Her Dark Half

by Paige Tyler

  His father collapsed on top of him, crushing out what little air remained in his lungs. Max tried to gasp for more, but his chest wasn’t working right, and no air would come. His fingers were numb and slippery with blood, and he couldn’t hold on to the gun anymore. He braced himself, sure his father would jerk the pistol free and put a bullet in his head, but there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

  Instead, his father rolled off him, onto the dirty carpet with a loud thud, blood staining the front of his shirt.

  As he lay there on the floor gasping for air, Max realized the nightmare was finally over. Well, as over as it could be, considering he’d killed his own father and was slowly bleeding out on the living room rug.

  Then he heard the pitiful sounds of his mother crying in that same gut-wrenching way she always did after Dad had beaten her, Sarah, and him. At least the piece of shit would never be able to do that to any of them ever again.

  Max tried to call Sarah’s name, but he didn’t have enough air to get his throat to work. Having no other choice, he slowly rolled over, grunting as pain that hadn’t been there before ripped through his body. Ignoring the dizziness, he pushed himself up on his hands and knees, then closed his eyes as blackness washed back and forth across his vision, teasing him with the possibility of passing out. When the wave of weakness finally receded, he opened his eyes again. What he saw stopped him cold.

  Sarah lay on the floor unmoving, blood running down the side of her head.

  Their mother kneeled beside her, hands clasped together as she rocked back and forth, sobbing. When she wasn’t staring blindly at his sister, she was glancing over at Max’s father.

  Tears filling his eyes, Max forced himself forward, needing to check on his sister. Sarah was only a few feet away, but it still seemed to take forever to get to her.

  “Call the police,” he told his mother, the words barely audible.

  She turned her gaze on him but didn’t move. “What have you done?” she whispered over and over.

  Max wasn’t sure whom she was referring to with that question. It could have been him, his father, maybe even herself.

  Even though he knew it was too late, Max took Sarah’s slender wrist in his hand and felt for a pulse. One of their father’s stray bullets had hit her in the temple. Sarah had never had a chance.

  One moment, Max was holding her wrist, wondering what chance either of them ever had. The next, he collapsed to the floor beside her. Everything around him was getting fuzzy when the police kicked open the door and charged in, weapons swinging back and forth in search of a threat.

  Max would have laughed if he could. One of the neighbors must have called when they heard the fighting getting loud. If the cops had gotten there a few minutes earlier, maybe it would have mattered. Now they were just here for the cleanup.

  Max was still marveling at how rare it was for the cops to show up in this part of town at all when the blackness folded in on him and he hurried to catch up to his sister.

  Chapter 1

  Dallas, Texas, Present Day

  “This food tastes like crap,” Max complained as he shoved another tiny spinach quiche into his mouth and chewed. If it wasn’t for the fact that werewolves could eat anything they wanted without it messing with their weight, he’d have been worried about the wasted calories.

  “Stop complaining,” fellow werewolf and SWAT officer Jayden Brooks said. A senior corporal on the team, Brooks was a former college star running back, and while he was the biggest werewolf in the Pack, he was also the most soft-spoken. “Besides, it’s free. That makes it taste better.”

  With a grin, Brooks popped some kind of fancy hors d’oeuvre in his mouth. His plate was piled so high with them Max was surprised they didn’t fall on the floor of the large banquet area that had been set up outside the main auditorium in the Dallas Police Department Headquarters. Max wasn’t a fan of coming here, regardless of the event. In his opinion, the place was made for lawyers and politicians, not cops. Having to wear his dress blue uniform made it even worse. If it wasn’t for the fact that some of his fellow SWAT teammates were being recognized, he wouldn’t have come at all.

  “Free doesn’t always mean good,” werewolf-slash-SWAT-officer Diego Martinez pointed out as he and another of Max’s teammates, Zane Kendrick, joined them.

