The Sigma Menace Collection

by Marie Johnston

  “Temporarily,” Bennett said in affirmation.

  More amusement highlighted the councilman’s eyes. “Possibly temporary.”

  “Good enough,” Bennett said as he nodded.

  Councilman Wallace’s face grew serious. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 9

  X trotted through the pines, her paws padding agilely through the light snow. It was freaking gorgeous here. Her breath huffed, and she even let her tongue loll out.

  The sun was setting, and she would soon have to find shelter for the night. If she was in human form she’d be pretty damn cold, and…She sighed in resignation.

  How spoiled she’d been with Rhys protecting her dreams. It was bad enough living with the memories. But the dreams—no, nightmares…Even sleeping in her wolf form, she’d awaken with a start, snarling at the darkness. They were brutal and devastatingly accurate. It was like reliving her conditioning and training all over again. The vampires and Agents who had played with her like she was the latest toy revisited her. They looked the same, smelled the same. The fangs that drew from her vein as she strained to tune out her biology under another’s body, helpless against the pain disguised as pleasure coursing through her body.

  For years, she cursed her genetics. Hated that something she had despised doing had to feel good, end in orgasm. At least now she knew it only merely felt good physically. What she had experienced with Rhys before she left was phenomenal. Her mind was emotionally connected to the male, her body experienced nothing short of ecstasy, and she had almost felt complete.

  If she could bring herself to mate the big lug, then that sense of completion would only heighten any physical relations between them. As it was, they didn’t even have to be touching for her to get electrified when he walked into the room. Every nerve in her body yearned to get closer to the imposing shifter in hopes that maybe her skin would feel the stroke of his.

  Gah! She hated feeling like she needed him. This little “I need to find myself” mission wouldn’t work if she pined away in the pines for Rhys Fitzsimmons.

  She’d been gone almost two months. Winter was settling in around the country, especially in the mountains. After visiting the place where it all started, she drove to where she used to run with her family. Thought it would be a fitting place to start.

  Finding a nice, desolate area, she had trudged deep into the evergreens and stripped down. But she couldn’t shift. Her memories were assaulting her, and they were good ones for a change. That made it all the harder.

  So she’s wove her way back to the car, took a siesta, and drove to somewhere she’d never been before. It took days. She and E had covered quite the territory for Sigma, and she knew exactly where all the shifter colonies were situated deep in the woods. Once she had found a spot away from paranormals and humans alike, she left the car and her clothing and became a large black wolf with brilliant green eyes.

  In the mountains, she had to rely on her senses and instincts, not cunning and deception. It was refreshing. Her senses were still being used for survival, but in a good, clean way. That became her routine for the next few weeks. Drive, have a look-see, strip, and run. Sometimes for days. Head back to the car, repeat.

  But the nightmares…Every night, every damn time she closed her eyes, they were there. Reminding her of everything she had been through, all of the people who had suffered along with her. Every night, she jerked awake snarling, screaming if she was in human form.

  She was tired. So she ran more.

  Month Three

  It was that time of the week.

  The massive shifter loomed over him, a meaty fist caught him in the jaw. Rhys’ head flung to the side and then rolled back. He let it hang there. It was a small reprieve, but if he brought it up, sometimes Mastiff hit him again without pause.

  Mastiff fit his name—big head, burly body. He wasn’t nearly as cute as the full canine variety and he was a whole lot meaner. With a skull buzz and wearing a wife-beater, he looked as mean as he really was.

  Rhys brought his head up and, as per their normal routine, he spit blood at the determined male. This, of course, earned him another fist to the cheekbone. The familiar, refreshingly painful crack of bone seared through his face as his head whipped to the side.

  The council sent Mastiff to interrogate Rhys via his beefy hooks. Rhys didn’t break, Mastiff had a good time, all ended well. By now, the council knew Rhys wouldn’t offer information on X. Rhys had been so tight lipped, they didn’t suspect that he knew who X’s entire family was, where they resided, or that two of them were part of his pack. They weren’t even sure she had any living relatives.

