Captured by the Pack

by Anne Marsh

  Every time.

  Luc dropped into the empty chair next to Cruz, eyes scanning the room. “Nice spot.”

  One night down. Six left before it was his turn. 144 hours and far too many minutes. Holding out, not going to her when everything in him demanded now now now was a bitch.

  Fuck him, but he wasn’t in the mood for jokes. Gianna’s scent mingled with Luc’s, marking the other male’s skin. An almost invisible tension had relaxed about the guy, like he’d spent an unforgettable night loving an even more unforgettable woman. So yeah…small talk wasn’t high on Cruz’s priority list. Not when he’d rather be punching the ever-living fuck out of Luc.

  Cruz rapidly sketched out what he knew about the biker gang while they waited for show time. “You laying claim to Baton Rouge?”

  “Not my territory.” He preferred the freedom of the back country. He’d bet he and Luc were similar in that. “You?”

  Luc shook his head. “Nothing but problems I don’ need. Someone else can keep it once we clean it up.”

  The dancer shimmied and shook while Cruz mulled things over. Reports had reached him years ago of skin hunters buying up real estate because those boys liked their fancy. The biker gang was a newer development that had surfaced two years ago. Their underground community throve on lawlessness and there was always some lone wolf somewhere who got tired of his Pack and decided to branch out on his own or find some new friends.

  The Breed ran arms and drugs with—he eyed the dancer—a side of prostitution. As long as they’d stayed out of the bayou, Cruz had overlooked their claims to the city. With his brothers behind him, he had the muscle to hold his territory, but making full-scale war on The Breed carried the kind of price tag he couldn’t afford. Publicity—and a body count. He wasn’t sacrificing his brothers on that altar and he figured Luc Breaux felt the same way.

  Unfortunately, it looked like the war was coming to them anyway. The minute those crazy bastards had laid their hands on Gianna, his neutrality was shot.

  Luc looked at Cruz. “You know what their numbers are?”

  “Pack of forty, with another fifty or sixty hangers-on and a dozen prospects.”

  “And you know this how?”

  “Inside wolf.” The walls had ears in places like this and admitting the truth out loud was a calculated risk. Luc didn’t push further, clearly satisfied.

  “And there’s one of our boys. Bear Dog. ” The wolf swaggering inside wore faded blue jeans and an oversized belt buckle. Bingo. His denim vest was patched with the gang’s colors and tattooed snakes curled around his biceps. Based on his human bulk, he’d be a son-of-a-bitch as a wolf.

  Two males accompanied Bear Dog, one human and one wolf based on the scents. And the wolf’s old lady. She was a little blonde bit with dead eyes and a nervous twitch. She sported a black leather collar and a white mini-dress with twinkly rhinestone straps that had to be downright pornographic if she rode behind her wolf. The finger-sized bruises mottling her arms were not the accessories Luc would have chosen.

  “He’s the second lieutenant. Word on the street is that he requested the hit on Gianna.”

  ***

  Gianna cracked her eyes open and realized that was a mistake. Her head hurt and the largest man she’d ever seen cradled her in his arms, pressed against a downright pornographic T-shirt advertising some kind of adult sex toy. A tribal tattoo of a Celtic hunting hound curled around his throat. The walls swam around her and the blur did nothing for them.

  The place stank.

  She’d never worked undercover. Volunteering might, just possibly, have been outside her comfort zone. Focus on the fact that this will soon be over. Large bodies surrounded her, jostled her as they leered and rough voices detailed what was waiting for her. Yeah, wearing a wire was helpful—but her life only restarted when as she made her way out of the bar.

  Mr. Big, Bad and Tattooed looked down at her. “Almost over, sweetheart.”

  For a brief moment, he actually seemed concerned. Maybe he was Cruz’s undercover man. Or maybe he simply wasn’t rotten to the core like the other members of The Breed. Most bikers were decent men. The same had to hold true for the wolves. At any rate, he changed course, locking in on the bar.

  “You wan’ a shot of Patrón? While we wait for Z-Pain, because he’s the one in charge of this show and the rest of us are playin’ follow-the-leader.”

  “Put me down.” Being carted around like a bag of groceries only underscored her physical disadvantage. Her eyes darted around the bar, cataloging possible exit points. Looking for Luc and Cruz. The place specialized in shadows and out-of-the-line-of-sight booths, so she had no luck on that front. She could sense that they were there.