  The late afternoon award ceremony was packed with people, so it had taken a while for them to work their way through the buffet line and come over to the cocktail table in the corner they’d staked out. Clearly, Diego and Zane shared Max’s opinion of the food. They’d barely put anything on their plates.

  “We should try and convince Chief Curtis to hold these events at the SWAT compound,” Max said. “Then we could grill some real food.”

  Brooks chuckled at the suggestion. “I don’t see that happening. Chief Curtis isn’t a fan of ours these days. We’re never going to get him out to the compound unless it’s so he can arrest one of us.”

  He was probably right about that, Max thought. Chief Curtis had suspended Max, Brooks, and their teammate Alex Trevino after they’d been caught breaking into a private research facility while looking for some girls who’d gone missing from Regional Texas College a few months ago. It wasn’t that he and the other guys had gone into the place without a warrant that had pissed Curtis off. It was the fact that the facility had been owned by Councilman McDonald, one of the chief’s biggest political supporters. It hadn’t helped when they’d later disobeyed the chief’s orders to stay away from the case and continued their investigation into the girls’ disappearance, ultimately proving McDonald had been the one who’d kidnapped them. To save face, Chief Curtis had to pretend the suspension was a smokescreen, so Max and the others could expose the corrupt politician.

  “It must have really chafed the chief’s ass to stand up in front of nearly half the DPD and give Alex a commendation for rescuing those college girls,” Diego said with a grin, his teeth a flash of white next to his tan skin.

  Max glanced at Diego. At six foot even, he was the shortest werewolf in the SWAT Pack, but what the guy lacked in height, he more than made up for in brawn. He was flat-out built like a fireplug. “You think he’s that petty?”

  Diego snorted.

  “No doubt about it,” Zane agreed in that British accent of his everyone in the Pack loved teasing him about, including Max. “I thought the chief was going to toss the award at Alex and tell him to pin the damn thing on himself.”

  Max chuckled. He’d thought the same thing.

  “It probably didn’t help he had to pin medals on Khaki and Xander, too,” Brooks added. “Three commendations for SWAT in one night—that’s gotta burn.”

  “Speaking of Khaki and Xander, where are they?” Max asked, looking around for his two pack mates Khaki Blake and Xander Riggs. “I thought they were going to join us as soon as they grabbed some food.”

  Brooks picked up a crab puff that looked way too tiny for his gigantic hand from his plate. “Khaki was too burned out from spending most of the day at the courthouse for Jeremy’s sentencing hearing. She and Xander went home so she could chill out.”

  Diego shook his head, mouth tight. “I still can’t believe that asshole wiggled out of the death penalty. He murdered one man and almost killed Khaki and Xander. Hell, he even shot a frigging dog. If that isn’t enough to get a guy a needle in the arm, I don’t know what is.”

  It was a subject that had been rehashed a thousand times over the past year, both at the SWAT compound and in the local newspapers. It was hard to believe the trial had taken a year. It felt like only a few months since Jeremy Engler, a cop from Khaki’s past, had shown up in Dallas looking to settle a score with her and, by extension, her new boyfriend, Xander. To say things had gotten nasty was an understatement.

  Khaki and Xander, as well as the dog—SWAT mascot, Tuffie—had thankfully made it through okay, but the c
ase had dragged on endlessly in the courts. Jeremy’s lawyer had first gone with an insanity defense, which actually might have worked since Jeremy swore up and down that the entire Dallas SWAT team was filled with bloodthirsty monsters who had claws and fangs and would murder them all.

  When the doctors and the judge had rejected that defense, his lawyer went with plan B—make Jeremy as sympathetic as possible. While Jeremy had been found guilty on all charges, the jury had bought the claims that his “episode” had been brought on by the stress of being a police officer out in Washington State and “losing the woman he loved to another man.” Today, he’d been sentenced to life without parole instead of the death penalty.

  “I heard they’re sending him down to the Coffield Unit just south of here,” Zane said, picking at the food on his plate with disinterest. “That means he’ll be in the same prison as Frasheri and his crew of omegas.”

