Melinda's Wolves

by Becca Jameson

  Could he be receiving payment to push this under the rug? Or worse, threatened if he didn’t?

  Someone else knocked at the door.

  Melinda jumped out of her skin this time. She was so focused on Mitch, she hadn’t detected anyone approaching. Again.

  When she twisted her neck to see who was there, she was shocked to find Mimi at the door. The woman had already been there that day. Why was she back?

  “I’ll get it,” Melinda said as she nearly knocked the coffee table over in her haste to jump up. She padded to the door and opened it. “Mimi. Did you forget something?”

  The woman chuckled as she walked into the house. “I may be getting up there in years, but have you ever known me to leave something behind?”

  Not unless you did it on purpose.

  Mimi’s face changed as she stepped farther into the living room. Her gaze roamed the room and settled on Mitch.

  It was possible neither Mitch nor Trace could read the expression Mimi saw hidden under her façade. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she lied.

  Melinda held her tongue, hoping Mimi felt the same weird vibe as she did coming from Mitch. She needed the validation in order to feel somewhat sane.

  Mitch stood, pasting a huge smile on his face. “Not at all, ma’am. I was just checking on Keegan.” He stepped around the couch and reached out a hand. “Mitch Highland. Pleased to meet you. You’re the spitting image of Melinda. You must be her mother.”

  Okay, that was laying it on thick.

  Mimi took his hand, appearing far more eager than usual to touch another human being. Typically, Melinda had always known Mimi to avoid direct human contact. Her grandmother was far more sensitive than Melinda, probably from years of honing her skills as a medicine woman. Touching people often annoyed her. She said she knew too much about them afterward, though she never elaborated.

  “Grandmother,” Mimi corrected. “What did you say you do?”

  He hadn’t said a word yet, but Melinda knew Mimi had an angle she was working.

  “Is your grandmother okay?” Trace asked silently.

  “Yes. Play along.”

  Trace furrowed his brow.

  Mitch smiled again. “I’m Keegan’s boss. I’m a building inspector.”

  “Ah.” Mimi nodded as if this were a revelation, though Melinda suspected the woman knew far more than she let on. She finally let her hand slide from Mitch’s and took a seat in an armchair that swallowed her whole.

  Was it Melinda’s imagination, or was the woman nervous? Never had Melinda witnessed such a strange display from her grandmother. Trace didn’t know her well enough to pick up on the vibe. And Mitch didn’t know the older woman was a shaman.

  Mimi set her hand across her heart in a gross exaggeration of despair. Never had the woman been so dramatic. “Oh, you poor dear. It must be so crazy at work with Keegan injured from that horrible accident and those deputies crawling all over the job site. Have they caught whoever’s causing all the drama?”

  Trace grabbed Melinda’s hand. She hadn’t even felt him approach. “What the hell is Mimi up to?”

  “Shh,” she said into his head. Mimi knew every detail about that casino and its problems. Up to the minute. Hell, she’d already been to the house that morning.

  Which reminded Melinda she had no idea why the woman had returned.

  “No, ma’am. It would seem we’ve reached a dead end.” Mitch didn’t elaborate. He shook his head as if the case were closed and it was just too sad they didn’t catch the bad guys.

  What the hell?

  “Well, I really should get going,” Mitch continued, stepping around the room to reach the front door. “I just wanted to check on Keegan’s progress.” He turned toward Trace. “You’ll call me when he wakes up?”

  “Of course,” Trace said as he saw Mitch out.

  “Not a snowball’s chance in hell,” Melinda added silently, making Trace flinch.

  •●•

  Trace turned around as soon as the door shut and glanced from Melinda to Mimi. “What the hell just happened here?”

  Melinda collapsed against the couch, her gaze on Mimi. She didn’t ask any questions. She simply waited for her grandmother to speak.

  Mimi closed her eyes for several moments, her hands on her lap, palms up. She appeared to be meditating. Finally, she opened her eyes and looked at Melinda. “That man was pure evil.”

