This Dark Wolf: Soul Bitten Shifter Book 1

by Everly Frost

  I take a breath, pause for a beat as his muscles flex against mine, a challenge of strength that either of us could win.

  Satisfied with his reaction, my lips curve into a smile as I hover dangerously close enough to nip his shoulder. “We refuse to be caged,” I say. “Just like we refuse to be marked. That doesn’t mean I won’t stay at your side, Tristan.”

  My tongue darts between my lips, pressing to the chiseled muscle at the top of his arm, tasting the skin without leaving a mark.

  He watches me carefully, his hands still clamped around my wrists, ready to take back control. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying I don’t need a fucking mark to dictate my loyalty or my trust.”

  Slowly unfurling his fingers from around my wrists—an act of trust—he lowers his arms, one coming to rest above his head while the other grazes down my side.

  I rebalance myself as I trail kisses down his arm all the way to his palm, drawing his forefinger into my mouth as I sit up, straddling him. He’s already hard again and it’s the most natural act for me to draw him inside me.

  I bury my moans against his hand and lose myself to our rhythm as we begin again.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  For the next four nights, I relocate myself to Tristan’s penthouse. I spend my afternoons in the gym with Iyana and Danika, my evenings on patrol, and my midnight hours in Tristan’s bed.

  Iyana and Danika don’t ask me for any information that I don’t offer, although they tell me they’re here for me if I need to talk. They still respect Helen’s rules about not asking questions, and I realize that I do, too.

  Tristan has so many secrets, so much history that I don’t know, but I won’t ask because I know how painful and destructive it is to drag up the past.

  My focus is now on the future.

  On the afternoon of the third day, Tristan calls me, Jace, Iyana, and Danika to the meeting room to discuss the plan of attack on Baxter Griffin.

  When we arrive, he’s gathered a handful of chairs together in a loose circle and is sitting with his elbows on his knees, his chin resting on his clasped hands. He’s dressed in jeans and a perfectly fitted tank. It’s only been a few hours since I left his bed and his gaze heats me all the way to my toes.

  Jace has been evasive since the night Bridget was hurt, only approaching me once, yesterday, to tell me that Bridget is recovering well at Hidden House. He’s the last to arrive, dressed in jeans and a bicep-hugging T-shirt that hides his tattoo. He waits for me to choose my seat next to Tristan before he picks his own chair opposite us. Danika and Iyana split up on either side of Jace.

  “Tessa and I are going alone,” Tristan says, startling me.

  Iyana and Danika both shoot me a no-fucking-way look before they turn to Tristan in unison.

  “Not happening. You need backup,” Iyana says.

  “Going alone is the best way to get yourselves killed,” Danika asserts.

  Tristan turns to me, seeking my opinion next, but I’m slower to give it. He hasn’t spoken to me about specifics, but I sense it’s been churning away in his mind for days, just like it’s started weighing on mine.

  “We saw firsthand the kind of allies Baxter has now,” I say. “We’re not only talking about my old alpha, Peter Nash, and his son, Dawson. The supernaturals we encountered the other night might only be the beginning.”

  I lean toward my friends, predicting their objections. Iyana will tell me she can take care of herself. Danika will insist she won’t be spotted in the sky.

  “They will sense you and strike you down,” I say. “Even you, Danika. There are only so many times you can outfly lightning. Whereas…” I take a deep breath before I continue. “Tristan and I won’t try to hide. Isn’t that right?”

  I turn to him for confirmation. It’s a guess on my part, based on what he’s told me in the past: that he would give me the tools to destroy my enemies and that it would be up to me whether or not I used them. He also told me—on the first night we met—that my scent would drive them wild.

  I’ve put two and two together and formed a picture that is breathtakingly dangerous and could go horribly wrong. It’s the destruction that Tristan originally planned for his enemies. What I don’t know is whether or not our relationship has now changed how he perceives the future.

  “We’re going to walk in the front door,” Tristan says, confirming my suspicion.

