by Dunbar, Natalie; Glass, Seressia; Jeffries, J. M. ; Banks, L. A.
Touched by his thoughtful gesture, she thanked him and drew the soft cotton over her head. When she climbed out of the passenger seat, the shirt fell close to her knees. Problem solved.
Inside the cool station Kellie was at a loss. People of all colors, shapes, and sizes were everywhere, and most of the civilians seemed to be waiting. She straightened, trying to prepare herself to deal with the bureaucracy of a big city police department.
Leading her to one of the clerks manning a desk, Garen flashed a badge and used his knowledge and contacts to push through the process of getting her things back.
“I’ll be back,” he murmured, disappearing while she stood in a long line for another clerk to retrieve her property.
Garen made his way to Captain Platt’s office. Staring at his computer screen, Platt stopped typing on his keyboard to glance up.
“I heard about you tackling and handing over a perpetrator trying to get to Kellie Monroe,” the captain began. “Good work.”
“Thanks, but he managed to run back into the hospital. Did the uniforms catch him? Is he here?” Garen asked, trying to remember if the man had been wearing a gold chain or collar.
Platt sighed. “No. They lost him. Was he a werewolf?”
Garen nodded. “Yep.”
The captain tilted back in his chair. “You and Ms. Monroe should talk to our police artist and have a look at the pictures we have on file. If we find him, we could at least get him on assault.”
Garen said nothing. He knew that unless the perp had a record, the likelihood of the cops finding him were next to none. The group, whoever they were, apparently wanted Kellie alive.
Platt pushed a document across the desk at him. “Did you know that Ms. Monroe filed a police report on her relative’s missing body?”
Garen scratched his head. “Yes, the body disappeared somewhere between the hospital and the city morgue. I can’t imagine what anyone would want to do with the body. We’re still checking to see if it’s got something to do with the attack.”
“You never know. Platt’s head inclined toward a chair. “Have a seat. Tell me what you’ve found out.”
Garen sat. Working the preternatural division of the force meant that he had another boss in the regular LVPD. He was still getting the hang of having two bosses. So far, he’d been sharing information more or less equally with both men. He related Kellie’s story and showed Platt the drawing she’d made of the medallions. Casually mentioning that the Preternatural Division was pursuing references to the knife, he noted that other than the color of the wolves’ coats, Kellie hadn’t been able to distinguish one from another. Only another werewolf and sometimes a vamp could do that.
Platt looked grim. “None of the werewolves left on the scene survived. There are no human survivors except for Kellie Monroe, and we lost that werewolf at the hospital. What have you got to go on?”
“Just Ms. Monroe and her sketches of the medallions,” Garen answered, deciding not to mention the mythical Arielle. That was the Preternatural Division’s forte after all.
“I know that the vaccine injection nearly killed her. How is she doing?” Garen shrugged. “Her physical injuries have healed, but we’ll have to wait until the next full moon to see if the vaccine worked.” Platt frowned. “I can’t see why her family would have skirted the law. Why leave your loved ones vulnerable to the lycantrope virus?”
“Some people apply to the council to willingly become werewolves.” Garen observed Platt’s facial expression. He worked well with Platt, but the man had prejudices he wasn’t aware he had.
“Ms. Monroe wasn’t given that option,” Platt reminded him.
“No, but she is alive and well, thanks to something extraordinary. The vaccine made her violently ill and nearly killed her. Maybe her family knew the effects it would have on her body.”
Platt shook his head. “I doubt that. I’ve never heard of that vaccine hurting anyone. It’s actually kept more than a few people from becoming involuntary werewolves.”
Garen shrugged, deciding not to argue. This was not an issue that they would come to agree on.
Moving on, Platt thumped his fingers on his desk with a staccato beat. “Until we catch this pack of wolves, your number-one job is to protect Ms. Monroe at all costs. We both know how important catching this pack is to maintaining the peace for all of us. We’ll run that sketch of the medallions through all the police and government databases.”
