Enemy Mine

by Aline Hunter

  Shepherds were here, and they’d just put a bullet in Hermer’s brain.

  Dear God, be merciful.

  How had they found her?

  Her mind was a mess, panic overriding common sense. Her quaking limbs made it impossible to stand, so she started crawling down the aisle toward the rear of the building. She’d prepared for this, had thought about this moment so many times she should have instinctively clicked into autopilot. She had a bag packed with all the things she needed to keep moving and start over. All she had to do was stay calm, follow the plan and keep her wits about her.

  “She’s here.”

  Mary glanced over her shoulder at the man who’d spoken. He had a gun in hand and was staring at her. There were only yards separating them.

  So much for staying calm.

  Once she had her legs under her she bolted for the back doors that led to the storage area and offices of the store. She could hear the Shepherds behind her and knew if they caught up with her it was game over. Ducking under a lower area of roofing, she hooked a quick right. As soon as she made it into the tiny room used as a storm shelter she closed the door, locked it and tossed the thick wood beam into the metal slot that would keep the barrier between her and the Shepherds firmly in place.

  The door vibrated as it took a pounding from the opposite side. Knowing she had little time, she rushed to the wall next to the door. One of the perks of being paid under the table was she was given an easy escape route if the Department of Industrial Relations paid an unexpected visit. She opened the hidden panel, slid inside and closed it quietly behind her. She didn’t know how long she had, maybe another minute, before the bathroom door would be broken down.

  She tiptoed as she climbed the stairs that would take her out of the building. Once she made it to the roof she ran as fast as she could to the fire escape. Her body was shaking and it was difficult to think clearly but she knew she had to get to her apartment. Just fifteen minutes—or less—and she’d have her things. Afterward she could decide her next move.

  It felt like it took forever to make it to her building, dash up the stairs and get inside her apartment. For once she didn’t let terror win. Her things were in the closet so she retrieved them. Clothes, money, identification and the papers from her parents were all inside her duffel. Knowing she might need it, she snagged a hoodie and shrugged it on. When she finished and was glancing around to make sure she didn’t need anything else, large hands wrapped around her biceps.

  “Mary.”

  She didn’t recognize the voice, so she did the only thing she could—she ripped free of the hold, fisted the handles of the duffel and rushed to the window. She fought when the man reached for her again. He was covered in shadow but she could see portions of his face. His dark hair crept over his forehead and the shadow across his jaw indicated he hadn’t shaved in days. His urban attire—black leather coat, faded jeans and biker boots—told her he wasn’t a Shepherd, but that didn’t mean anything. Her uncle could have paid someone to come after her, hiring a mercenary to get the job done.

  The man’s grip on her arms increased until she gasped in pain. He loosened his hold and looked her in the eye. “Calm down. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  The room felt as if it shook from floor to ceiling as the door to her apartment burst off the hinges. The man in front of her immediately let go, turned and faced the intruders. These Shepherds also had guns, and the barrels were targeted directly at the man standing between her and danger.

  “Use the bedroom window,” the man growled. “Get out. Help is waiting. They’ll find you.”

  Questions hovered on the tip of her tongue but there was no time to ask them. The windowpanes had been broken apart—undoubtedly by the man in her apartment—making it easy for her to climb through. She felt a hand swipe at her head and jumped to the side. An ear-splitting roar made the hair on her nape prickle and stand on end. When she glanced back the Shepherds were too busy protecting themselves to use their guns on the man who was in the process of kicking their asses.

  The solid railing of the old metal fire escape allowed her to slide to the bottom of the structure instead of stepping down. Despite the speed of her departure, the sounds of fighting were so close she knew she didn’t stand a chance if she didn’t get away. She was only delaying the inevitable. Left with no other option, she did the only thing she could.

  The moment her feet hit the ground, she started running. And as she did, she released a bloodcurdling scream.