  Trace gasped. “Mitch?” He came around the couch and resumed his seat next to Melinda. “What do you mean? He and Keegan have known each other for years. They’re very close.”

  “Don’t know anything about that,” Mimi said. “But he’s full of shit. He didn’t have an honest bone in his body today.”

  It was rare for Mimi to cuss. Melinda would have gasped if the situation weren’t so serious. “Why did you come here, Grandma?”

  “Thought I left my wallet. Can’t seem to find it in my purse.” She hauled herself off the chair and looked around in the cushions, the same spot she’d sat the last time she’d been there.

  The difference was this time Mimi was lying. The woman was no more missing her wallet than she was about to fly to the moon.

  “We didn’t see it, Mimi.” Trace said. He stood also and looked around the couch, under the furniture, on the kitchen table. He was the only person in the room not being fake. “Could it have fallen out in your car? Maybe slipped under the seat?”

  Mimi smiled and snapped her fingers. “That’s an excellent idea. I should look.”

  “I’ll walk you out and help,” Melinda said. “Trace, can you check on Keegan again?”

  Trace furrowed his brow. “Don’t you think we would know if he was awake?”

  “Just do it. Please.” She followed Mimi out of the house and down the front steps. As soon as they were out of hearing range, she started in on her grandmother. “What’s going on?”

  “I had a feeling.”

  “Obviously. And?”

  “I have no idea, but something dragged me back here like a magnet. It was that man. Keegan’s boss.” Mimi shivered. She grabbed Melinda’s arm too tightly as they walked. “You’re not safe, child.” She stopped at the side of the car and held her granddaughter firmly with both hands now. “I feel a sense of doom you cannot imagine.” Her eyes were wide and full of intense fear.

  “Okay. What should we do?” It wasn’t as though Melinda hadn’t felt something similar. She just was so closely involved she couldn’t tell how much of her weird vibe was real and how much was residual fear over the near-death experience of her mate.

  “I don’t know, Melinda.” She shook her head. “I don’t know. And I hate it.”

  Melinda nodded. “I have both my mates with me. Nothing can possibly happen to us tonight in our own home.”

  Mimi nodded, pursing her lips. Unconvinced. “Better pretend to find my wallet under the seat, child. Your man is watching through the window.”

  Melinda grinned. “Right.” She rounded to the driver’s side door, opened it, and leaned into the car, tipping her head low. She was surprised to find Mimi’s wallet actually was under the seat. “Got it.” She held it up triumphantly.

  Mimi gave her a firm hug and got into the car. “Be careful, my sweet girl.” Her hands shook as she started the engine.

  Melinda’s hands shook just as hard as she shut the door.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Mitch fumbled to make this dreaded phone call.

  He was in over his head. He’d never intended to get in so deep that people got killed. But it was way too late now.

  He knew exactly what happened to the previous building inspector from a year ago. Whoever the orchestrator of this insanity was, he’d had the man killed. No one had found the body yet.

  Intense fear drove Mitch to do as the man said. When he’d received those pictures of the dead building inspector in the mail, he’d vomited his lunch onto the kitchen floor. Thank God his mate hadn’t been home.

  The
man’s body in the pictures had been mutilated beyond recognition. The only other thing in the envelope had been a short typewritten note saying, “Watch your step unless you want your fate to match Duncan Crawford’s.”

  It took Mitch until Monday afternoon to figure out who Duncan Crawford was. In the meantime, he’d burned the entire envelope—pictures, note and all—and spoken not a word about his plight. What choice did he have?

  He hadn’t slept well in the past week. Some nights not at all. And it was taking its toll, especially on his sanity. He was fucked. And the shit kept getting deeper. Serena was concerned about him. She’d sensed his mood. There was no way to hide his agitation from his mate. But he’d managed to convince her the stress of the weird happenings at the building site were making him tense. He’d never had to block his thoughts from her before now.

