I looked at my father and saw the way he was looking at Yuri. Rage built in Martin Maxwell III’s eyes, rage that this Russian was stealing what was rightfully his. He clicked the steel-colored, metal pen in his hand, his thumb working at it. The anger on his face seemed to push aside even the pain in his destroyed knee.
“Father, don’t.” My voice was quiet, pleading.
He didn’t even look at me.
“Don’t. Please.”
My opinion didn’t matter. It didn’t matter at all, just like my opinion never had. He jumped for Yuri, the pen gripped in his hand like a stubby stiletto, roaring weakly.
The Russian didn’t even blink. He just stepped back as my father fell on the floor, collapsing under the weight of his bad leg. Calmly, Yuri finished typing in the numbers as my father sobbed in the pain. I couldn’t tell if it was from the pain of his knee or the pain at losing the last of his money.
“Daddy,” I groaned.
Yuri nodded, hung up the phone, and slipped it back into his jacket pocket. Calmly, too calmly, he walked up to my father. “Number’s good.”
Everything happened like a movie, ever so slowly, but too quickly at the same time. I couldn’t do anything. He pointed the gun at my father’s back and pulled the trigger. Blood sprayed everywhere, droplets landing on the Russian’s face. His expression never changed, even as I screamed in horror and rushed to my father, tears flowing down my face.
I rolled my father over, wanting nothing more than to see his face one last time.
“Ashley,” he wheezed as I pulled him onto his back, blood spreading through the front of his shirt. He reached up weakly with a shaking hand and stroked my cheek. “Ashley.”
I glared up at Yuri through my tears. “You fucking asshole!” I screamed, my throat raw. “How could you? You already took all his money, didn’t you?”
Yuri shrugged. Then he raised his pistol and pointed it right at me.
I’d always thought staring down the barrel of a gun was an expression of helplessness in the face of the inevitable. Of stoicism when terror presented itself.
I was right. Somehow I blinked my tears away as I wordlessly stared at it and accepted my fate.
“Ashley!”
Yuri’s expression changed for the first time. He looked at the door in surprise. “Rescue, huh?” He cocked the hammer on his pistol. “Too late, dear daughter. Too late.”
And that was when the wolf crashed through the window.
Chapter Fifty-two – Frank
Peter, in his wolf form, came bursting in through the window as I came in through the side door, pistol drawn.
Yuri, the Russian, stood there with his pistol drawn, his back to Ashley and the stretched out Martin. As Peter bounded towards the man in the middle of the room, I fired two rounds. Bam, bam. One after the other.
I aimed for the head. I had no problems with it.
He dropped to the floor like someone had just unplugged his batteries, collapsing in on himself like an imploding building, until he was just slumped on the floor in a pile of slack limbs and a bleeding cranium.
“Frank!” Ashley screamed, looking up at me from her father’s side.
“Ashley!” I roared as I holstered my sidearm and reached her. I fell against her on the floor and threw my arms around her, my hands searching all over her hair, her back, her face. I had to make sure she was all right. “I heard the gunshot. God, I thought that was you!”
She stiffened at first as I took her into my arms.
“I-I’m sorry about the house. About what happened with Simon. I thought I could buy us some time for Peter and the rest to show up, but I was wrong. I swear I was never going to give you up.”
She relaxed and put an arm around me. “I believe you.”
“Ashley?” Maxwell croaked. “Dear? Are you okay? I can’t…”
She hushed him and stroked his pale, waxy face. “It’s okay, Daddy. I’m here.” He’d lost a lot of blood, and I could tell at a glance that he wasn’t going to make it. Not this far away from medical assistance.
“Daddy?” he breathed, almost amused. “Daddy. You haven’t called me that since you were my princess. My little Miss Ashley.”
She smiled down at her father, a single tear rolling down her cheek.
“Who is this?” he asked, looking up at me, his eyes vacant and confused. He was bleeding out fast, and close to the end.
I'd seen that look on the battlefield, years and years before.