  The shrill sound was loud in her ears, so out of place at three o’clock in the morning when everyone in the apartment building next to hers was sleeping. If she was going down, she wasn’t doing so quietly. Let the sadistic assholes on her heels work for their blood for a change.

  In fact…

  She changed direction, running for the main road thorough the small shopping center. Why hide when she could scream for help in the open? It was late so she wasn’t surprised she didn’t see any lights coming on or people rushing outside. But it didn’t matter. Her thoughts were focused on making it to the street. If luck was on her side, someone would be traveling this late at night.

  Maybe her good fortune would continue to hold.

  Any hope she had died when something grabbed a handful of her hair, an arm wrapped around her waist and she went down. She hit the ground hard, landing on her duffel and scraping her chin along the road. The weight of her assailant pinned her to the ground. Regardless of her chances of gaining freedom, she struggled. She wasn’t ready to die. There was so much she hadn’t seen. So much she wanted to do.

  The weight vanished and the hand in her hair tightened, causing her scalp to burn. “On your feet.”

  It was awkward, rising with fingers twined in her hair. When she finally stood, fisting the handles of her bag so tight the material bit sharply into her palm, she saw the men directly in front of her. Her heart slammed into her throat, blocking her intake of air, making it difficult to breathe. Shepherds formed a semicircle around her, and she knew her number had been called. They were all dressed the same in brown dusters, button-down shirts and Stetsons that created shadows around their eyes. She didn’t recognize any of them, so they had to have been sent from another farm or compound. She knew her uncle wanted her dead. She just hadn’t banked on how far he would go to get the job done.

  Did she run? Scream? Try to fight?

  Dismally, she realized the answers were no, no and no. She’d only give them a reason to kill her faster. Her heart hammered in her chest, the will to live battling her compulsion to end her suffering before it started. Maybe it was better if they killed her now. Elijah wasn’t with them so they obviously planned to take her to him. Her body quaked in fear when she thought of the ways he’d make her suffer. She knew what her uncle was capable of. If he wanted, he could extend her anguish for days.

  A van pulled off the road and drove toward them. The Shepherds in front of her turned and started walking toward the vehicle.

  Transportation had arrived.

  This is it, the final showdown.

  She brought her free hand to her head and grasped the fingers of the man gripping her hair. When she had a good idea of where his wrist was located, she buried her fingernails in his flesh, clawing like a crazed alley cat. He released her hair, which gave her the opportunity she’d been hoping for. She ran as hard and as fast as she ever had in her life. The only sounds she could hear were muted shouts from behind her. The fence barring her path to an alley was one she’d scaled before, and she was damn grateful she’d practiced climbing and jumping over it when she reached the chain-link obstacle. After she tossed her bag over the side, she hoisted herself to the top and jumped over it.

  “Shoot her!” someone yelled. “Elijah will understand why we didn’t bring her in. Her soul is lost. She’s damned.”

  The same airy poofing noises she’d heard in the store seemed to buzz past her when she retrieved the duffel and took off. Then she felt a sharp slice
on the side of her head. It was impossible to run when she crumbled to the ground. She had to use one of her hands to keep her balance, placing her palm on the ground. Warm wetness coated her scalp and dripped down her face. Lifting her free hand, she touched the oozing pool of blood coming from her head. Everything became hazy as the world started to spin and distort, as if she were floating on a rotating cloud.

  She fell forward, landing on the unrelenting hardness of the pavement. Warmth bloomed from the wound in her head, blood spreading like thick, hot paint through her hair. She didn’t notice the shouts from the men chasing her or the odd snarls and growls that accompanied them. All she could think about was how cold it had become, how weak she suddenly felt and how much she wanted to close her eyes and go to sleep.

  “Kill them all!” a hoarse voice thundered. “We don’t have time to fuck around. Get your woman. We have to leave.”

