Prickly Business (Portland Pack Chronicles Book 1)

by Piper Vaughn

  He peeked around the corner, watching as the guy wiped himself clean with the bottom of his T-shirt and readjusted his pants. Then he dug into his back pocket and withdrew a pack of cigarettes. He shook one into his hand and placed it between his lips.

  Patting his jacket, the horndog guard turned and wandered off. Avery followed, darting between crates as fast as his little legs would carry him. His heart raced in anticipation when he saw the guard stop at an emergency exit. He pushed the door open, and Avery waited, trembling, hoping with every fiber of his being that the guy wouldn’t let it swing shut behind him.

  Come on, come on. All I need is one little break….

  Avery gave a silent cry of victory when the guard kicked a chunk of wood under the base, leaving the door ajar. It wasn’t a big gap, but it was plenty wide enough for a hedgehog to squeeze himself through. Yes!

  Avery scurried closer. He saw a flash and caught the hint of butane on a gust of rain-scented air. A lighter. Good. The guard would be out there for a few minutes, then.

  Pausing beside the doorframe, Avery tentatively peered outside. The guy’s back was to him, his head tipped up toward the sky. An overhang protected him from the bulk of the storm.

  Avery used his distraction to take off in the other direction. Okay, so maybe “take off” was a bit of an exaggeration since he couldn’t cover much ground on four tiny paws, but no hedgehog in history had ever moved faster.

  THERE IT was again. Dylan inhaled deeply, immersing himself in the surety that he was in the right place. Avery was here. It was the second time since nearing the warehouse that he’d scented his mate, and the closer they got, the stronger it got. He held back a howl at being unwillingly separated from Avery, of being unable to touch him, to be touched by him. Dylan rumbled in both pleasure at being so close to his hedgehog and anger that overpowered every other emotion. Someone had taken his mate and that someone was going to pay.

  The warehouse was huge, roughly the length of two football fields, maybe three, and lined with a number of garage bays spaced evenly along the length of the wall. Probably for deliveries of some sort. It was outside one of those bays that the guards stood, smoking. Dylan wasn’t even sure they were paying attention to their surroundings. Idiots. Wearing dark BDUs and equally inky formfitting shirts that made them look like hired muscle, the men were strapped with semiautomatic weapons, much like Dylan expected of wannabe private security or mercenaries.

  Leading the way across the train tracks, Dylan kept to the shadows. Once the guards went back inside, Dylan edged around the building, careful to stay in the dark as much as possible. The closer they got to the door, the brighter it was, and more importantly the stronger Avery’s scent was. The only way in was up the stairs and through the large door. He could only hope nobody was keeping a lookout. They were screwed if anyone spotted them.

  Stealing up the steps quickly and quietly, Dylan peered around the edge of the door. He could hear voices—at least three distinct male tones—but they weren’t close, and there was no one around to watch Dylan and his friends creep into the warehouse and around a pallet to keep them out of sight.

  It was easier than it should have been. Nothing was ever this easy. The large open room was filled with crates and packages stacked in what Dylan assumed was some sort of order, though he didn’t take time to figure it out as he weaved through narrow paths, knowing Avery waited somewhere beyond or amid all the junk. He could feel him.

  One more turn and he came to a halt. Three men, different from the others he’d seen, stood by what looked like an office, talking. Fifteen feet away, the blond turned around, laughing like he had no cares in the world. Melnyk. Dylan bared his teeth in a low snarl. Rage bled into his periphery. He wanted blood—his wolf demanded it—for the abduction of his mate. Dylan wasn’t a violent man and neither was his wolf, but suddenly, all he could see was red, the need to tear into this man and make him pay for his and Avery’s suffering.

  Before he could talk himself out of it, Dylan shot out from behind his hiding place and launched himself the short distance at Melnyk, razor-sharp teeth aimed for the detective’s neck.

  “What the—” Melnyk’s hands shot up in front of him at the last second. It was the only thing that saved him from having his throat ripped out. Yet.

  Raised voices, growls, and the sounds of fighting erupted around him, but it sounded far off as Dylan focused his desire for revenge solely on the stunned man, staring up at him from where he lay, struggling to hold Dylan off. Scared. Melnyk smelled of fear and anger. Dylan wanted to tear into him—to howl at Melnyk’s imminent defeat—but he knew better than to celebrate before his opponent was down for the count. But Dylan would have his prize.