  “No can do,” her bearer said. He copped a spot on a barstool and dropped her onto his lap. “Pick your poison.”

  When the other wolves jostling around them jeered, he shrugged “I’m a gentleman. Lady gets a last drink.”

  “You got a name?” Please say it and go on my tape. Not that he’d done anything actionably illegal—other than holding her here against her will—but insurance sounded wise. He also scared the piss out of her. He sucked a draft of beer from his longneck, his scarred thumb rubbing back and forth over her pulse. When two wolves tackled the dancer on the pole, bearing her down to the floor, he had to know how much it bothered her. Her heart kicked into overdrive, her pulse banging wildly. Sweet. Jesus. They were…

  “She’s a pass-around,” he rasped in her ear. Guess he could talk after all.

  “She signed up for that?”

  With a flash of white thighs, the dancer disappeared beneath the two males. A belt buckled clinked, followed by the slap of flesh on flesh as the guy rammed hips and balls forward. Two pale arms appeared from the pile up, linking loosely around the man’s back.

  Her human barstool sighed. “She wants the drugs. Someone here will give them to her.”

  ***

  The night’s plan was simple. Determine which motherfucker was in charge, because The Breed’s organizational structure was slippery as hell. Get Gianna to safety—and then take down the males who had ordered her hit.

  The new wolf headed to the bar and ordered a bottle of tequila. Patron. The bartender ponied it right up, along with a row of shot glasses and lime. No money exchanged hands. He laid in a line for Gianna’s wolf, who greeted the big bastard like a long-lost friend. Z-Pain. Target acquired.

  Taking the wolf pack apart one wolf at a time remained a possibility, but public show-and-tell was more efficient. Z-Pain had gone after Luc’s mate—whether he realized it or not—so they’d make the first example of him. Z-Pain bent closer to Gianna, his nose brushing her throat. As he straightened up, cursing, Luc was already moving. No way the other wolf hadn’t scented both Luc and Cruz on Gianna’s skin.

  Z-Pain’s enforcers stepped out to block Luc’s forward momentum, but Luc hipchecked the wolf on the left, slamming him into the bar. Cruz was all over the second guy by the time the fight broke out.

  The wolf who’d parked Gianna on his lap disappeared toward the back of the bar, Rafer gunning for him. The male hadn’t bitched about playing knight errant. None of the Breauxs wanted Luc losing his Blue Moon mate. Gianna’s current captor was Cruz’s inside guy; he’d beat a strategic retreat, take a few well-placed hits, and hand Gianna off.

  Luc had kept her safe for ten years from himself. No fucking way he lost her to a bastard wolf pack now. Losing her to Cruz would hurt like hell, but that would be her choice. The gang members didn’t stand a chance. His wolf was a runaway truck with no brakes and his human half was onboard with that plan.

  Five minutes to take apart the wolves who didn’t run for the doors. Five more to get Z-Pain on the floor and start taking the male apart inch by inch. Methodically, he hammered blows into Z-Pain’s ribs. Then arms and legs. He’d save the face for last. Make the male wait for it.

  “Hit the pause button for a minute.” Cruz yanked on his arm.

  No could do
. Pounding Z-Pain into extinction was his only mission.

  Cruz tightened his grip. Oui, he might have gone a little crazy.

  Luc slowly resurfaced from the haze of red surrounding him. Fuck. He’d made one hell of a mess. He wasn’t worried about the bar—the place had been trash long before he’d stepped foot inside—but he did need to have a conversation with Z-Pain before wrapping things up.

  He scanned the bar, looking for trouble. Dre and Landry would be covering the exits and cleaning up any four-legged loose ends. A few bikers groaned on the floor, limbs bent at unfortunate angles. There was also a fair amount of blood. At least he wasn’t the one doing clean up.

  “You ready to talk?” Cruz didn’t let go of Luc’s arm until Luc nodded.

  What he was ready to do was to get back to Gianna. Since it was now well past midnight, he was burning his hours with her. He didn’t have to get inside her every night, but he was damned sure sleeping wrapped around her. He looked down at the wolf pressed beneath his booted foot.