  Footsteps approached but she couldn’t run—not like this. She waited for her end, to meet death with her pride intact. Unexpected, gentle hands turned her over so that she was no longer facedown on the dirty concrete. She blinked several times to bring the face of the man staring down at her into focus, to get a glimpse of the person who would see her life come to an end.

  “Mary,” he whispered.

  She closed her eyes and basked in the sound of those two hushed syllables. She’d know that voice anywhere, would recognize it no matter how much time had passed.

  Emory.

  Elijah hadn’t killed him. But what was he doing here? Why was he showing up now? How did he know where she was? What in the world prompted him to show up at the same time Shepherds had decided to strike? There was so much to say, too many questions, and her grip on reality was quickly slipping.

  “Don’t hate me,” she pleaded. Damn it. Her voice was so weak, so helpless. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

  “I could never hate you.”

  He stroked the tips of his fingers across her cheek and she sighed and closed her eyes. The pain was less now, the burning stab at her temple becoming an annoying throb. All she wanted to do was sleep, to succumb to the land of slumber. The caress abruptly ceased and the once-tender fingers against her skin became firm as they trapped her jaw and squeezed.

  “Don’t do it, angel eyes,” Emory snapped, but it was alarm and not anger she detected in his tone. “I’ve been through hell to find you. Don’t give up on me now.” As he lifted her in his arms, he screamed, “Doc, I need you!”

  The shuffle of feet whispered in her ears and then someone appeared and flashed a light in her eyes—first the left then the right. After several seconds the man inspected the wound on her head. His touch was gentle, fingertips lightly prodding her scalp. Dimly she realized people were talking but she couldn’t understand them. She was hovering above it all, blanketed in the one thing that gave her peace.

  Emory was alive.

  She’d allowed herself to hope he was. To believe he’d survived the gunshots she’d heard as she’d run from him. No matter her horror at learning what he was, she’d never wished him harm.

  He shifted her against him, cradling her head in the space between his neck and shoulder. Although he’d held her hand once—had wrapped his long, calloused fingers around hers in a gentle fashion—he’d never taken her in his arms. She’d always wondered what it would feel like. He was so much larger than her, so intimidating. What would it be like to be held against his chest? To feel him exhale against her mouth before he kissed her? Would he be slow and gentle? Aggressive and bold?

  As though he read her thoughts, she felt the enticing heat of his breath right before his lips brushed against hers. So soft and sweet, moving side to side in a lingering caress. He was deliciously warm, the muscles in his arms flexing as he angled her head for better access. He smelled as good as she’d known he would—a clean, woodsy and masculine scent. The absence of his mouth when he pulled away made her want to draw him back, to ask him to do it again.

  Her very first kiss, something she had daydreamed about since childhood, had happened like this. With her bloody and dying in the arms of the man she had fantasized about.

  It didn’t seem fair.

  Emory said something but she didn’t understand him. As she tried to piece his words together she found herself drifting into darkness. Her final thoughts were of being in Emory’s arms, the odd but profound comfort his nearness created and the sadness that arose from knowing they never had, and never would have, the opportunity to truly know each other.

  “Mary?” Emory shook his mate gently, trying not to panic.

  He’d found her. Thank fucking God he’d beaten her uncle’s henchmen to her location. As he peered down and gazed at her face, he noted the dark circles under her eyes, the tiny scrape on her chin. She’d lost weight—too much weight—and felt so tiny in his arms, so frail. No wonder, considering she’d been on the run for months and living in a shithole.

  A growl crept up his throat.

  When he’d gone to her apartment, he’d been shocked at her living environment. She kept the place clean but it didn’t matter. The furniture was falling apart, the flooring was cracked in multiple places and the wallpaper was peeling. She should have been living in a home that had been built especially for her, with all of the amenities and luxuries he could provide. Not a haven for addicts and hobos.

  “Wake up.” He shifted her weight, freed one of his arms and gently cupped her scraped and tiny chin in his large palm. “Look at me.”