  He’d hoped to steer Keegan in another direction and convince him the issues with the site revolved around the earthquake and not some shoddy construction prior to its occurrence. He’d cleared the office of as much data to support any wrongdoing as he could—files, backups, everything. Apparently he hadn’t been thorough enough. And now he was in over his head. He feared the worst. It was obvious whoever had killed Nolan Friedmont and Duncan Crawford, and was now controlling Mitch like a fucking puppet, would stop at nothing to save Templeton Construction.

  A week after receiving the threatening message, Mitch was clear on more things than he’d thought possible.

  After seven days of struggling to keep his head on straight, he still had no idea who he was dealing with, but he knew they meant business, and if he didn’t do as they said, he would indeed end up as dead as Crawford. But how many other people had to die?

  And then there were the phone calls. All hours of the day and night. He had no idea who they came from. The number was unlisted. The person never introduced himself. They gave brief, sharp instructions, asked quick questions, and hung up within a few seconds.

  To say Mitch feared for his life was an understatement. Hell, he feared for Keegan’s life too.

  But he’d never thought things would go this far. He’d been under the impression his job was to keep everyone quiet and alive. His primary failure had been Keegan. The man was too nosy. Nothing Mitch did stopped him from digging deeper into things better left buried.

  And now he heaved a deep breath as the man answered his call. “This better be good.”

  Mitch hesitated before he spoke. “No. Keegan is expected to make a full recovery. He’s resting at home.”

  “Fuck,” the man on the other line growled. “Is he talking?”

  “Not yet. He doesn’t seem to remember much.” That was a stretch, but it wasn’t as if Mitch could tell his unknown blackmailer Keegan couldn’t speak because he’d shifted into lupine form to recover quickly from his intense injuries.

  “Shit.” The man hung up as quickly as he’d answered.

  Mitch sat in his car on the side of the road for over half an hour before he could stop trembling enough to start the engine. What did the man intend to do? Had he caused the accident with the scaffolding? It seemed likely since he was so angry Keegan survived. Or maybe it had been dumb luck and the guy had hoped Keegan would die.

  Whatever the case, Mitch felt as though he’d nailed Keegan’s coffin with his own hands.

  Mitch’s stomach roiled, and the way he’d been vomiting this week, it was a wonder he had any of his stomach lining left. He had no idea he had such a sensitive constitution.

  But he’d also never been an accomplice to…what? Murder?

  He shuddered as he pulled into his driveway. All he could do now was join his wife for dinner and pray he was overreacting.

  •●•

  It was late when Melinda bolted upright from where she had fallen asleep on the couch, her head in Trace’s lap. She knew instinctively Keegan was awake.

  Trace twisted his head around to face the hall. “He up?”

  “Yeah.”

  They both stood and padded to the bedroom where they found a groggy Keegan in the middle of the bed, naked and human.

  Melinda almost melted as he smiled. She took a quick look up and down his body to assess his level of recovery, and then she bounded onto the bed and tucked herself into his side, her arm across his chest, her lips landing on his.

  “Easy, tiger,” he teased as she pulled back.

  She swatted at him. “Don’t give me that, you fool. You had me scared to death for days on end. Now you’re back, alive, awake, and naked. If I want to pounce, I will.”

  Keegan chuckled, holding both hands up at his sides. “I would never stop a pouncing woman.”

  “You better, unless she’s me.” Melinda grinned. “How do you feel?”

  “Hungry. Thirsty. Horny.” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her over the top of him. “How many times did you two fuck without me? I need to catch up.” He glanced at Trace over her shoulder.

  “None,” Trace stated.

  If Melinda wasn’t mistaken, a soft groan left his lips.

  Keegan’s eyes widened. “What?” He met Melinda’s gaze.

  “We were a little busy.”

  “Doing what? Pacing around in some sort of ritual death watch? Is that one of your medicine woman thingies?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t tease.”

  He gripped her waist tighter, his hands trailing under her shirt until he swiped his thumbs on the underside of her breasts.

  Trace sat on the edge of the bed. “Let’s see. The first day our mate was so pissed at me, she barely met my gaze.”