Ashley turned and looked back to me, her face stricken.
“He doesn't have much time, Ashley,” I whispered as I touched her shoulder. “Just go with it.”
More tears welled in her eyes as she bit her lip. “He's the man I'm in love with,” Ashley said, a little sob creeping into her voice. “Daddy, meet Frank.”
He smiled up at me and coughed wetly. “Good, princess. I hope he makes you as happy as your mother made me for all those years. Take care of her for me, Frank.”
“Yes, sir, I certainly will.”
“You need to do something,” her father said, coughing wetly as blood began to trickle down the corner of his mouth. “I left you something, just in case you didn’t go with me. Go to the ship. Before anyone else does.”
“Sure, Daddy,” she whispered. “Sure. But we’re going to get you help. You’re going to be fine.”
But it was too late. His eyes had taken on the cast of the dead, the life gone from them.
Ashley slumped back, crying in defeat. I wrapped my arm tighter around her and pulled her closer. We stayed like that for a while, Peter whimpering low as he watched us. Eventually, he left us alone.
“Frank?” Ashley asked after a long silence.
“Yeah, babe?” I asked as I pulled back slightly.
She looked up at me. “Please don’t ever leave my side again. Ever. Not like that.”
“I won’t,” I whispered. “I promise.”
I dipped my head to brush my lips against hers, but only for a moment. But it was enough, given the circumstances.
She sat quietly for a while, but I wanted to give her as much time as she needed. “Frank?”
“Yeah?”
“Was that a fucking wolf in here?”
I chuckled awkwardly. “Yeah. About that…This is going to sound crazy, but it’s completely true. Believe me, I wouldn’t lie about this.”
Chapter Fifty-three – Peter Frost
Peter sat at the kitchen table of his little cabin, eating his baloney sandwich. He’d been meaning to go grocery shopping, but with all the craziness happening over the last couple days, he still hadn’t been able to stop by the store. Hell, the day before he’d staged a raid on a mountain cabin, only to find a little over a half-dozen dead mercenaries and cartel members.
He’d figured groceries could wait.
Hell, he hadn’t even really spoken to Mary since the night he’d joined her outside and raced with her to the top of the mountain. He was still a little worried she might hate him for it. Might resent him for forcing her to hang out with his old shifter self.
Ashley’s father was in the morgue, waiting to be shipped back to New York. Frank was going to go with her for the funeral services, a small personal affair with no press.
Peter Frost didn’t envy Frank O’Dwyer one bit about the trip. Something about memorials and funerals always made him uncomfortable.
Now, Frank finding Ashley? Peter did feel a pang of jealousy towards his pack mate over that. After all, Frank had his mate, now. Warm and above ground, safe in his arms.
Mary was in her bedroom and Peter could hear her moving around. Shifting on her bed. Listening to her music louder than was really necessary. He took another bite of his sandwich, though, reasoning that kids were going to be kids.
The bed creaked and she shut her music off. She got up off the bed, came out into the hallway, and padded into the kitchen. She went to the fridge and pulled out the baloney. She gave him a look. “We need to go shopping, you know.”<
br />
Peter grunted. “Don’t remind me. I hate baloney.”
She grinned and finished making her sandwich in silence. She came over with the plated delicacy. Baloney, mayonnaise, and white bread. “Really need to go,” she said again, looking at her sandwich in distaste as she took a seat.
They both continued eating their sandwiches in silence. She was the first to speak.
“About the other night…”
He made a face. “Sorry for horning in on you like that.”
Mary made a face and shook her head. “No, Pete, don’t worry. I just, I just wanted to say that I enjoyed it. I, um, I didn’t think I would. Or that it would be weird. But you were cool.”
He smiled.
“I just wanted to ask…” She trailed off and took a bite of her sandwich.
He sat there. Respectful. Silent. Letting her take her time so she could figure things out for herself and speak at her own pace.
“Can I come out with you again? Maybe with the rest of the guys too this time?”
He let out a laugh in surprise. That wasn’t what he’d expected, and was definitely better. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask.”