  The last part made him smile. Which pissed off Mastiff, who aimed his next punch at Rhys’ gut.

  Air whooshed out as Rhys doubled over as much as possible, being tied into a metal chair, his hands bound behind the back of it. It felt like his stomach was going to come out his throat. Coughing and gagging, Rhys righted himself.

  “Mastiff,” he wheezed, “you can do better than that.”

  Mastiff’s pudgy lips thinned. “I will do much better if you don’t contact your female.” His voice rumbled through the room.

  “Fuck. Do you gargle with rocks in the morning?” Rhys had been dreaming about his mate too much. He usually wasn’t so flippant. “Hit me again, big guy.”

  The barrel-chested male’s mouth twitched. He heaved his mighty fist back. For fun, Rhys took bets on where the devastating blow was going to land.

  Ten bucks on the face.

  Gut. Rhys heaved forward, lost for breath. It was the gut.

  Mastiff grabbed Rhys’ face and jerked it up. Rhys could smell the bacon the male had eaten for breakfast. His own stomach would’ve rumbled if it wasn’t in excruciating pain. All he had gotten to eat in his private cell was cheap shit: oatmeal, canned meat product, and disintegrating vegetable matter.

  The personal punisher of the council finished whaling on Rhys. Then he unhooked Rhys from his chair, leaving his hands behind his back, and towed him back to his cell. Once inside, Rhys assumed the position as Mastiff closed and locked the door. Putting his cuffed hands against the slot in the door, the shackles fell away, and Mastiff yanked them out completely.

  Taking a page from X’s book, because damn it was fun, he called through the door. “Until next time, Bulldog.”

  Mastiff growled and slammed the door with his fist, making it shudder. Rhys chuckled and stabbing pain shot through his ribs. He collapsed on the ungodly uncomfortable cot in the room for some healing rest.

  At first, Rhys was surprised they kept him in a private cell, away from the other prisoners. He initially suspected it was to drive him crazy, being alone for months, but it seemed like there was another reason. He never interacted with other prisoners, was never hauled through the cells as a show of force, never passed by anyone getting dragged down the hallway to and from his weekly interrogation.

  It couldn’t be just because they were trying to drive him to such boredom that he’d break down and contact X, luring her to the council’s location so they could trap her.

  He wasn’t tempted. Ever. What he was experiencing was nothing compared to what she was recovering from. He would give her time, and entertain the thought that she might come back to him someday. Some year. He’d waited this long, he was willing to wait longer.

  If the council sought to drive him feral from forced isolation, they couldn’t be more wrong. Yes, he was an unmated male in his prime. He’d gone longer than most, keeping his sanity without a mating bond. At first it was duty, pure and simple. He lived for his work. Then he laid eyes on X, and that was all he needed. Now, he had no worries. Years and years could go by, he wouldn’t forget the taste of his mate on his tongue, the cries of his name coming from her lips as she came from his touch.

  At night, when he wouldn’t dream of that—and he dreamed of it often—he walked the dreams of those around council headquarters. He found out a lot of secrets, but nothing that could help his p
ack implicate the council in any wrongdoing. Or at least any wrongdoing regarding plotting against human mates or packs with special skills. That meant either there was nothing nefarious to discover or only certain council members were involved.

  He figured it was the latter. It had to be. The council didn’t know of his power, thought it was something more mental, like X’s hypnosis or Jace’s power of persuasion. But the five males on the Lycan Council didn’t get to where they were by being weak. Rhys needed to tread carefully around their dreams, so they wouldn’t sense his presence and figure out a way to keep him from doing it.

  So far, in the almost three months he’d been incarcerated, he had made it into the minds of two of the newer council members. Councilman Demke and Councilman Ute had both been members for about fifty years. They were charged with Lycan education and tradition, helping isolated colonies carry out council policies. Rhys had no reason to think either male was involved in underhanded plans against their own kind. Their dreams only showed him how traditional some packs were in their pack mentality.

