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

by Michele Bardsley

  He crossed the room and took the seat opposite from her. Clearly, she wasn’t ready to tell him who wanted her dead. So, he asked an easier question. “What’s your real name?”

  “Amelia,” she said. “It’s the last name that changes. The birth date. Where I’m from. And every other detail that makes up a person’s life. All lies. But my name—that’s who I am, and I won’t discard it. Not even for him.”

  He leaned toward her. “And who is he?”

  She glanced up to meet his gaze, and he saw her fear, her wariness. He understood her inability to trust, and the burden of terror and vulnerability she carried. He’d seen it time and time again in victims who came to Pearson Security for help. People who’d been stalked, abused, chased, and threatened.

  “You’re safe,” he said. “You can confide in me, Amelia.”

  “I believe you.” The corners of her mouth pulled into a brief, sad smile. “I don’t have a choice now. This is the first time I’ve been shot at.”

  He said nothing. Instead, he looked at her, waiting. She needed to willingly offer her secrets. He knew what it was like to feel helpless, to have his faith in people shattered with one act of betrayal.

  It was why he did this job.

  Protecting people was his life, not just his work.

  “I was twenty and in college. I was studying to be an accountant.” She shook her head. “My father wanted me to have a solid career, one that I could build with his company. He said I had a mind for numbers.” Amelia rolled her eyes. “A mind for it, but no passion. The last thing I wanted to do was spend my days as a bean counter for my father’s shady business.”

  Mike absorbed that information. Okay, no respect for Pops. No love, either. She was tense again, her gaze faraway. Yet, he didn’t press her for more details. Instead, he said, “You liked baking.”

  “I loved it. Still do,” she admitted. “That’s my true passion. Dessert.” She offered a sheepish smile. “As you can see.” She gestured toward her voluptuous figure.

  He allowed his gaze to linger, demonstrating his appreciation for every lush inch of her.

  Amelia blushed.

  Mike suppressed a smile. He’d grown up with a single mom and sisters, so he somewhat understood the love/hate relationship women had with their bodies. However, his sisters had to contend with being bear shifters, and turning into 800-pound animals put the kibosh on idiotic human views about “ideal weight.”

  He loved curvy women. He was a big guy with strong appetites and even stronger desires. He wanted soft flesh, big breasts, and thick thighs. He wanted a woman who could wrap herself around him and take everything that he could give her. He suspected Amelia could more than hold her own in bed—that she would rock his world.

  In other words, he wanted her.

  Bad.

  He flicked his gaze over her again. She pretended to study the water bottle, but he saw how she covertly watched him through her lashes. Amelia was on the tall side, maybe seven or eight inches over five feet, and she had a to die-for body. He could easily imagine sliding his hands along those sweet rounded hips, cupping her beautiful ass, and kissing that amazing cleavage.

  She would fill his hands and his mouth.

  And he would fill her with his—

  “I didn’t get your name,” she said.

  Mike blinked. How the hell had he not introduced himself? “Mike Pearson. The other guy that comes into your shop with me is my brother, Gabe.”

  “Mike.” She said his name softly, as though savoring the word.

  Under her scrutiny, he shifted in his seat, but the movement offered no relief. Thanks to his wayward thoughts and barely controlled libido, his cock was now at full mast and painfully confined in his boxer briefs. Damn. He had to cool off and calm down before he got up from the table or the eagle-eyed Amelia would know all too well what he was thinking about.

  “I thought you were strippers.”

  “That’s our back-up plan,” he said. “In case this bodyguard thing doesn’t work out.”

  She snorted a laugh. “Where’s your brother now?”

  The smile on her face made him ridiculously happy. “Checking out your bakery.” Mike watched her pick at the paper label on the water bottle. “So. You were twenty, close to becoming a reluctant CPA…”

  “Yeah. I finished out my junior year. I wanted to spend the summer in Paris. There was an eight-week dessert program at Honoré. It’s a small café in Paris—famous for its opéra cake.”

  “What’s that?”

