The Pack Rules Boxed Set: The Complete Series of Wolf, Bear, and Dragon Shifter Romances

by Michele Bardsley

  “How’s your father?”

  “He’ll be all right, but he’ll be in the hospital for a while. It turns out not even werewolves are invincible.”

  “What about you? Are you going to be okay?”

  An awkward silence fell as she scrambled to gather her scattered thoughts. She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and inhaled deeply. “I’m fine.”

  “There are two men stationed outside the door for your safety. You need anything, call me.” He reached into his back jean pocket, drew out his wallet and extracted a small, white card. “My home number is on the front, and my personal cell number on the back.”

  Stephanie took the card, glanced at the scrawled black ink, and stared at him. “I’m used to handling things on my own.” And look where that’s gotten you. She swallowed hard. “But thank you. I’m grateful for your assistance.”

  “You’re not alone.” The corner of his mouth lifted into a half-smile. “We’ll take care you. Someone will always be within shouting distance. You won’t always see us, but we’ll be there.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Kade sent enforcers to track the man who hurt you.”

  Stephanie sucked in a sharp breath. “What? Why?”

  “You’re part of the pack, Stephanie. If you threaten one of us, then you threaten all of us.”

  She felt the blood drain from her face. She’d given her stepfather the bare-bones story, but there was so much she hadn’t told him. How could she?

  “Hey, you all right?”

  “Yes. I … I’m good.”

  “Okay. Someone will follow you home and keep watch at the house. You’re safe, Stephanie. I promise.”

  She nodded, unable to say anything else. He offered one last gentle smile before he strode to the door. She watched him grab the handle, saw the corded muscles in his arm, and felt a mix of need and fear that confused her.

  The door swished shut behind him.

  Stephanie held onto the tulips, strangely reluctant to put down her gift. Instead, she sank into the chair and struggled with her new burdens.

  She’d been a fool to think she could escape Garrett. Less than two weeks had passed since she managed to free herself. Damn it. She didn’t want to be the type of woman who needed rescuing. It still shamed her to realize she’d fallen for Garrett’s charms despite the warning signs of his controlling, abusive behavior. She suffered the consequences of that decision—and now, she’d drawn a target on her father.

  And the Moon Pack.

  NOLAN WATCHED HIS younger sister maneuver through eight cats, two dogs, and one toddler. She shoved a pan of lasagna into the oven.

  “Hallie?”

  “No, pumpkin, kitty doesn’t like haircuts,” she told the dark-haired munchkin. Nolan grinned and shook his head. “Uh, Hallie?”

  She turned, ushering the child out of the kitchen. “Kevin! Come get your sister.”

  “I’m doing homework,” came a shout from the living room.

  “I fell for that last time. Besides, I can hear the noise from the television.”

  “Okay, okay.” Nolan’s six-foot tall nephew ambled into the kitchen, lithely avoiding cats and dogs, and scooped up the girl. “What should I do with her? The garbage man comes tomorrow—maybe we could put her out by the curb.”

  “No-o-o-o-o,” squealed Emma, giggling. “Swing now, brudder.”

  Kevin looked at Nolan, a mock expression of long suffering lighting his features. His brown eyes, however, twinkled. “Sheesh, Uncle Nolan, couldn’t you take her off my hands?”

  “Your uncle and I are trying to have a discussion,” Hallie said. “Take the dogs out with you, okay?”

  “Swing, brudder,” Emma demanded from her upside-down position.

  Nolan smiled at them, an odd pang in his heart. “You might as well get used to women winning, whether or not they deserve it.”

  A fresh-baked roll popped him in the head and tumbled to the floor. He swiveled on the bar stool and caught Hallie’s satisfied smirk. He rubbed his cheek. “Hey!”

  “I’m getting out of here,” Kevin said, laughing. “C’mon Tito. Casanova, here boy.”

  The two hound dogs shuffled through the kitchen, following Kevin out the sliding glass doors. Nolan watched as the boy-man took his sister to the wood and metal swing set. Two swings. Three slides. Monkey bars. And tunnels. “Your daughter isn’t spoiled at all,” he observed.

