even though just being across the table from him disgusted her, she kissed his cheek to keep it convincing, before turning and leaving the bar.

  Inevitably her gaze was captured by the man at the counter again. He watched as she left. She wasn’t sure he’d ever stopped, actually. Hence the little aunt and nephew pony show with Bob.

  Stepping out of the bar, she welcomed the crisp Seattle fall air. It cleared her head, which seemed a little bit fuzzy now.

  What she didn’t welcome was the darkness and lack of street lamps that worked.

  Not that she thought for one moment she was in any danger. Someone would have to be brainless with a death wish to try and harm her.

  Pulling her cell phone from her pocket, she sent the text to her driver to come retrieve her. It shouldn’t be long, because he was parked outside a popular coffee shop down the road.

  Still, those few minutes suddenly seemed like a lifetime. Traffic dwindled on a small street a hundred feet away or so.

  Straightening her spine and lifting her chin, Jocelyn put on her don’t fuck with me persona as she waited for her ride.

  She heard the door to the bar open and glanced over her shoulder, but it had already closed again. She couldn’t see anyone who’d exited. Had someone entered?

  After a moment she turned to stare at the road again. Goose bumps rose on her skin as the sensation of someone being nearby struck.

  Discreetly, she slipped her hand into her purse and wrapped her fingers around the can of mace.

  Just in time, as there was the crunch of rushed footsteps behind her.

  She turned, the weapon already pulled from her purse, ready to blind whoever was stupid enough to attack.

  But then Bob’s features swam before her. There for a moment, and then gone as he rushed past her and plunged into some bushes on the edge of the parking lot.

  What the hell was wrong with him?

  Goddammit. She’d better not have thrown half a grand down the toilet on this idiot. Though her sources had highly recommended him to be the perfect combination of sleaze and competence. Time would tell. Likely sooner than later.

  She bit back an irritated sigh and shook her head. Not ready to return her mace to her purse, she kept it in her hand and watched the road once more.

  Even when her driver pulled up in the Lincoln Town Car a moment later, she couldn’t shake the heavy feeling of evil. The vibe of danger.

  Only when she was sitting on the soft leather seats of the plush vehicle and the locked car sped off into the night did she finally let her guard down.

  There’d most definitely been something dangerous out there tonight. She was simply more accustomed to being the threat than facing it.

  Nathan adjusted his large frame in a plush, no doubt ergonomic, leather chair.

  Christ, this was a fancy seat. Something you’d see in a C.E.O.’s office or something. Not what he’d expect in someone like Sage’s house.

  Then again, didn’t she say she was a writer of some kind?

  The oak desk he sat at was impressively built and held a computer that must’ve cost several grand at least.

  While waiting for the computer to fully turn on, he ran his gaze around the room again.

  Swanky little set up, this office was. Set in a small room that was just off of the kitchen. Obviously she’d put a lot of money into comfort and high tech electronics.

  The screen blinked on to the desktop, and his attention shifted back. Pursing his lips, he shook his head.

  Apparently Curls had no interest in password protecting her computer. Which was good news for him.

  A moment’s shame stabbed at him as he clicked on an Internet browser. Shit, was this rock bottom? He’d been reduced to home invasion and tying up an innocent female.

  The pure terror that had been in her eyes wouldn’t leave his mind. He bit back a heavy sigh and scrubbed a hand down his face.

  He had no choice. After so many days on the run, he needed a home base. Somewhere to fully recover and rest for a bit. Somewhere to have full, unhurried, unrestricted access to the Internet.

  Which he was about to make use of. A few quick keystrokes and he’d typed in his name in a search engine. Nothing came up. No mention of him or the massacre of nearly an entire pack of shifters.

  But then, he hadn’t really expected there to be anything. The shifter community kept a well-hidden profile. It must’ve been a hell of a challenge for Damage Control, though, to keep that kind of slaughter and death count from getting out.

  But clearly they’d done it. They always managed to.

  And somewhere in the cyber world, the truth of what had happened was out there. Bulletins would be flying about him and the massacre. You just had to lift the veil to find them.

  He typed in another web address and then leaned back in the chair, staring at the crappy homepage for a nondescript knitting club.

  The page wasn’t searchable by any search engine—would be seemingly invisible to most of the world—you needed the direct, long and complex URL. Once you were on the page, you could click on the Members’ Only button, which then prompted you to type in a series of intricate logins and intricate passwords.

  If you managed to get past that, then you were in. Into the sleek, sophisticated, technologically driven homepage for the Preternatural Investigation Agency.

  He hovered the blinking cursor over the login button, but hesitated. The information he’d find in there would be priceless, but the moment he logged in under his name, they would know.

  Many shifter packs also kept a small website, passing themselves off as a club of sort. Risky, but then again the world ran online. They couldn’t afford to be left using antique technology.

  His pack had a website. Hell, he’d helped his father create it back when the old man was still alpha.

  There’d be information on himself in there too. A warning. But he couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t log in. Not to the P.I.A. site, or his pack site.

  The moment he tried a flag would go up somewhere. No doubt the agency was monitoring his logins. The moment he typed in the info and hit enter, he’d be hunted down immediately by the agency, using the IP address. He might not be a genius with computers, but he knew enough about the P.I.A. cyber unit to realize he was fucked if he tried to gain information about himself the conventional way.

  Christ, he probably wouldn’t make it until morning before he had a group of armed agents breaking down Sage’s door.

  Sage… A thought slammed into him and he stilled. Holy shit. Did her pack have an online presence? If they did, she would certainly have access to it.

  At first he’d written it off as bad luck that he’d ended up kidnapping a shifter, but maybe finding her was more a strike of good luck.

  She could be his lif
eline in this whole thing.

  He glanced out the doorway and into the hall. Listening for any sound of her. There was only silence. Good. If she’d kept screaming, or crying, he might’ve had to silence her with a gag. And the idea of it made him a little sick with self-disgust. Binding her was bad enough.

  Though those things were relatively small compared to the crime he was being accused of. And the last woman he’d had to deal with…hadn’t faired quite as well, in the end.

  Christ.

  Clicking out of the browser, Nathan drew in a ragged breath. Exhaustion had been seeping in slowly and now gripped him with unrelenting talons.

  Since leaving Sage, he’d showered, rummaged her fridge for food, watched the national news, and explored the Internet.

  It was nearly midnight. He needed to check on her. Needed to sleep. She might even be asleep already, judging by the silence in the house.

  Nathan pushed back the chair and left her office, making his way through the house to her bedroom.

  When he pushed open the door, he wasn’t quite sure what he’d find. Seeing Sage in the exact position he’d left her sent another stab of remorse through him.

  The way he’d tied her ensured she wouldn’t escape, but it also ensured comfort wasn’t a priority.

  She faced the wall, so he had to walk around the bed to see her.

  Her eyes were half open, the anger in her gaze tempered with exhaustion.

  “Will you let me go now?” Her words were strong, a contradiction to the fear on her face.

  She was kind of a mess. He’d expected that. What he hadn’t expected was to realize how naturally pretty she was. No makeup, just tear-stained, pink cheeks and full lips that quivered with emotion.

  Irritated at himself for noticing her attributes as a woman, and blaming it on fatigue, he touched her forehead with two gentle fingers. Hoping to reassure her a little that he meant no harm.

  Still, she flinched and jerked away.

  “I can’t let you go, Sage. Not yet.” He straightened, and reached over her for the ropes that bound her. “I need to sleep. We both do.”

  “What are you doing?” Now alarm resonated in her tone.

  “You won’t be able to sleep like that.”