  Two nights ago, however, Rhys had a major victory, sneaking his way into Councilman Wallace’s dreams. He found nothing of use, but he found a whole lot that was interesting. The male dreamed of another female, one with oak-colored hair like the councilman’s sons, Malcolm and Harrison. The female looked nothing like the councilman’s mate, who Rhys had met only once.

  Once was enough. She mastered the fine art of emasculating males. And females, if possible.

  After he recovered from the beating, Rhys would walk the male’s dreams again. Then he would hover around the dreams of Councilman Seether and Hargrath. The twin’s father had only been a member of the council for a century, but the other two were much older, and had been members as long as Rhys was old. They probably traced their direct ancestors to the ancients, the most powerful, pure-blooded shifters. It would make sense if they were behind any attempts at eradicating human mates.

  In the meantime, he could explore the rest of the compound. He had also popped in and out of the dreams of the council’s Guardian pack. Many of them were new, but Rhys suspected at least one, probably more, were carrying out orders to harm human mates.

  He tried to walk the dreams of the other prisoners but, weird thing was, he couldn’t find them. Like there was some kind of barrier around the rest of the prison. Was it so the prisoners couldn’t get any messages out using mental abilities? Or so outsiders wouldn’t know what kind of prisoners were being held?

  Heal first. Dream walk later.

  That. Is a really big. Bear.

  For the last three months, X had avoided civilization and her own kind. She’d come across all kinds of other wildlife, but, hello—she was top of the food chain.

  As much as she missed Rhys’ blood, and she missed his blood, she was making do with her wildlife kills. Rabbit blood didn’t get her very far, but every so often she’d take down a deer.

  She almost got a rack of antlers in the ass from the one buck she had come across. Maybe she’d gotten a little cocky with that target. But she’d been hungry, she missed cheesecake, and she could swear she heard the creature’s powerful blood surging through his veins, hyped on adrenaline from the chase she gave.

  He put up an admirable fight, but in the end she won. Out of respect, she dined on him for as long as possible, the cold weather preventing him from turning bad. Once she had left, the scavengers quickly took over.

  The bear she was facing now, however, was not below her in the food chain. He was groggy and out looking for food as it had been a mild week for winter weather. The big brown bear must’ve taken a pause in hibernation to obtain more fuel. Her father had told her they could do that; made sure she was up on moody bear behavior before he let her go running her wolf alone.

  X’s heart rate spiked as the bear huffed and dipped his head, sniffing at her. When he swaggered forward, his flanks heaving, she danced back. They went on like that for several seconds before she decided to turn tail and run.

  Darting around trees, she paused to glance back after several yards.

  The bear couldn’t have cared less. He foraged, pawing through the snow for vegetation.

  X was…disappointed. A little chase would’ve been a nice distraction.

  Not that she was bored.

  Okay, she was bored. Maybe that was a sign she needed to start interacting with people.

  That thought didn’t dismay her as much as usual. Previously, the thought of roaming through town and acting “normal” felt like too onerous of a task. Not to mention she had to dodge anything with fangs while she was out and about.

  Now, it seemed less daunting. Less trying to blend in and not evaluate everyone in the room. Not having to interact with people because they were targets, or that she was trying to get information out of them. She felt less pressure to become a proper shifter’s mate, even if the only pressure came from within.

  As she trotted away from the disappointedly non-confrontational bear, she thought about how the nightmares had lessened. They didn’t plague her sleep every night. More often, she began dreaming of the good times, of the first eighteen years of her life. And that last night before she had left the lodge. That dream woke her up in a sweat, but for a much different reason than her nightmares.

  Gawd, Rhys and his tongue were phenomenal.

  Before she entered society again and learned how to play nice, she would have to visit her brother. That she was putting off. But she was getting closer to being ready.

  Maybe.