  Cruz followed his gaze, checking out the damage to Z-Pain. “Yeah, we should definitely talk.”

  “Talkin’ is over-rated.” Luc pressed down harder, heard something crack.

  “Hey, you give him an opportunity to spill.” The wolf’s face twisted, like the man was torn between sticking around in human dick form versus going wolf and taking on chance on clawing his way free. “Maybe, he knows something helpful about this hit that was ordered on Gianna Lynn. Shit that we should know too.”

  “Don’ be such a fuckin’ sheriff.”

  Z-Pain tried to break free, but Luc wasn’t allowing that. He renewed his beat-down.

  “I am what I am.” Cruz didn’t sound concerned—or like he minded overly much that Luc was assaulting another Alpha. As long as the threat to Gianna was removed, good job. “Gianna Lynn don’ mind.”

  And…fuel for the fire. Luc bared his teeth. Tonight was no night for fucking subtle.

  “She’s my Blue Moon mate.”

  “Well, that’s the thing.” Cruz crouched beside Z-Pain. “You should ease up some, the guy’s gotta breathe sometime.”

  Killing the wolf would be satisfying, but the aftermath could be messy, particularly if the death happened in Baton Rouge territory where it would be interpreted more like an act of war or a fuck you. Break the wolf’s neck and the entire biker gang would come knocking, first on Cruz’s door and then on Luc’s. Sometimes, being the Alpha sucked.

  Cruz nodded when Luc eased up some, but kept right on talking. “My Pack, we don’ hold with that blue moon stuff.”

  “Your sister married because of it.”

  “Yeah, but I’m thinkin’ she’d have fallen for your brother anyhow.” There was no accounting for taste as Luc knew. Cruz might not like to think about his sister spending the rest of her life as a member of Luc’s pack, but he also knew better than to disrespect her choice. It was her life, her choice. She’d gut him if he tried to stomp all over her. Riley had plenty of courage.

  Cruz ploughed on. “Gianna’s goin’ to choose the male she wants. That was your deal anyhow. She gives you a shot and you let her walk, no fuss, no muss, if she decides she doesn’t want to stick around any.”

  Fuck him if the other male didn’t look too happy about it. Right. Because they both needed to win. They both needed Gianna.

  He clipped Z-Pain on the side of the head, knocking the wolf out. Cruz could do his law man stuff if that got Z-Pain locked up for the next twenty years or so. For a werewolf, that time wasn’t the deterrent it was for a human, but it would buy Luc time to take out the rest of the pack.

  So Z-Pain and The Breed weren’t the problem. Cruz was.

  He looked over at his rival. “We can’t both have her.”

  Cruz followed him outside. “You may be right about that,” he said, and he wasn’t talking about Z-Pain. Cruz would call in that particular mess and Z-Pain would head downtown. Snapping the other wolf’s neck still seemed simpler, but Gianna was human. And a lawyer. He didn’t have to ask to know she wouldn’t be on board with that plan.

  Gianna.

  Dre had her in his truck, safe behind a wall of him and his brother. Striding toward her, Luc knew, without a fucking doubt, that he’d lost the one fucking battle that mattered. He’d promised to let her go.

  He kept his promises.

  He always had.

  So he’d fucked up. He’d gotten a taste of her, taken her and ridden her. Kissed her and held her. She was under his skin and that was a mistake he couldn’t undo. When he closed his eyes, she was right there, waiting for him in his memories, and he’d do almost anything to keep her in his arms. He couldn’t forget her. And he almost couldn’t force himself to open his arms and let her go.

  Because there was no shaking his memories of her naked body. Bared to him. Open and needy and honest. He’d had her brown hair all spread out over his pillows in a soft cloud and her pretty, pretty legs spread open for him. It was more than that, though. She made him want to be gentle and tender. Made him want to be all those things he wasn’t. He was a soldier and a warrior, but he wanted to tell her just how beautiful she was. Wanted to find some kind of words to give her, to explain the emotions 4-1-1-ing him right now.

  Even now, he could have walked away. Could have shut down his senses and stopped this sensual bombardment of hers. He didn’t have to suck in air like the worst kind of addict, but he wanted this much of her. Wanted to remember what she smelled like. The taste of her.

  “Got your Blue Moon bride right here,” Landry said, motioning to the truck.