  “Leave her be.” Doc slid the flashlight in his fingers into his pocket and laid an understanding hand on Emory’s arm. “The wound needs stitching but she doesn’t have a concussion. She’s woozy because of blood loss.”

  “Is she in danger?” Fate couldn’t be that cruel. He refused to believe he’d found her only to have lost her.

  “Not if we get that gash stitched up.” Doc motioned toward the end of the alley. “Hurry. Since we have to haul ass we’ll apply a bandage until it’s safe to stop and I can patch her up.”

  Damn.

  He’d been so concerned for his mate he’d totally forgotten about the police who were likely en route to the scene. He followed the pack doctor to one of the SUVs that pulled into the vacant lot. It was time to clean up the scene, take care of the mess they’d made and go. Usually shifters didn’t put themselves in danger by fighting in the open, but due to recent events that policy had changed.

  He glanced at the shifters who were busy tossing dead Shepherds into the back of the black unmarked van they’d arrived in. Mary’s uncle wasn’t in the group. Emory knew it for fact. He’d scented the air the moment he’d come to his mate’s aid. Elijah Shepherd had sent others to collect his niece—something that caused Emory’s hackles to rise. The demented piece of shit wanted Mary alive.

  That meant she was still in danger.

  Although she’d hidden herself like a pro, avoiding anything that forced her to use her name, Elijah—like Emory—had been able to locate her. One monumental slip, one huge mistake and she’d outed herself in the border town where she hoped no one would pay her any notice.

  All it had taken was a simple phone call.

  The pack computer wiz, Wade, had been monitoring all the calls made to the attorney Mary visited before she vanished into thin air. For a couple of weeks Emory had waited, edgy and restless, until his mate had slipped up and made the phone call that would reveal her location. When she’d checked in to verify the status of a new bank account she was out of the closet, existing in the open.

  Nothing more than a sacrificial lamb waiting for slaughter.

  Doc opened the passenger door and stood back as Emory climbed inside with Mary cradled against his chest. He moved over the length of the seat, making room as the older wolf settled next to him and closed the door.

  “Give me my bag.” Doc extended his hand past the front seat, toward the driver.

  “Is she okay?” Caden glanced at Mary as he turned from the wheel and
handed the large satchel over. “Fuck me.” He exhaled the words, his gray eyes darkening. “She’s bleeding all over the place.”

  “The head is vascular and her hair is blonde,” Doc muttered and opened his bag. “She’s not losing as much as you think. It’s normal.”

  A soft knock next to his head put Emory on full alert. His canines dropped and he snarled through the window, coming face-to-face with his brother. Trey was covered in blood from his chin to his stomach and his eyes remained a bright, stark gold. He smirked as Emory hit the switch in the door panel and lowered the glass.

  “We’ve got to go. Her apartment was at a simmer when I left. It’s probably engulfed in flames by now.”

  “You set her apartment on fire?” It was official. Trey had finally gone off the deep end.

  “No choice.” Trey shrugged, unfazed. “When she made it home Shepherds were on her ass. I had to improvise.”

  “Motherfuckers.” Emory tightened his hold on his mate. He’d wanted to find Mary so he’d left Trey inside the decaying residence. In hindsight, it wasn’t his smartest decision. “Did they hurt her?”

  “I was waiting, remember? Bastards didn’t so much as touch her.” Trey swiped the back of his hand across his mouth and smiled. “They died slow but I didn’t have time to destroy the evidence. I had to think fast. The building was condemned for a damn good reason. There was enough shoddy wiring to start an inferno that no fire department will care to investigate. Since I removed the Shepherds’ weapons, they’ll think squatters found the wrong haven for the night. It’s as clean as I could manage given the circumstances.”

  “They won’t be able to trace her?” Emory asked, concerned and frustrated by the turn in events. “Nothing can point to Mary. We can’t have the police showing up asking questions. It’s bad enough that Shepherds shot up the fucking store.”