Nodding, Garen told Platt that he’d be in touch.
Kellie accepted the envelope with the things taken from Nana’s home. Cradling it to her chest, she took it to one of the counters and poured out the contents. The knife and the guns Nana had left her were there.
Garen had come back and was standing with her. He claimed to have previously examined the knife, but it still fascinated him.
Was he wondering if it could burn him from the inside out as it had the alpha? Kellie mused. She hoped he’d never have the chance to find out.
Grateful for his help, she allowed him to examine the knife.
Raising it to his nose with a gloved hand, Garen sniffed.
How strong was a werewolf’s sense of smell, Kellie wondered. Since wolves were kin to dogs, she imagined it would be strong. “What does it smell like?” she asked, curiously.
Garen’s eyes were dark and dangerous. “Silver, werewolf blood.” “Did… did you go to the house? Did they find anything to… to—”
“The forensics team on the scene gathered all the evidence we needed,” he answered. “But a tracking team went in and examined the house. I was there.”
“And you didn’t track them down?”
“Our trackers lost the scent in the park near the house. This group knew what to do to cover their tracks.” Biting her lip, she watched him examine the knife. “It’s beautiful,” he said, carefully turning it over in his hands
and examining the engraved designs of flowers and symbols. Then he surprised her by drawing a camera from his jacket and taking a series of pictures.
Kellie placed the little knife back in its sheath and fitted it into the waistband of her jeans.
“Where can I take you?” Garen asked as they exited the station.
Listening to the rich timbre of his voice and that soft southern lilt, the nature of their interaction suddenly seemed all too personal. She studied him, asking herself what did she really know about him other than the fact that he was a cop, a werewolf, a member of the Preternatural Police Force, and her protector? The longer she stayed in his company, the more right and natural it felt, the more it felt like something that should be. Kellie’s right hand formed a fist. Now that she had the knife and her guns, couldn’t she protect herself? “I can get a taxi.”
Shuffling his feet and rotating a shoulder, Garen all but rolled his eyes. “Do we have to go through this shit again? You’re tired, weak, and you just got out of the hospital. You seem intelligent. Think this through.”
Kellie set her jaw. “I am intelligent, Mr. Roy, but I’m also stubborn and used to taking care of myself. There’s no need for you to get nasty.”
He eyed her silently, testosterone coming off him in waves. “I’m coming with you. Fact. We can go in my car, or I can follow your taxi. What’s it going to be?”
Kellie could have screamed in frustration. She didn’t like the way she felt physically, and she didn’t like the way Garen made her feel like putty in his strong, capable hands. All she wanted was a safe, quiet place to rest and heal until she was well enough to handle her business.
She studied the man who fascinated her so much it scared her. What was it about Garen Roy that made her want to simultaneously kick his butt and jump his bones? She’d have to learn to deal with it if she was going to survive. Kellie swallowed her pride and backed down. “I’ll take the ride, thanks.”
Pivoting, he led her back to his unmarked car. “Where to?”
She’d been thinking about that one for a while. Nana’s house with its ruined
furniture, busted windows and doors would not be safe. “The Ocean Blue,” she said, picking the first hotel and casino on the strip that came to mind.
Garen’s reaction to her choice was almost imperceptible, but she caught it. Something flickered in his eyes, and his shoulders dropped.
“Bad choice?” she asked as he opened the passenger door. She climbed inside.
“Excellent choice. There’s only one better.” He shut the door and got in the driver’s side.
“What’s that?” she asked curiously.
“The French Quarter,” he replied, driving off.
Chapter Four
Despite his family ties to the owners of the French Quarter Hotel and Casino, which was next door to the Ocean Blue Hotel and Casino, Garen didn’t believe in luck. Still, Kellie’s hotel choice made his life a hell of a lot easier. He suppressed a smile. Stashing her in a room there would enable him to check on the family business next door and call on trusted clan members to help him protect her. He’d also have the pack’s best fighters and fastest healers available to take down the rogue band of werewolves.