  The windows were rolled down. Fuck. It wasn’t that the whole Blue Moon thing was a secret, but…he’d wanted to explain to Gianna in his own way and time. A time that might have been when hell froze over because, really, what could he say? I wasn’t looking for you and I didn’t know I wanted you, but Fate planted a biological drive in me to go after you and now I love you and could you possibly reciprocate because I’m fucking dying over here?

  Yeah. Excellent plan.

  He got into the truck next to her, turned the key, and warmed the motor up. Since Cruz was the cleanup detail, he got to stay behind and deal with local law enforcement, lucky him. Gianna didn’t say anything at first, but he could practically hear her thinking. Hard.

  Finally, she asked the question. “What’s a Blue Moon bride?”

  “Once in a blue moon, the males of our Pack can hunt for mates.”

  “I know what a blue moon is. It’s the second full moon in a calendar month. It’s not some kind of dating service.”

  He shook his head. “This moon is special. It really is blue and it leads us to the women who were meant for us, to our forever mates.”

  She stared at him, which he’d have been doing too if he were in her shoes. “Fated mates,” she said finally. “Really? The moon comes out, points a blue laser beam at some poor woman, and you go after her like the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow?”

  No. Yes. Fuck him if he knew. He’d seen her and something had opened up inside him, had come alive. Moon or no moon, he’d have wanted to have her in his life. She wasn’t done laying into him, however, so he shut up. He owed her that much.

  “So this wasn’t about me. Ever. It was about some freak natural occurrence that you decided gave you a hunting license.” She looked at Dre. “You got a watch? A Phone? A fucking sun dial?”

  “Ah.” Dre hesitated. Luc gave him that. “It’s a little past midnight.”

  “Good enough,” she said, opening the truck door and jumping down. “Seven nights. Game over.”

  9

  After catching an hour of shuteye, Cruz made a second trip out into the bayou. Z-Pain had been hauled downtown and Mirandized. He’d also lawyered up and, without Gianna’s recording, they wouldn’t have had a chance in hell of getting the charges to stick. Since Z-Pain had admitted on tape to ordering the hit on Gianna, that might be enough to put him away. If there was a Louisiana prison built to hold werewolves. Whate
ver. That was a problem for another day.

  Luc had let him walk into the Breaux camp too, and Cruz had no idea if that was a good sign or a bad one. Now the two of them had their asses parked on the front porch of Luc’s cabin, but it was like they were sitting in a cone of silence. Not that Cruz wanted to have a heart-to-heart with Luc, but…yeah. They had more than a few loose ends.

  Imagining Gianna here was easy. The man had a nice house, kind of romantic, in the way his sister and female cousins like, with a big four poster bed and a fireplace. He tried and failed to banish the images of Luc and Gianna from his head. Sharing sucked. Even if he’d climbed on in there with them and loved Gianna the best he could, Luc had been there too.

  And Cruz wanted her all to himself. Wanted alone time with her, to show her he could be the right male for her. This woman could be his mate. No matter what fucking moon had led Luc to her, Cruz was here now too. He wouldn’t let her go. Wouldn’t lose her.

  The sun was starting to set, twilight wrapping the bayou up in its embrace. A chorus of bullfrogs started making a racket, their hoarse song echoing off the trees. The bayou was peaceful, settling down for the night. Too bad it wasn’t contagious, because at best they had an uneasy détente going down on Luc’s porch. It wasn’t easy, getting Alphas to co-exist. And in the same bed? Yeah, good luck with that. Both of them were used to being in charge. They avoided dominance challenges by drawing lines. For the most part, Luc ruled the bayou waters and Cruz, well, he had the town.

  Neither of them had Gianna.

  He’d fight for this, fight for her. Fight for them. He’d been bred to fight, so that had to mean he had this one in the bag, didn’t it? Either his Pack would accept her and the possible enmity of Luc’s brothers, or he’d strike out on his own. Go lone wolf. Just as soon as he’d seen her through this he’d ask her what she wanted. If she wanted to see what kind of life she could make for herself with him in Port Leon or if she wanted a do-over somewhere else.

  Maybe she’d say yes. Hell, he didn’t even know if she’d choose him. Just because he’d made his choice didn’t mean she’d made hers.