“So?”
“So what? Of course you can. You’ve been welcome since you got here.”
She smiled again, and took another ravenous bite of her baloney sandwich. “Can we at least go shopping before then, though? I really hate baloney.”
Chapter Fifty-four – Ashley
Father’s funeral was subdued, quiet. Frank and I sat in the front, our best clothes on and our hands tightly gripped as he silently supported me. I cried during the service. Cried more than I thought I would, tearing myself up about the year I’d spent away from him.
But what had done him in wasn’t me or my time away from him. It was his own greed. If he’d left Yuri alone, he might have lived.
So I had three life changing events to deal with. My father was dead. I was penniless. I was in love with a fucking werewolf.
Or shifter.
Whatever.
It didn’t matter, though. He was mine. And, if I’d learned anything over the last couple of weeks, it was to love what you had. Take it, hold it, pull it to your chest, and never let go. Because money was always spent and dreams faded away. Love, though? Love is forever. Or it can be.
Now, as my mate and I walked up the dock at the marina, my eyes fell on the Miss Ashley. “Honestly,” I said to Frank as he kept pace with me, “I thought he’d sold the damn thing. Never had time to sail it anyway. Why keep it around?”
“Reckon it reminded him of you, babe? Maybe he could feel like he wasn’t a complete ass because of it?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.” We walked up to her slip and looked over the boat. There she was, alright. Just like I remembered her. Perhaps a little faded on the paint job. But it was still her.
We spent the next half-hour searching the Miss Ashley from top to bottom. Finally, I found it in the bottom of a footlocker my father had stowed away there. An old, beaten, black leather suitcase. “Frank?” I called. “I think found it!”
He came tramping down the stairs and joined me on the lower deck. “Well, open it,” he said when he saw it.
I put it on a small table off to the side. “Ready?”
He nodded, smiling. “I love treasure hunts.”
I licked my lips, thumbed open the metal catches on either side of the handle, and opened it.
Frank whistled in surprise. “Damn, babe.”
Money. Cabbage. Cold, hard cash. It had to be at least a few hundred thousand. I stepped back and eyed it warily. “Jesus.”
“Yeah,” he said. “What the hell are you going to do with it?” he asked as he put an arm around my waist.
I liked how he said “you.” Not “we.” I squeezed him tighter.
I knew I couldn’t take it. I no longer received an allowance and my inheritance had been taken by the feds. But I had a job starting up at the Curious Turtle in a couple weeks, where I would start to make an honest living. This money in the briefcase? It was dirty. It was filthy. And I knew it. I did have an idea, though. One that my mother had given me.
“Well?” he asked, turning me towards him. “What’re you going to do with it? Dresses? A new car? A trip to Europe?”
I looked up at him, a smile on my lips as I shook my head. “Donations.”
“Your mother,” he said, kissing me lightly, “would be proud.”
And I knew, as I stared into those big brown eyes of his, he was right.
BOOK THREE: Jacob
Chapter One – Jake
The scent of pine, spruce, and elm hung heavy in the air as our pack of six loped through the frozen forest. Ice stuck to our fur, and our breath left great billows of steam behind us like freight trains on some lonesome, unforgiving landscape. But, still, we plowed on, the snow nearly up to the bellies of our large wolf bodies.
The world seemed quieter tonight, the several feet of driven powder accumulated around the bases of the trees, cushioning the sounds of the forest. It was dark, with the moon hiding behind the heavy winter clouds. Up ahead, Frank O’Dwyer darted beneath a tree and ran along a deadfall log, showboating like normal. He slipped on a patch of icy bark and fell in a hail of flailing limbs into a mound of snowy fluff, growling as he was submerged in the drift.
I shook my head at his antics as he rushed out of the snow and tried to shake himself dry.
A cold wind whipped out of the northwest, down from the mountains. Mary, our pack leader’s foster daughter, turned right into it, tipped her head back, and let loose her own high-pitched howl of defiance. This far from any human settlement, she could. If we were near our home, Enchanted Rock, our alpha, Peter, wouldn’t let that shit slide.