Garen maintained silence all the way to the hotel. He didn’t want to push Kellie or scare her off. Besides, he could see that she was exhausted.
Leaving the car parked close to the door, he held her arm and gently led her past the rolling waves and man-made beach that characterized the lavish hotel. Inside the blue marbled lobby, Coco, on the desk, barely hid her surprise when he stood and waited while Kellie checked in.
“Where will you be staying?” Kellie asked as he led her to her room. “I thought you might get an adjoining room.”
Garen shot her a knowing glance. “I can’t protect you if I can’t see you.”
She actually glared at him, her mahogany eyes all but sparking with emotion. “Did it ever occur to you that I might need a little privacy?”
“You’ll get it.” With an effort, he banked the fire building inside him. Because of his looks, his family, and what he was, he was used to women throwing themselves at him. Here was a woman who interested him more than any he’d ever met, and she couldn’t wait to get rid of him. What was wrong with Kellie? “Would you prefer me switching places so that someone else could guard you?”
His ego took a beating as he watched her face show signs of the war going on within her. She did not want him around. Finally, she shook her head. “You can stay. I—I know you’re just trying to protect me. I’m starting to get used to you, believe it or not.”
That surprised him. This seemed to be a case of a lady protesting too much. Maybe Miss Kellie wasn’t as immune as she pretended to be. He followed her to the room, his glance straying time and again to her surprisingly lush behind and graceful legs in those tight jeans. He usually went for the big and voluptuous women that were the Vegas standard, but something about Kellie kept his balls humming. The little head had been talking to him from the moment she’d awakened in that hospital room. At about five-foot five, she was a small, but exciting package of pure woman.
He made her stand at the door while he sniffed the room and checked it out. It was clean and free of intruders and electronic bugs.
She stepped into the room, sparing the king-sized bed a longing look and letting her glance fall meaningfully onto the plush sofa bed.
“I’ll take the couch,” he said, intent on easing her mind.
She relaxed visibly.
Does she think I would attack her? Garen set his teeth. He’d never wanted or pursued a woman who didn’t want him, and he wasn’t about to start. “There’s a hot tub in the bathroom. Maybe that would help.”
“Yeah, I am a little stiff,” she murmured, zeroing in on the bathroom. She closed the door.
Surprisingly, she didn’t lock it. It wouldn’t have mattered. Garen knew how to open the hotel’s bathroom doors, locked or not. He heard the water running.
He imagined her stripping naked and stepping into the tub. Kellie’s unique scent, mixed with the hotel’s signature bath salts, Ocean Breeze, wafted on the air, making him curse his keen sense of smell.
Sighing inwardly, he pushed back in the luxurious recliner. It had been a long but rewarding day. He allowed himself to doze lightly, knowing the slightest sound would awaken him. Thirty minutes later he stood, somewhat refreshed. Kellie hadn’t moved.
Standing outside the bathroom, he called to her. There was no sound on the other side of the door, except for the jets busily churning the water. He turned the knob.
She was asleep with her head against the pillows that surrounded the bath. Her pretty caramel breasts with chocolate colored tips jutted out, the rest of her shapely form reflecting up from the depths of the water. He drank in the sight. His imagination hadn’t done her justice.
He called to her again, aware that he couldn’t leave her like this. She could drown.
She didn’t even move.
Garen stepped forward and shut off the jets. He covered the bed with a couple of the luxurious cotton towels. She was so warm and soft in his arms that he felt himself hardening. His hands secured her beneath those shapely thighs and the inward curve of her waist. Her head lolled against his shirt.
Garen placed her on the bed. Her succulent lips were slightly parted. She looked fragile and petite, yet she’d stood alone against a pack of werewolves to put up a fight worthy of many alphas he knew, and lived. The puzzle of her ancestry pulled at him. Was she a descendant of Arielle and one of the Fey?
Her body curled against the soft cotton, an unconsciously issued erotic invitation.