  She perked up. Her passion for baking reflected in every gesture, every look. “The best cake you will ever eat. You build layers with almond sponge, dark chocolate ganache and coffee buttercream. Then you top it with chocolate glaze.” Her eyes sparkled. “It’s amazing.”

  Mike pretended to wipe drool off his mouth. “That sounds awesome.”

  She stopped tearing at the paper and leaned back in her chair. He could tell she felt more comfortable. “Honoré had been in the same family for three generations, but the final owner was the only son of an only son who’d had no other children. He was seventy-two, and had decided to close the café rather than sell it. One of his last gifts to the dessert world was hosting that program.” She smiled at him. “I would’ve loved to have been arm-deep in flour and syrup and chocolate for a whole summer. ”

  “I take it your father had other plans?”

  “To live at home and accept an internship at his company.”

  “Sounds boring.”

  She nodded. She started playing with the label again, her renewed anxiety obvious in the way she ripped off the paper and twirled it onto the table. “My dad and I didn’t see eye-to-eye. On anything.”

  “What about your mom?”

  Amelia went white. She squeezed the water bottle so hard, the plastic crackled in her grip.

  Alarmed at her sudden, visceral reaction, Mike straightened his posture. “Amelia?”

  “My father,” she said, her moss-green eyes wide and her generous mouth trembling. “He’s a monster. And he killed my mother.”

  3

  AMELIA TOOK A deep breath. She’d never told anybody the whole truth. She talked about parts of it when she had to get a little help scraping together a meal or finding shelter. “When I say monster,” she said carefully, “I’m not using a metaphor.”

  Mike tensed, and for a moment, she thought he would laugh at her. Instead, he reached across the table. His large hands engulfed hers, offering warmth and comfort. “Tell me.”

  Relief flooded her. She hadn’t realized how much she’d wanted to tell someone the whole story until this moment. Or maybe it was the way Mike seemed to understand her. His compassion was unexpected. “They were arguing. Honestly, they didn’t get along on the best of days. I didn’t know why they stay married. I’d never seen two unhappier people.” She shook her head. “My mother was wonderful. My father … not so much. Cold. Distant. Controlling. I should’ve bailed the second I turned eighteen, but I’d been raised to be obedient.”

  Sympathy crowded Mike’s gaze then he offered a wicked grin. “You don’t really seem like a goody-two-shoes to me.”

  Amelia couldn’t help but return his grin with one of her own. Being thought of a rebel pleased her—especially by this man. She would never admit in a million years that she’d thought of him a lot over the past month. Naughty and inappropriate thoughts that left her hot and bothered and aching. She wondered if he could look at her as sexy, as someone he could take to bed and lose himself with. God knew she wanted to lose herself with him. Unfortunately, Mike Pearson was a fantasy, and she had to live in reality. Reality sucked hardcore at the moment.

  Twinges of need made Amelia’s lower parts heat up. Her desire made her feel stupid, sitting in this room, alone with him, his warm hands clasping hers, his gaze unwavering. She cleared her throat. Her attraction to this big, charming, gorgeous man was disconcerting to say the least. “I’ll never forget what my father said. ‘The girl
is old enough. I don’t need you anymore.’”

  She closed her eyes, slipping into that awful moment, leaving the comfort of Mike for the terror of that memory. “Then his eyes turned yellow—and strange. Like an animal’s. He lifted his hand and these claws shot out from his fingertips. Like Wolverine on steroids, you know?” Her eyes opened, and she knew her gaze was desperate as tears threatened to spill. She needed someone to believe her. “He ripped open her throat. I screamed and tried to help, but there was blood everywhere. Everywhere. He dropped her to the floor as if she was nothing. Then he looked at me with this awful, soulless stare. He didn’t even try to hide his—otherness.”

  “How did you escape?”

  His voice was calm, reasoned. He didn’t seem shocked about her claim, and that made her feel better.

  “He told me, ‘Clean this mess up.’ And then he left.” The tears fell now, even though she’d cried a thousand tears a thousand times. “I grabbed my mother’s purse off the kitchen counter, and I walked away. I took my car, but I knew he’d track me down, so I stopped in the next town, got what I could from my mother’s credit cards, and then I bought a bus ticket.” She squeezed Mike’s hands. “I abandoned my mother’s corpse. It was such a cold thing to do. Something he would do, you know?”