  Max shook his head. Armend Frasheri was an Albanian mobster they’d put in prison a while back who’d used omega werewolves as muscle. Omegas were similar to alphas like Max and the other werewolves on the SWAT team in size and aggression, but unlike alphas, they had almost no control over their inner wolves.

  “Serves the asshole right,” Brooks muttered. “If we’re lucky, maybe they’ll put Jeremy in a cell with an omega.”

  Max was picturing Jeremy screaming his damn head off in the middle of the night as he realized he was bunking with a “monster” when his nose picked up an intriguing scent he’d never smelled before. Max didn’t have the best nose in the Pack, not by a long shot, but he was usually good at identifying scents. He turned his head this way and that, sniffing the air as he tried to figure out which part of the large room it was coming from. But it was no good. It seemed to be everywhere at once, surrounding him.

  “Do you guys smell that?” he asked his teammates, interrupting a conversation they were having about making a run to the store for steaks and taking them back to the SWAT compound to grill.

  “Smell what?” Diego asked, lifting his nose slightly and testing the air.

  “I’m not sure how to describe it.” Max sniffed again, surprised none of the other guys had picked up on the delectable scent. “It’s sweet and spicy at the same time, like…I don’t know…maybe cinnamon and flowers?”

  Diego and Zane stared blankly at him while Brooks shook his head.

  “I don’t smell anything,” the big man said. “There are a lot of people in here. Maybe you’re picking up a combination of their scents.”

  “Maybe,” Max said softly, though he didn’t think so. This was one very specific scent, not a blend of several. It was hard to explain how he knew that, but he did. All he could say for sure was that the scent had come out of nowhere. Like someone who hadn’t been there before had just walked into the room.

  Not just anyone. A woman.

  “I’m going to check it out,” Max said, setting his plate on the table.

  He didn’t get more than two steps before Brooks put a hand on his shoulder. “Track down this scent if you’re that curious, but your eyes are already getting a yellow glow to them, so you need to keep it under control, okay?”

  “Shit,” Max muttered. “Thanks.”

  He hadn’t known he was so geeked up, but now that Brooks had pointed it out to him, he realized his heart was beating a little faster than normal. He wasn’t sure why his inner wolf was suddenly restless. Then again, he rarely understood why he lost control so easily. Even though he’d been a werewolf for more than four years, he still had issues with it.

  After seeing how omega werewolves behaved, he was beginning to think he might not be an alpha at all but a whacked-out omega instead. Gage Dixon, the SWAT team commander and alpha of their pack of alpha werewolves, said that was bull. He insisted Max was an alpha through and through and that Max’s control issues were most likely related to the fact that he was barely eighteen when he turned—which made him the youngest alpha in the Pack—or to the traumatic circumstances surrounding his change. Max didn’t have any experience with the first explanation and preferred not to think about the second. He’d spent a good portion of his adult life trying to put that part of his past behind him. But since everyone in the Pack had gone through a traumatic experience when they’d changed into werewolves in the first place, that didn’t make much sense, either.

  Whatever the reason, Max had to expend a lot more energy than anyone else in the Pack on keeping his fangs and claws retracted, his anger in check, and his eyes from flashing yellow at the worst possible times—like now.

  Resorting to the lessons Gage and Brooks had taught him, Max closed his eyes and took slow, deep, calming breaths, turning his attention inward and consciously getting a handle on his excitement, heart rate, and breathing. When he opened his eyes again, Brooks was still standing there.

  “Good?” Max asked.

  “You’re good,” Brooks said.

  Giving Brooks a nod, he turned and slowly made his way through the crowd. There had been over thirty commendations given out this afternoon, so the place was still packed with those police officers, their families, and their coworkers. Max had to be careful as he wove in and out of them while trying to let his nose guide him.

  As he moved across the room, the woman’s scent grew stronger and even more intriguing. There were some aspects of her pheromones that seemed familiar, though it took him a while to pin down exactly what he was keying in on. Then it struck him—she was a werewolf.