After all, wolves hadn’t returned to the High Rockies. Only shifters had. Only we had.
The wolves of Frost Security.
I gave a low howl, letting it join and mingle with Mary’s, and our combined night-singing soared out over the white valley.
Colorado. Never thought a city boy like me, Jacob Wayne, would ever call a place like this home. Not in a million years.
I grew up in the streets and neighborhoods of Los Angeles. Dark nights, planes flying into LAX the only stars to light the night sky. Prostitutes, pushers, all night taquerias, gangbangers, and movie stars whose dreams of the silver screen were never realized. Clubs, bars, traffic, the smell of car exhaust and human flesh thick in your nose.
I hadn’t even seen snow before Peter Frost and Richard Murdoch invited me to join their security group in Enchanted Rock. Turns out I hate the stuff unless I’m in this body, my wolf form. Guess I should have checked the weather reports before I made the move. Coldest it ever got back home was down into the forties. When I went over to play in the sandbox with the rest of the Marines, Baghdad barely got below freezing.
But snow?
Peter stopped his shuffle through the deep powder ahead, his tail sticking straight up, waving back and forth like a flag on a breezy day. We all smelled it. We all smelled the hot blood on the wind. Rabbit. Prey.
Immediately, my hackles went up and my mouth began to salivate. I fought the urge to bolt after the smell. No, I reminded myself, this one was for the kid. Not for me. But, damn, controlling my urges out here in the wild was hard. The singing in my blood just became too strong sometimes.
Peter glanced back over his shoulder and locked eyes with Mary.
She gave a little wolf whimper and headed up through the pack. She cut a trough through the white powder, steam rising from it as she struggled on her way. Out here, we couldn’t help but leave tracks in the snow. They were big paw prints from wolves the size of small ponies. Any hunter in their right mind who found them would think it was just kids’ antics, teenagers having a bit of a fun.
We knew, though, that eventually someone would figure things out and start to ask questions, especially when evidence of our passing was just so damn obvious in this kind of weather. They m
ight even, dare I say it, write a blog about us.
We stayed out here during the winter, far from human settlements. So what if there was a howl or two at night? They’d probably chalk it up to just a cold norther blowing in, whistling among the trees and rocks as it passed down into the valley.
Mary leaned her flank against Peter’s as she came abreast of him, and they both panted in unison.
See that ahead? He seemed to ask with a low growl and a shake of his silver head. You need to catch that rabbit.
Ears slicked back, she craned her head and strained her eyes as she sought her prey. She gave a low whine as she spotted it. Thumper? Got it.
Peter glanced back, shooting us all a look accompanied by a little twitch of his tail. We were to circle around and be ready to cut off its escape if it bolted. Not too far, though. If we made it upwind of the little guy, he’d be off without a moment’s warning.
Matthew Jones, our fire investigator, caught my attention with his reddish-blonde, snow-encrusted fur, and too-human eyes. Right side?
I nodded. Tails tucked and bodies low, the two of us headed out and circled counterclockwise in a wide perimeter. Frank and Richard circled left. All four of us needed to be in place before Mary made her move.
Matt and I crouched low in a bank of snow, barely breathing as we waited. Teaching the girl to properly hunt like this took me back to the desert, to the first time I’d gone hunting with Alex, my first alpha. He’d been a hard son of a bitch, but he sure could hunt, even with just the darkness to cover his approach. He was nothing compared to Peter, though, both as an alpha or as a hunter—most importantly, though, as a friend.
Minutes ticked by as Mary crept closer through the deep snow, barely making a sound as the rabbit munched on a stray leaf.
Early hunters rush headlong into things. They think raw strength and unvarnished speed is what it takes to bring down your prey, but they’re wrong. It’s patience and determination. I learned that early on with Alex. I carried it on with me when I became a homicide detective.
Frost Security: The Complete 5 Books Series Page 50