  Jace’s chair scrapes loudly as he pushes it back, nearly knocking it over, his eyebrows drawn down. Without a word, he prowls to the far window, a silent objection.

  Iyana hooks her thumb in his direction. “I’m with Jace.”

  I reach out, briefly placing my hand on Tristan’s knee as he moves to go after Jace. “May I?”

  Tristan gives me a stiff nod.

  Quietly crossing the room, I’m aware of the silence behind us as I draw level with Jace and consider the rain beating against the window. It’s a perfect day for Iyana to go outside, not a ray of sunlight to be seen.

  “You’re walking blindly to your death,” he says, his voice low.

  I continue to focus on the window, even though Jace’s fierce gaze burns into me. “Don’t count me out so quickly, Jace.”

  “You don’t know whose bed you’re keeping warm.”

  I meet Jace’s eyes, deep green, reminding me of the forest on the mountain. “Then enlighten me.”

  Jace is tense. He presses his palm against the window, but he answers my request with a question. “Has Tristan told you what happened to Ella?”

  I shake my head. “No. Will you?”

  Jace returns his stare to the window, following the raindrops zigzagging down the glass.

  I bite my lip, my mouth dry. “She’s your true mate. Isn’t she?”

  Jace flinches. “Was. Until she was broken.” He squeezes his eyes shut, a rare sign of pain. “That’s why I don’t shift anymore. I can handle the pain of our broken bond if I don’t shift.”

  His response is more open, more honest than I was expecting, an unexpected trust.

  Carefully, I ask, “How do you break a true mate bo—”

  His warning growl cuts me off. “Only with extended violence. The kind of violence that only a few supernaturals are capable of inflicting.” He grabs my shoulder, his gaze level with mine, his voice low. “The three-headed wolf is coming for Tristan. When he gets here, you’ll witness firsthand the kind of violence that broke a beautiful, strong-willed woman like Ella.”

  The pain behind his eyes is almost too much. I remember the way he told Helen that the last thing Ella needed was to see him. I remember Ella’s long, blonde hair and empathetic brown eyes, her ability to perceive my moods, her instant understanding that I was both wolf and human. I remember how broken she is. But I also recall the white wolf and the surprising moment of fear in his eyes when I leaped at him with my dagger.

  “No,” I whisper. “I’ll kill him before he hurts anyone.”

  The muscle in Jace’s jaw clenches. “I hope you’re strong enough to do that, Tessa.” His gaze flickers beyond me, pausing on Tristan. “I believe Tristan is gambling our future on you being strong enough.”

  His grip on my shoulder eases to a firm squeeze. “Stay safe.”

  With a formal nod, he turns on his heel and exits the room, leaving me to return to Tristan’s side.

  “We’re going alone,” I say.

  Iyana and Danika exchange a glance, but they don’t renew their protests.

  On the morning of the birthday party, I wake alone to find two boxes sitting side-by-side at the end of Tristan’s bed.

  One is a large, ebony box tied with an ivory ribbon. It’s well-wrapped, a beautiful glossy box, the kind that comes from an expensive shop.

  The other is a smaller box lined with red velvet and wrapped in a violet ribbon.

  I take hold of the black box first, tucking my legs under my backside before I open it. Inside, the contents of the box are hidden by fine, black tissue paper. Brus
hing the paper aside, I pull out a dress made of silky, black material. The skirt consists of layers of transparent tulle that will fall to my ankles with a long slit up the leg for ease of movement, but the bodice consists of two wide, slanted straps that confuse the hell out of me.

  I turn it this way and that, trying to figure out how the straps are supposed to cover my breasts until I spy the card in the bottom of the box. It contains a picture of a model wearing the dress and it’s suddenly clear how it’s supposed to be put on.

  The dress is one-shouldered. The wide straps are connected at the top of my right shoulder and cross from that shoulder to my left hip at the waistband. Each strap will cover one of my breasts—but barely. A whole stretch of flesh and cleavage will be exposed between and around the straps.