  Melnyk put up a good fight, trying to buck Dylan off, though against the combination of teeth, claws, and Dylan’s supernatural strength, he was no match without his gun—which he was steadily attempting to retrieve, but had no chance of gaining without losing a limb. Or his life.

  Dylan clamped down on the man’s forearm as he once again reached for his weapon, the coppery taste of the man’s blood flooding his mouth, and he raked his back claws down the man’s tender belly and thighs. The smell of his blood encompassed Dylan, feeding his hate-filled frenzy.

  The man’s eyes were wide and scared, and Dylan rumbled at the smell of his fear. Melnyk’s eyes darted from Dylan to the fight happening all around them, Dylan’s wolves working over the sleazy crew with ease.

  “What the motherfucking fuck?” Melnyk wheezed, his gaze, a cross between terrified and cocky, landing on Dylan again. “What the hell are you?”

  He could only imagine what the man thought, seeing a group of wolves organized enough to attack a corrupt group of humans with guns. And yes, they had guns, a fact proven by the asshole in Dylan’s grasp who was still attempting to reach for his own, never mind the occasional revolver and semiautomatic blast. Dylan just had to trust his guys could take care of themselves. His job was to take care of Melnyk, then to find his mate, in quick order.

  Dylan locked his jaw tighter around Melnyk’s forearm, giddy at the crunch of bone with a side of your-worst-fucking-nightmare.

  Out of nowhere Avery’s scent—sweet and organic—slammed into him. He snapped his head around, searching for his mate. It was the opening Melnyk needed. And he took it.

  Shoving Dylan off-balance, Melnyk scooted out from under him while at the same time pulling out his gun and training it on Dylan. The echoing noise of fighting—yells, howls of pain and victory, fists connecting with flesh, even a gunshot or two—disappeared as Dylan locked eyes with his end.

  I’m so sorry, Avery.

  AVERY’S PLAN was to get as far away as possible. Then he’d worry about the fact that he’d be buck naked when he shifted back to human form. All that mattered was getting to the police before Melnyk and his goons realized he was missing. If Avery showed up and made a ruckus in front of the entire precinct, no way could they try to cover it up. Someone would listen. Not every cop was crooked. Avery simply had to ensure he had enough witnesses to cover his ass and get these girls rescued.

  He had just cleared the building when the direction of the wind changed—and brought with it the familiar spicy musk of his mate.

  Dylan.

  Avery stopped so quickly he rolled into a somersault and landed in a puddle. Before he could even process, his legs had taken on a life of their own and he was scrambling to reach the scent. The rain obscured his already lousy eyesight, but Avery heard the commotion of snarls and shouting through an open bay door. He sensed Dylan’s anger and worry as clearly as if it were his own, and it propelled him into action.

  Unthinking, Avery rushed headfirst toward the chaos. He spotted the stairs leading up to the elevated loading dock and knew he’d never scale them in his current form. Filled with rage and panic, he poured all his energy into a shift. He’d never forced his body to change so fast, and it left him shaky and disoriented, but nothing could interfere with his determi
nation to get to Dylan.

  He took the steps two at a time, his vision still hazy. Thanks to the craziness in the warehouse—wolves growling and armed men freaking the hell out—no one even noticed his entrance. Going on instinct, Avery followed his nose and the pull of the bond to his mate.

  He saw Dylan—in wolf form—in the middle of a scuffle with one of the guards. As he got closer Avery recognized the guy as Melnyk.

  Just then, Dylan seemed to catch wind of his scent. His head snapped in Avery’s direction, and Melnyk used his distraction to go for his gun.

  Avery watched in horror as Melnyk took aim and fired. In what felt like slow motion, Dylan went down, and the echo of the gunshot roared in Avery’s ears along with the frantic staccato of his pulse.

  Avery’s brain went blank. With a scream and a burst of adrenaline-fueled fury, he went after Melnyk.

  The detective didn’t see him coming before Avery was on his back.

  DYLAN DIDN’T hear the gun’s blast until after he was propelled backward by the impact of the bullet, didn’t feel the hot metal tearing through and searing his muscles until he fell to his knees and crashed onto his side. It was like the mute button that had been pressed released and the noise, riotous and jarring, roared back to life. Sounds were louder, clearer, accompanied by a symphony of chaos and the rapid beat of his own pulse at his temples. Smells were brighter, sharper—Avery’s the most poignant and strongest. He could smell his mate as if he were in the same room, now, feel him as if he were standing a few feet away.