  “Why?” Keegan looked from one to the other.

  “I might have made a mistake when I decided it would be best not to let her know you had been buried in an accident.”

  Keegan chuckled, his six pack shaking, Melinda straddling his waist. “I guess that would do it. Please tell me you have made amends, because I need to be connected to both of you, and I don’t feel like waiting while you battle it out.”

  “We have,” Melinda whispered. She twisted to look at Trace. “I have warned him what sort of wrath he will incur if he ever does anything that stupid again.”

  “Good. What day is it?”

  “Saturday.” Melinda set her hands on his pecs, loving the ability to touch him after days of torturous waiting. “We haven’t even been mated a week. Seems like ten years.”

  “It does seem like ten years since I’ve had my cock inside you. That’s true.” He tugged her shirt over her head.

  When his hands landed on her lace bra, she arched into his touch. The intensity of her need rivaled the first time they’d been together. “Trace,” she muttered.

  Trace climbed onto the bed and straddled Keegan behind her. He wrapped one arm under her chest and held her against him. His rigid cock landed on her lower back, bulging against his jeans.

  The heat of Keegan’s erection between her legs made her fidget, wishing she could will away her jeans and Trace’s. Instead she eyed the mate in front of her. “Are you sure you’re up to this?”

  He reached up and traced a finger along her bottom lip, making her long to have him in her mouth. Any part of him. In fact, she licked the pad of his thumb as he pulled her lip down. “Honey, there isn’t a damn thing I could possibly do before I take you. Reclaim you. I’ve never felt so alive.”

  She tried to smile, but her face froze as Trace lowered a hand between her legs and pressed against her pussy. “It didn’t seem right fucking in the other room while you recovered. We waited for you.”

  “How altruistic of you both,” Keegan teased. “Now get your pants off before I come against them instead of buried inside you to the hilt.”

  Trace lifted one leg over Keegan’s thighs and tugged Melinda to the same side. Immediately he went to work on his jeans, keeping his gaze on hers as he shrugged out of them and tossed them aside.

  Melinda popped the button, lowered the zipper, and wiggled herself free while she lowered her gaze to the i
mpressive cock bobbing at Trace’s middle.

  How had they avoided sex for two days?

  It was as if by silent agreement they’d decided to wait for Keegan. Perhaps their bodies had gone into a state of suspension, keeping them from feeling the all-consuming need that had now returned in full force. Would fate do that? Dampen the libido of two mates while the third recovered from a serious injury?

  She hadn’t thought much of it until now. Both she and Trace had been on pins and needles with concern. Neither had voiced a need to be sated.

  Until now.

  “Climb back over me, hon.” Keegan reached for her. “I can’t wait. I need to be inside your tight warmth.”

  Melinda’s legs shook as she straddled her mate. She wiggled her ass toward Trace before she lowered herself over Keegan’s thick length. A whoosh of breath left her as she slammed down fast, forcing him deep. Her vision blurred. She wanted Trace to join them so badly she couldn’t form the words. Instead she leaned forward, offering her tight hole to him in silent supplication.

  Luckily, Trace wasted no time. He reached across the bed, snagged a bottle of lube from the bedside table, and poured a generous amount on his palm.

  Instead of stroking the gel across her ass, he wrapped his hand around his cock to her side where she could watch.

  She moaned as he stroked from the base to the tip, coating himself in the lubrication.

  Just as fast, he straddled Keegan’s thighs and set his slippery palm above her tight rear hole. He eased his fingers over the entrance, teasing the little hole with each finger as he spread the last of the gel from his hand to her sensitive skin.

  Inside her mind she pleaded with him to press into her, even with one finger.

  Trace chuckled out loud. “Patience, baby. I’m getting there.”

  Fuck patience. “Please, Trace. Don’t tease. I’m burning.” The consuming call to mate was back, leaping from its dormant state to fill the room with the overpowering scent of their combined pheromones.

  Trace lined his cock up with her rear hole and pressed forward. Slowly. Too slowly.