His mouth watered. Desire shook him, gripping him like a boy chasing after his first piece of ass. He could barely think of anything besides the need to thrust himself into the soft folds of her sex. Ignoring the tightness in his pants, he quickly rubbed the moisture from her skin with the towel and covered her with the sheets.
Her soft moan was almost his undoing. Damn. She’d called his name. Garen moved away. He needed to stay sharp. Right now, Kellie was the bait and he would not see her hurt because he was too busy burning up the sheets to protect her.
Satisfied that she was asleep, he opened the pullout couch and stretched out. It was a hell of a way to spend the night. Garen slept for hours. Much later he opened the door to the room. Paul was outside. He’d guarded Garen for most of his life. These days, Garen could take care of himself, but Paul refused to retire. He was like a father to Garen “Watch her. Guard her,” he ordered, carefully closing the door. “I’m safe here, but she is a target.”
Paul nodded, his dark eyes keen as he studied Garen. His nostrils flared, catching the scent of Garen’s arousal. “She is yours?”
“I need to talk to the others,” Garen said, ignoring the question because he wasn’t ready to admit his growing feelings for Kelly, even to himself. He strode down the hall with the weight of Paul’s gaze riding his back. The sharp sense of smell shared by all his people was not always a blessing.
In the French Quarter’s private club, his father, Dwayne, and the other alphas in the clan were waiting for him. His father appeared calm as he sat at the table swilling whiskey and joking with the rest of them, but Garen saw the tension in the set of his shoulders. Concern weighed in the depths of his brown eyes. “Did you get her?”
“Yeah, but she’s anxious to get away from here.”
“How’s she doing?”
Garen shrugged. “The physical injuries have healed, but she’s weak and exhausted. A Were tried to attack her at the hospital. I put two of the uniform cops on him, but he got away.”
Dwayne’s lip curled in disgust. “We got to get more of our werewolves into the department, ’cause unless they’re using deadly force, the human cops can’t handle werewolves. What’s worse is that the way things are going, we’re going to have a war on our hands.”
Garen tilted his head. “Senator Ross?”
“Yes.” Dwayne’s glass hit the table hard. “At a press conference this morning, he used the growing wild werewolf problem t
o propose that all werewolves be registered and fingerprinted with the government. He even wants to add a chip, so that we can be identified anytime, anywhere.”
“No!” Garen dropped down into a chair. “There’s no way they can make us come in for that.” “They could do it if the vamps helped,” Garen’s younger brother, Gil, put in. “They’d have to kill me first,” Garen snarled. The room reverberated with similar comments from the other alpha males.
Werewolves and the vamps weren’t buxom buddies, but there weren’t exactly enemies either. The bottom line was that vamps needed blood and werewolves had plenty to give in addition to the ability to heal fast. What better way to get fresh blood without killing people and pissing off the government?
The bartender, Harry, set a shot of tequila on the table in front of Garen. Garen downed it in one gulp. “If that band of werewolves weren’t going around terrorizing everyone, no one would bother listening to Ross’s crazy ideas,” he fumed as the warmth of the liquor slid down his insides.
“That’s why we’ve got you working with the Preternatural Po-Po, cousin,” his cousin Ralph said, leaning forward to get in his face with a lot of attitude. “Are you saying you can’t handle it? Do you need help?”
Garen’s right fist shot out so fast that Ralph didn’t see it coming. It connected with the side of Ralph’s face and sent him flying through the air, chair and all. Without a sound, the group parted like the Red Sea. Ralph slammed into the empty table behind them and hit the floor. He got up, cracking his jaw and stretching his neck.
“I can handle you, anytime,” Garen said in a soft, deadly tone. “And when I need help, I’ll ask for it. Got that?”
“Sure cuz.” Ralph’s smile was as phony as a seven-dollar bill. He seemed to think it was his job to challenge Garen regularly. They’d had some knockout drag down, hellacious fights, but Garen always managed to win. He’d finally decided that Ralph was acting as his personal trainer, and keeping him on his toes.