  Chapter 10

  Month Four

  “Are you doing okay, ma’am?” the young saleslady asked in a high-pitched drawl.

  “Hella good.” Now leave me the fuck alone.

  Trying to decide one’s own personal style was a sort of torturous fun. It was easier when her daily choices were black on black. For fun, she used to tie on a corset. She’d had clothes for the clubs and she had jeans and T-shirts with witty sayings. Right now, she was looking for clothes that Alex King would wear.

  Alex liked her shirts, and her corsets, and her short club dresses, but they were so X. She was on a damn personal journey, had spent the last few months in fur on four legs, and she needed some new shit.

  “Is there any other size I can get you?” The saleslady buzzed like a fly around her changing room. Did she get commission or something?

  Alex whipped open the dressing room door, wearing only her lacy fire-engine red bra and panties, with denim leggings pulled halfway up her thighs. Good thing for the sales associate, Alex had decided to give the whole underwear thing a try.

  The petite young girl squeaked and jumped back, her eyes wide.

  “As you can see, I haven’t gotten that far.” Alex gave a sassy smile and cocked her head. “How ’bout if I need anything, I’ll let you know?”

  The little blonde’s eyes were stuck on Alex’s ample breasts, then her toned six-pack, then back up to her eyes. “Oh yes.” She flushed red. “I’m sorry.”

  “Just doin’ your job. I get it.” Alex closed the door and finished trying on the articles of clothing she had picked out.

  Leggings were a wonderful thing. Too bad they didn’t do shit to stop a knife, but shopping today was not about tactical gear, so a few would make her purchase list. Along with those boots she passed in the window on her way in. Those boots were fi-yah!

  Checking out her image, Alex pondered her hair. It had grown a couple of inches since she last took to it with her clippers. It wasn’t shaggy as much as irritating, it hung in her eyes.

  She moved her bangs around, fluffed up the back. Maybe a little taper around her neck and sides, a little layer and texture to the rest. Alex King was going to get a new ’do.

  Councilman Wallace waited for Rhys’ answer. He had appeared at Rhys’ cell door, looking oddly casual in khakis and a maroon button-down. He wore no tie, but left the top button of his shirt open to display a hint of the muscle that lay underneath. Rhys guessed the male
was similar to him in age.

  “Maybe,” Rhys answered.

  “That’s your best guess?” The councilman had asked Rhys if he thought X would ever come for him.

  “Not gonna lie.”

  The male cocked his head. “I can see why my boys respect you.” His voice dropped so low only Rhys could hear. “I can see why they were willing to spy on dear ol’ dad for you.”

  Rhys hid his surprise. He had sent Malcolm and Harrison to spy on the council because of who their dad was. “They tell you?”

  Councilman Wallace scoffed. “I knew they didn’t come home for a long visit because they missed me. Definitely not for their mother.” He shrugged, his hands resting in his pockets, his voice still low. “After your Guardian was killed and they arrived here, I figured you had become suspicious.”

  “What would I be suspicious of?”

  The male gave him a mysterious smile. “I trust you to do your job, Fitzsimmons. I would be of little use to our species deceased and that’s what will happen if I speak about my own suspicions.”

  “It’s pretty hard to do my job in here.”

  Rhys got a wan smile in return.

  “Is it? I’m sure Commander Young is picking up where you left off.” Councilman Wallace peered closely at him. “I’m sure you’ve found a way to keep yourself busy?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Shit. Had he been too abrupt in a dream and gotten noticed?

  Sadness crept into the male’s eyes. “Don’t worry. It took me a while to figure it out. I have that dream every night, of my sweet Camille. She’s the reason my mate is so mean.” At the look on Rhys’ face, some amusement crept in. “No, Fitzsimmons. Camille was my daughter, older sister to the twins. I’ve dreamt of her every day since she was killed. So you see, when I felt something off…”

  Damn.

  “Tread carefully, Commander.” The fact that the councilman just referred to him by that title spoke volumes. “But you’re on the right track.”