  “No. Survival is a primal extinct, Amelia. Your mother would want you safe. You did exactly the right thing.”

  She looked at him. “Thank you for saying that.” She swallowed the knot clogging her throat, and gratefully took the tissues Mike handed to her. Did he really believe her story? She didn’t know why he would. If she hadn’t experienced it first hand, she wouldn’t have believed it either. She rubbed her cheeks and scrubbed at her eyes. “So, you think I’m crazy?”

  “Why? Because your father is a monster?”

  “I wondered if I imagined his transformation because of the trauma of seeing my mother killed before my eyes. PTSD or whatever. That maybe it was better than believing one human being could murder another one without conscience.”

  “You saw a shifter, Amelia.”

  It took a moment for the words to penetrate her thoughts. She stared at him. “What?”

  “A shifter. I don’t know what kind, but your father sounds like a rogue werewolf. They don’t join packs, generally because they’re not team players and have serious control issues. There aren’t a lot of rogues, mind you, but there are enough to create problems for the packs.” He grimaced. “We just dealt with one not that long ago.”

  “My father is a werewolf.” Disbelief rang in her voice. She sank back into her chair, feeling utterly chilled. Not by the idea of shifters, but by the normal way Mike talked about them. Like they were real. “I know what I think I saw, Mike, but it’s not possible. Not really. I appreciate you trying to make me feel better by … uh, feeding my delusion.”

  “Shifters are real.” He still had a grip on her hands and squeezed lightly. “You’re not crazy. And neither am I.

  “Hey.”

  Gabe’s deep voice startled Amelia. She whipped her head around to stare at the man standing in the doorway. He gave his brother an odd look, and then he turned his concerned gaze to her.

  “Either the guy shooting at you is blind, or he was missing on purpose.”

  She cleared her throat and slipped her hands free from Mike’s. “Maybe I wasn’t really targeted. This is Vegas, after all.”

  “No, the bullet I pulled out of your back wall is used by pros. He was definitely sending a message,” said Gabe.

  “Whoever was shooting wanted to scare you.” Mike frowned. “You assume that your old man wants you dead, Amelia. But maybe he just wants you to come home.”

  “Fuck that.” Amelia slapped the table for emphasis. “I will never return to that house. I don’t want to see him ever again.”

  “Has he caught up with you before?” asked Mike.

  She shrugged. She was paranoid enough to believe that her father’s goons were everywhere. But after five years of skipping around the US and Mexico and keeping out of her father’s clutches, she’d begun to believe he wasn’t after her anymore.

  While Amelia mulled over the new information about the shooter, Mike filled Gabe in on her story—and Gabe didn’t even blink when Mike suggested Daddy Dearest was a werewolf.

  “We need to go to the Shadow Pack,” said Gabe. “Maybe they’ll know who this guy is and what he wants.”

  “Let’s ask Gray and Belle to come to Vegas,” said Mike. “She’s not safe out there right now. I’ll take Amelia to the panic room. It’ll be best to keep her there until we’ve nullified the threat.”

  Gabe gave his brother a long, hard stare. Mike met the stony gaze with one of his own, and neither one looked away. Amelia shivered at the intensity.

  Finally, Gabe broke the connection and sighed. “Okay, dude. I’ll make arrangements. I’ll send the copter for them. It’s quicker than the three-hour drive from Bleed City.”

  Gabe nodded to Amelia and left.

  “He’s very … er, business-like,” she said.

  “More like a sore loser,” Mike muttered.

  Amelia raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

  Mike’s slight smile hinted at a secret. “No big deal.” He stood up. “C’mon. I’ll take you to one of the safest places on this earth.”

  “I thought I was already there.”

  “Not quite.” He walked around the table and extended his hand to her. “Let me show you.”