  “You bought that hideous thing as I recall.”

  “Spent a month recovering from putting it together, too,” Nolan said, scooping up the roll and tossing it back at his sister.

  She caught it then deposited it into the trashcan under the sink. “Now, what were we talking about?”

  A giant Persian leapt into Nolan’s lap, settling across his legs. The Persian looked at him with slitted eyes then yawned and went to sleep. The cat’s ears were gone, sliced off by a cruel owner. One would think that a werewolf might make cats uneasy, but nature

  “Tell me again why you have eight cats.”

  “Nine. I rescued another one from the pound yesterday. Chuck. He’s upstairs in the isolation room.”

  Nolan smiled. He knew why his sister rescued animals. Her particular fondness for injured, maimed, and otherwise disabled creatures was easily guessed at as well.

  Hallie’s smile brightened her once beautiful face. Still beautiful to him. The scars on her neck were visible, but reconstructive surgery had repaired her face. Of course such surgery would never replace the sight in her left eye.

  They had the same mother, a werewolf. She’d mated with Nolan’s werewolf father, who died in a car accident when Nolan was only two. Then Mom had fallen in love with a human, and married him. Hallie was born from that union—and she wasn’t a shifter.

  And that’s why her asshole human husband had been able to nearly kill her.

  “I should have known. I should have done something.”

  Hallie looked at him, knowing full well what he meant. “You couldn’t help if I didn’t tell you.”

  It was an old conversation. Nolan felt as though he and Hallie were actors repeating memorized lines in a play. No matter how hard he’d tried, he’d been unable to put aside his guilt—his horror—for his baby sister.

  She shook her head. “Why are we talking about this? It happened almost ten years ago. Tim can’t hurt me ever again. Rehashing the past isn’t productive.” One of her eyebrows lifted. “Does this have something to do with Stephanie Draper?”

  “I’m in charge of her protection detail. I met her today at the hospital.”

  “Is Randall going to be okay?”

  “Yeah. But he’s not going home any time soon.” Nolan sighed, thinking of Stephanie. She was a beautiful woman. Her long, straight brown hair framed a heart-shaped face. She had wide green eyes and a rosebud mouth. He smelled the change her pheromones—knew she was attracted to him instantly. And he also knew she feared him. She’d been through some hard times. She was bone-thin and obviously sleep-deprived. The shadows under her pretty green eyes had probably been there for months. “She’s still real jumpy.”

  “I never stopped looking over my shoulder,” said Hallie. “I just started doing it less. The process of healing is different for everybody. Maybe she didn’t give the alpha all the details, but that doesn’t matter. Her husband hurt her. He deserves the wrath of the pack.”

  “Hell, yes, he does.”

  “C’mon. Help me set the table for dinner.”

  Nolan gently removed the cat from his lap and went into the kitchen, where his sister commenced to happily bossing him around. He was lucky to be part of a loving family, and he couldn’t help but think about Stephanie—about how alone she’d been.

  There was something special about her. He hadn’t been able to get her out of his thoughts since he’d met her. She looked physically fragile, but her inner strength shone in the way she comported herself, the way she looked him in the eyes. Scared, but not giving in. She’d escaped a bad situa
tion. And she was still in fear that her asshole husband would find her. Hurt her.

  As much as he wanted to part of the team hunting Garrett Ford, he knew he could better serve the pack, and Stephanie, by staying close.

  2

  “I FOUND THE birth control, Stephanie.”

  Stephanie froze. The boar-bristled brush stilled on her long blonde strands. Every night, she endured five hundred strokes with the heavy wooden brush. That was the rule. He counted. She’d been on 398 when he delivered the information bomb. He lounged in the bathroom doorway, arms crossed, his handsome face sharp with fury.

  Her fingers began to tremble, and she clutched the brush so she wouldn’t drop it.

  “More than four years.” Garrett sauntered inside, and leaned against the marble countertop. His dark eyes held accusation. “I knew it would be difficult. You’re a human. And my kind does not easily breed. Here, I thought I was being patient.”