  Quickly slipping the lid off the second box, I push aside the crimson tissue paper that covers its contents.

  A laugh bursts out of me.

  I take hold of the top of a strapless black bodysuit. The bodice and thong consist of ribbons and lacy whorls that will push up my breasts, circle my waist, and cover my groin with a small triangle but otherwise leave me bare.

  I’ve never worn anything like it in my life.

  “Fuck,” I whisper.

  Tristan told me he’d give me the tools.

  Now I need to decide how far I’m willing to go to end this deadly feud between the packs and avenge my father’s death.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The city lights twinkle through the window of the SUV as we pass across the bridge into Baxter Griffin’s territory. The first time I crossed the Eastern Lowlands, we kept to the north and passed as quickly as possible into Tristan’s territory. Now, we’re heading right into the heart of a place where we are not welcome.

  Tristan sits behind the steering wheel. A pistol rests in his lap, but we’re otherwise unarmed. He’s dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit and tie, his raven hair slicked back. He’s clean shaven, making him look far more civilized than I know him to be.

  I cross my right leg over my left, the tulle skirt falling to either side. I’m slowly adjusting to the black heels I’m wearing. I spent half of the afternoon practicing walking in them and the other half getting dressed. Danika helped with my hair—a half up-do with waves flowing down my back and shoulders. I hardly recognized myself once I put on makeup, my lips scarlet red, my lashes dark, my blue eyes appearing sultry.

  Finally ready, I’d sauntered into the living area to find Tristan dressed and ready, standing at the opposite window—his customary position. He’d appraised my reflection in the glass for a heated moment before he turned and tipped his head in the direction of the elevator, his emotions blank as stone.

  When I leaned toward him, wanting to close the gap, he pulled back. “You can’t have my scent on you,” he said.

  He hasn’t touched me since he left his bed this morning. His emotional walls are up, but I sense his inner struggle. He may have put the boxes on the bed, but I suspect he hoped I’d rip the clothing to shreds.

  It takes a mere half an hour to travel through the city and into a forested area in Portland’s southeast where the houses are sparse. We enter a winding road that takes us higher until we reach the entrance to a private road with security guards stationed at it. A scan of the perimeter tells me that armed shifters are stationed at intervals all along the fence line, together with security cameras.

  Ours isn’t the only vehicle lining up waiting admittance. The SUV in front of us pulls up beside the security guard at the gate, who leans in to take a slip of parchment that is presumably an invitation while another three guards check over the vehicle before they allow it through.

  Baxter Griffin isn’t taking any chances tonight.

  Tristan presses the button to wind down his window, grips the wheel with one hand, and slides the pistol down beside the door before we drive forward to pull up beside the guard at the gate.

  Revealing his incisors, Tristan smiles at the security guard, speaking before the guard can say anything. “Tell Cody that Tristan Masters is here to see him.”

  The guard jolts, gives a shout, and suddenly, about a million guns are pointed in our direction.

  It isn’t lost on me that Tristan requested Cody and not his father. Slowly lifting my hands so they’re visible through the windscreen, I carefully reach for the door handle and push the door open.

  Holding my hands high, I slip from the vehicle, angling for full visibility by the security camera at the top of the gate, gratified to see it follow my movements. I tip my head back and wait as the tense seconds stretch out.

  All it will take is a trigger-happy shifter and I’m a dead woman.

  The security guard whom Tristan greeted points his weapon directly at Tristan’s head while the seconds tick by.

  His two-way radio finally crackles. “Escort them in.”

  The radio distorts the speaker’s voice, but it sounds like it was Cody himself who responded.

  The guard gestures at me. “Back in the vehicle. No sudden movements.”

  Carefully and slowly, I slide back into the passenger seat and close the door while Tristan drives the vehicle forward at a crawl, slow enough that a dozen security guards can jog at the side of the vehicle.

  A minute down the private road, we finally arrive at a sprawling building, multiple levels high, a mansion with a grand entrance all lit up.