  He stopped and took a deep breath, letting her scent wash over him as he tried to figure out if she was an alpha, a beta, or an omega. Outside of Gage, most of the Pack hadn’t learned about the complexities of the werewolf world until recently. While they’d been surprised to find out there were different breeds of werewolves, they were even more stunned to discover there were female werewolves.

  Max took another sniff and frowned. If the woman was a beta, she was different than any beta he’d ever met. And with all the werewolves showing up in Dallas lately looking for protection from hunters, he’d smelled a lot of betas.

  As he continued across the lobby area in search of the woman, Max couldn’t help wondering if maybe there was a fourth kind of werewolf out there that none of them knew about. It would be kind of cool running into a completely new breed. Had she come here looking specifically for him and the other members of the SWAT pack, to ask for protection from the hunters who’d been killing werewolves all over the country? If so, this could be an epic first meeting.

  Max was almost on the far side of the room and quickly running out of places to search when he walked around a group of people talking about how amazing the Cowboys were playing this season and finally found her.

  After spending so much time trying to track her down, he probably should have walked right up and introduced himself, but instead, Max found himself standing there, transfixed. She was turned away from him so he couldn’t see her face, but she was wearing a seriously sexy cocktail dress, her long, honey-blond hair trailing haphazardly over her shoulders and halfway down her back. The dress was one of those short, black numbers that hugged her slender curves and showed off her long legs. There was a crisscross, strappy thing going on in the back, too, which gave him teasing glimpses of smooth, creamy skin as well as confirming she wasn’t wearing a bra under there.

  He followed the curve of her butt until he locked on her legs. What could he say? He’d always been a leg man, and this woman had legs for days! Between the glimpse of toned thighs the dress afforded him and the display of shapely calves accentuated by the high heels she wore, it was all he could do not to drop to his knees and nibble his way up and down those gorgeous legs.

  Though it would surely be fun, that probably wouldn’t be the best way to make a first impression.

  He wasn’t sure how he knew, but something about her demeanor made Max think she’d rather be somewhere else at the moment.
Since she was alone, he wondered if someone had stood her up. If so, the guy must have been stupid as well as a jerk. But then she shifted her weight back and forth from one high heel to the other. Ah, that explained it.

  Max waited, expecting the female werewolf to smell him and turn around. Even though he was close enough for her to pick up his scent easily, she never looked his way. Finally, he gave up and walked over to her, moving around to stand in front of her.

  He hoped he didn’t actually gasp out loud—that would have been cheesy—but he couldn’t help it. Saying she was gorgeous would have been an injustice. With smiling, blue-green eyes, the poutiest lips he’d ever seen, and a button nose that begged to be kissed, she came about as close to physical perfection as a person could get.

  He gave her a grin. “You know, you’d probably be a lot more comfortable if you kicked off those heels and walked around in bare feet.”

  She laughed, and the sound of it was as beautiful as she was. “Is it that obvious?”

  “I’m afraid so.” He made a show of looking left and right, as if he didn’t want anyone to hear, then lowered his voice conspiratorially. “I get the same look on my face when I wear uncomfortable shoes.”

  Her eyes danced with amusement. “Funny, you don’t strike me as the high-heel type.”

  He chuckled. He loved a woman with a quippy sense of humor. “I go more for the strappy wedge kind.”

  She nodded knowingly. “Makes sense. Someone your height would look much better in a wedge.”

  “Good to have my fashion sense confirmed.” He smiled. “By the way, my name’s Max. Nice to meet you.”

  Returning his smile, she took the hand he offered and shook it firmly. “Lana.”

  This close, her scent enveloped him so completely it was almost intoxicating. She held on to his hand a little longer than was customary, too. Not that he was complaining. He glanced casually at her other hand, checking for a wedding ring. He didn’t see one. Before he could go ahead and do something completely crazy, like propose marriage right then and there, a dark-haired woman in a short, red dress joined them, two plates of hors d’oeuvres in her hands.