  “You are patient, Garrett.”

  “And you are a liar.” He smacked the marble with an open palm, and Stephanie jumped. A thin smile slit his lips. “You’ve denied me a child. You’ve broken the sacred rule of our mating.” The smile disappeared. “You will not take any more measures to prevent a pregnancy. Do you understand?”

  She nodded as she swallowed the knot in her throat. Cold fear ghosted through her. She knew too well that look in his eyes.

  Punishment.

  He slipped the brush out of her hand. He grabbed the back of her nightgown and yanked. The material ripped quite easily, giving in to his immense strength, and fluttered to the floor. Naked except for her underwear, Stephanie waited.

  “Three hundred and ninety-eight.” Garrett caught her gaze. “Count.”

  He slammed the brush against her back. Pain shot up her spine and she bit back the cry of anguish.

  “Three hundred and ninety-nine,” she whispered, choking on her agony.

  Stephanie blinked at the memory and tears fell. She stared at her reflection in the mirror. Pale. Haunted. Lost. Wiping away the moisture, she rose from the dressing table and wandered to her four-poster bed. She slipped between the cool sheets, settling against the fluffy pillows.

  The lights blared overhead, but she wouldn’t turn them off. She’d rather never sleep again than have to be alone in the darkness. Drawing her legs up, she rested her chin on her knees.

  Memories of Garrett threatened her peace of mind. Her sanity. She never remembered the good times. She knew she’d been happy once—back when she believed Garrett loved her. She was a rare human that moved between her world and that of the shifters. She thought she knew so much about the paranormal side, and she’d been wrong. Werewolves were strong, and generally a moral lot. They wished no harm on others. Well, except for the Blood Pack, but they were often too busy killing each other to bother with others.

  She’d believed Garrett was a werewolf, because that’s what he’d wanted her to think. Only after they were married did she find out the truth: He was a Wendigo.

  Wendigo shifters believed themselves superior to all other species. They refused to breed with shifters or humans, sometimes interbreeding within families to avoid the possibility of tainting their pure blood. But all they’d really done is decimate their entire population. And that suited Stephanie just fine. Given how hellish her marriage to Garrett had been, she had not an ounce of sympathy for any of them.

  Wendigos populated the Pacific Northwest, from Northern California to Canada. Once there had been thousands of them. The Wendigos liked to eat humans, and their animal form was beyond horrific. They’d gained a fierce reputation among the indigenous tribes. The tribes painted the shifters as cannibalistic men who’d given in to gluttony and greed, and became Wendigo to pay the price—always hungry and never satisfied.

  It was a close description to the real Wendigo—to Garrett.

  There were only dozens left, or so her husband had claimed. Desperation had forced him and his brothers out of the Sierra Nevada mountains to find suitable breeding partners—and Garrett had chosen her. A mere hundred years ago, he might’ve eaten her for dinner. It galled him and his crazy siblings to no end that they had been driven to mate with those they once considered prey.

  Unable to bear thinking about Garrett a second longer, Stephanie scooted out of bed and walked to the window. Her bare feet sank into the plush carpet. She dug her toes into it as she pushed aside the gauzy white curtain. The rumble of car engine drew her attention to the street.

  A dark sedan slid smoothly past, slowing in front of the house. Her heart skipped a beat, and she placed a hand against her throat. Was that him?

  Breathe, Steph.

  The car continued to the end of the lane and made a right. Her paranoia was getting out of control. What was the saying? Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean someone isn’t after you.

  Garrett would come for her.

  He wanted to her to pay for what happened. He blamed her for the early labor. For the tragic loss. Stephanie placed her hand against her stomach, stroking her abdomen.

  Her baby had died.

  She hadn’t cared that the life growing within was part-Wendigo. She had run away, so she could raise her child to be a bright light in the world. Garrett had found her. Furious that she dared to escape, he struck her so hard she fell down the stairs. She could’ve broken her neck. Died.

  Instead, she lost her baby.

  Anguish crashed through her so suddenly she thought she might drown in it.