  Tristan slips the pistol beneath his seat after he brings the vehicle to a stop. He raises his hands like I did and we both wait inside the vehicle, hands visible while the security guards usher the guests on the stairs into the house.

  Baxter Griffin and Cody Griffin stride down the front stairs, both dressed in black suits and ties. I focus on calming my breathing and remaining in control. The last time I saw these men, they stood over my father’s body.

  Because of the way we’re facing, I’m closest to them.

  Cody looks different as he stops at the base of the steps only five paces away. His sandy blond hair is cut short now—it was slicked back and halfway down his neck the last time I saw him—and his upper body and thighs appear larger, as if he’s spent that last two months working out. It could be the cut of his suit, but there’s a finely chiseled edge to his silhouette that wasn’t there before.

  In contrast, his father appears more weathered, his hair more gray, his mouth set in a cold line, his brown eyes turning hard as he focuses on me.

  “Get them out and search them,” he orders.

  The security guards on either side of us open our doors. Tristan exits and steps to the side of the vehicle, where Baxter and Cody can see him. He promptly submits to a thorough pat down.

  I take my time slipping my feet to the ground. An appraisal of Cody tells me he hasn’t glanced at Tristan once, his focus intent on me. Angling my legs so that the split in my skirt does its work by falling away from the curves of my left leg all the way up to my thigh, I slide from my seat.

  Finding my feet, I appraise Cody quietly from beneath my lashes, my lips parting, and now my confusion is genuine. The first time I saw him, he glowed with power. Now, he’s more controlled, but his control feels dangerous, the same way I am more of a threat now that my power is held tightly within my grasp.

  When the security guard reaches out to pat me down, I lean away from him. “Oh, honey,” I say to him. “It takes stronger hands than yours to handle me.”

  The guard growls a denial, but Cody is already crossing the distance under his father’s sharp eye.

  “Step aside,” he says to the guard. “I’ll check her.”

  I sense Tristan watching us as closely as Baxter is, although Tristan’s emotions are so walled off that I’m getting barely anything from him.

  Cody reaches for me without pause, his hands gripping my waist and ribs in a firm hold, his face tipped to mine. Up close, his eyes appear more animal, his hickory brown irises flecked with gold. He speaks my name with a rumbling growl. “Tessa.”

  “
Cody.” I inhale his scent. Like his appearance, it’s changed too, now with layers it didn’t have before, but I don’t know what the change means. I remember when I first saw him through my wolf’s power, the glow around him was a confusing mix of cobalt and crimson, forces at war with each other. Now I sense that one of those forces has since won the battle.

  I bite my lip, uncertainty settling in before I remember I’m supposed to be playing a part. Recovering quickly, I tip my head back to whisper, “Just so you know, I like it gentle.”

  The corner of his mouth tugs up, his focus shifting from my lips back to my eyes. “Prepare to be disappointed.”

  His hands slide up beneath my breasts, pressing firmly, his thumbs grazing across the naked skin between the bodice straps before traveling around my breasts to my shoulders.

  I tip my neck side to side to give him access as his palms rise up and around to the back of my head. He slides his fingers into my hair, cupping the back of my head, pulling me up against him. He inhales as deeply as I did when he first approached, drawing my scent into his chest.

  He won’t sense anything now. My scent is long gone, my power an undetectable threat.

  His eyes narrow as he pulls back, a hint of confusion that he hides quickly as he continues patting down my back and across my backside.

  My lack of extensive underwear will be obvious to him.

  He releases me from close proximity with his body and lowers himself to squeeze down my right leg all the way to my ankle before switching to my left leg, flipping the tulle out of the way to travel all the way from my naked calf up to the top of my naked thigh.

  Wrapping both of his big hands around the top of my leg, he stops, holds me there, and turns his focus on Tristan, checking Tristan’s reaction.

  I prepare myself for Tristan’s wrath, but he returns Cody’s challenging gaze with a nonchalant stare so convincing that even I would believe it if I weren’t so attuned to his feelings.

  He wants to fucking kill Cody right now.