  4

  MIKE SHOULDN’T HAVE been surprised that she found the kitchen within two minutes of exploring the panic room. Well, it was more like a panic apartment with two bedrooms, a living area, a fully stocked kitchen, and a tech room filled with enough gadgets to make sure their clients stayed entertained. And to keep them safe, there was a whole room dedicated to the latest weaponry.

  Mike sensed her nervousness as she opened drawers and cabinets. She began taking things out, and then paused. “Do you mind? Baking will help take my mind off everything.”

  “You taking requests?”

  She laughed. “Let me guess … honey cinnamon rolls?”

  It was difficult to keep his bear from rumbling. He smacked his lips. “Hell, yeah.”

  “If I can find all the ingredients. While I’m doing this,” she said, rummaging through the pantry and the fridge, “tell me why you and your brother think shifters are real.”

  “I could show you.”

  She put eggs, milk, flour, and other ingredients onto the center island. She’d already added a big cutting board, a glass bowl, and a rolling pin. When she had what she needed, Amelia turned, leaned a hip against the counter and crossed her arms. “Are you making fun of me?”

  “Definitely not.”

  “Hmm.” One eyebrow winged upward. “So, if I say, yeah sure, does this mean you’ll start flinging off your clothes and—” She crooked her fingers to form air quotes, “—shift?”

  “If you want me naked, Amelia, just say so.”

  Her blush was immediate and fierce. She put a hand against her mouth, her embarrassment palpable.

  Mike wanted to taste her. He bet she was sweet—as sweet as honey. Dear God. Amelia and honey. The idea of licking his favorite treat from her breasts, her stomach, her thighs about did him in. He swallowed the groan that threatened to reveal his thoughts.

  “I’m not trying to proposition you.” Amelia’s voice quivered with mortification.

  Mike couldn’t take the wounded look on her face, as if she wasn’t worth desiring. Was she insane? He crossed to her in two quick steps and scooped her into his arms.

  “Then I’ll have to proposition you,” he said and leaned down to drink from her generous, plump lips.

  Her sharp intake of breath soon turned to a moan as she moved her mouth against his, allowing him to take deeper and deeper sips of her mouth. He couldn’t resist dipping his tongue inside, and she responded with so much raw hunger, it took everything he had to keep his bear caged.

>   Reluctantly, Mike dragged his lips from hers. He drew his fingers through her silky hair, releasing the strands from the makeshift ponytail holder. “Do you want me, Amelia?” he breathed against her hot mouth. “Please tell me you want me, baby.”

  “Yes,” she said, “oh, yes.”

  He pushed everything off the island. There was noise, bangs and shatters and pops, but none of it was louder than the thumping of his heart or the roar in his ears. Mine. She’s mine.

  He grabbed the sides of her jeans and pulled. The seams gave way instantly. Bear strength had its privileges. She gasped, and muttered, “Holy crap.” But she didn’t ask questions. She kicked aside the shreds as she touched him, her hands wandering down to the edge of his shirt. He stopped kissing her long enough to pull off the shirt and unzip his pants. “Wait,” he said, breathing heavily. “I need honey.” He stumbled back, shaking with bone-crushing need, but determined to have everything his body and heart desired. When had he ever felt this way about a woman? Never. “Shirt,” he demanded roughly, pointing at her chest. “Off. Now.”

  She gripped the end of her T-shirt and yanked it over her head. He turned, managing to get to the cabinet where they housed jars of honey harvested by their mother. It was raw, dark, and the best fucking honey he’d ever tasted.

  When he returned his gaze to his woman, she was naked. She’d even shimmied off her panties. Her eyes were glazed with passion, her mouth plump from his ravaging kisses. God, she was gorgeous.

  “Mike.” His name was pure want on her lips.

  He put down the jar of honey long enough to push his pants and underwear down. His rigid cock sprang away from him, and he growled at Amelia’s hungry expression as she took in his size.

  This first time would be rough, raw, impulsive. Later, he would take her achingly slow, worship every inch of her beautiful body, and lather her with all the attention his mate deserved.

  Mate?

  The idea didn’t shock him. In fact, it felt right. Good.