  It wasn’t just that she’d gone into labor early and produced a baby who only took a single breath outside her womb. It was that Garrett knew it was possible for her to carry his offspring. Being his wife was a human social construct. One he had dispensed with after the loss of their child. In what was left of the Wendigo culture, females were for breeding and raising young. He’d intended to keep her confined to his home in the mountains, her only role to be a baby-making machine.

  That’s when she’d escaped. Begged for help. Ran home to Daddy.

  Stephanie turned away from the window, unable to shake off the residue of fear clinging to her. Her gaze caught the beautiful tulips that now occupied a glass vase on her nightstand. She touched the petals and smiled. Nolan’s face rose clearly in her mind—his concerned brown eyes, his reassuring smile.

  Removing a pink tulip from the vase, Stephanie crawled back into bed and cradled the precious flower in her hands. With the stem clutched in her fingers, she slept.

  STEPHANIE WOKE SUDDENLY. Her heart was trying to pound out of her chest. She recognized the symptoms of a panic attack. Even with the lights on, she felt suddenly, inexplicably terrified.

  She put on her robe and went downstairs, compelled to look out the peephole. She knew werewolves were out there, watching her.

  Yet, she felt exposed and vulnerable.

  Shit. The porch light had burned out. She saw the play of shadows outside. Moonlight splattered on the landscaped yard. Frowning, she clasped the doorknob and remembered every horror film she’d watched eagerly as a teenager where stupid people always investigated dark corners and got their heads cut off. She thought that should be funny, but a cold finger of fear trailed her spine.

  Stephanie double-checked the locks and chain. She looked through the peephole again and saw nothing, no one. The wind shrieked and she shivered. A rough tempo began beating against the living room window. Huge splats soon turned into pounding fists. She curled onto the couch, gathered an afghan around her, and picked up her e-reader. The mystery that had intrigued her earlier in the day held no magic for her now.

  After Stephanie read the same paragraph three times, she gave up finishing the chapter.

  Biting her lip, she tried to shake off the uneasiness swirling through her. She walked to the huge picture window and drew aside the sheer curtains. The night was thick with rain; the moon had taken refuge behind the clouds. Funny, the streetlight had gone out, too. Hadn’t it been on earlier? She pressed against the window, tryi
ng to see through the storm. The glass cooled her face and she briefly wanted to feel the rain dance against her skin.

  Thunder cracked. Startled, Stephanie jerked away from the window, her heart pounding. Lightning flashed, and a man’s face appeared only inches above where hers had been seconds ago. Shock rooted her feet to the floor. Cold blue eyes chilled her and the slight smile, twisted at the corners, shredded her illusions about safety. Rain ran in rivulets down his chiseled face, giving her the impression that he was crying.

  He grinned, showing off his awful, sharp teeth, double, jagged rows of flesh-tearing death.

  Stephanie screamed, and the sound of her own terror forced her to turn away, stumble toward the phone. She grasped the receiver, her trembling fingers hovering above the numbers. Thunder rumbled again and her gaze locked onto the window. When the lightning flashed, Garrett’s awful face was gone. Had she imagined him?

  No. No, he’d been there. He was a master at terror. Stephanie sobbed and clutched the receiver. Was she going crazy? Had she finally stepped over the edge of insanity? Tears blinding her, she looked down at the phone.

  Who the hell was she supposed to call?

  NOLAN JOLTED AWAKE. Running a hand through his hair as he stiffly stretched against the recliner. He groggily wondered what had awakened him.

  The phone trilled insistently. So that’s what had interrupted a very interesting dream about Stephanie. An image of smooth, pale flesh flashed in his mind; his groin tightened. Another shrill ring echoed through the uncarpeted room. Nolan reached down to the floor and grabbed the receiver. “Wright.”

  Silence met his abrupt greeting. Prank caller? He pressed his ear against the phone and heard the shuddering breath. No. He’d heard this kind of silence before. “Hello? Can I help you?”

  “Nolan.”

  The whispery voice slid across his skin. He straightened in the chair. “I’m here.”

  “He was … he was in my window. I—I think.”