  Though the gun aimed at his head and the twist of Melnyk’s lips as he sneered down at him over the weapon had Dylan’s full attention.

  This was it. A better man would have held his stare, not blinked in the face of death. But the last face he wanted to see was Avery’s so he closed his eyes and filed through the images of Avery’s smiling face, his glowing hazel eyes, and the warmth that infused every part of his being.

  Sadness, regret, and love overwhelmed him. God, most of all love. Love he had yet to voice, because if he did, it would be too real and he wouldn’t be able to take it back. Dylan mourned missing the chance to tell Avery how he felt, to show him by surrendering completely to their bond.

  A whimper tangled in his throat. Dylan’s heart thundered in a panic he hadn’t expected, hadn’t been ready for. Then a battle cry forced Dylan’s eyes open wide. It took him a moment to piece together what he was seeing. It didn’t make sense—until all at once, it did.

  Like an avenging angel, Avery flew out of nowhere—all ivory skin and rage—and crashed into Melnyk’s back, throwing him off-balance. A shot hit the concrete floor inches from Dylan’s head, so close that shutting his eyes was the only way to avoid the spray of particles. He blinked them open just in time to see Avery down the red-faced detective with a choke hold that brought Melnyk to his knees before Avery slammed his head into a crate and released him to fall to the ground.

  Dylan wanted to laugh when Avery stood over a dazed-but-not-unconscious Melnyk and kicked him once, then twice. The detective grunted weakly through the second wave of Avery’s attack.

  “And stay down,” Avery huffed before he leaned over and pulled the gun from Melnyk’s slack fingers.

  Looking back, there were probably a few things Dylan could have done differently, but they’d still end with the same result. Hopefully. Except for getting shot. Dylan hated that shit. He smiled up at Avery through the haze of pain threatening to pull him under. It was then that he realized his mate was bare-assed in the middle of a warehouse. The thoughts of what and why and how ran through his head, but he couldn’t voice them. Not in shifted form.

  Searing heat and throbbing pain forced a whine out of his muzzle instead, and Avery knelt down beside him in a flash, still aiming the gun at the groaning detective.

  Dylan wanted to smile. Whoever thought he would see his mate like this? Fearless and naked and taking down a dirty cop with his bare hands.

  Before tonight, if someone had asked Dylan if he’d ever thought Avery would best a man twice his size while his mate lay injured, Dylan would have laughed. Avery was a lover not a fighter.

  Pride welled in his chest before the fucking burn and pain in his shoulder came roaring back to life.

  Another whimper twisted his chest. No. The journey to this point hadn’t been perfect, but the outcome was beyond his expectations. He had Avery back.

  Chapter Twenty

  AVERY KEPT the gun trained on Melnyk with one hand and pressed the other to Dylan’s blood-soaked fur. He found the wound and applied pressure, feeling his heart clench when Dylan whined softly and licked his wrist.

  With the adrenaline still streaming through his system, Avery’s mind raced. He was glad Dylan’s crew was keeping the other guards occupied, because he couldn’t focus on more than Dylan and Melnyk right then.

  The detective seemed to be coming to. He shook his head and started to sit up.

  “Stay down,” Avery warned.

  Melnyk’s eyes met his, and the detective sneered. Avery wanted to shoot him for half a dozen reasons, not in the least of which was the fact the fucker had put a bullet in Dylan. He’d never shot a gun before, but it couldn’t be that complicated. The safety wasn’t on, as evidenced by his bleeding mate.

  Avery tightened his finger on the trigger. “I mean it, asshole.”

  Melnyk kept right on moving. “You’re not going to shoot a cop, dumb fuck.”

  Dylan snarled and jumped to his paws. Heedless of his bleeding shoulder and the pain he must be in, he went for Melnyk’s throat. Avery sat stunned while Dylan lunged and took Melnyk to the ground.

  Melnyk screamed, his fingers clutching at Dylan’s scruff. Dylan growled and shook his head, his teeth piercing the tender flesh of Melnyk’s neck. Blood flowed, but it was obvious Dylan was simply trying to hold him in place.

  “Get your hands off him,” Avery ordered, approaching where Dylan had Melnyk pinned. “And stop moving unless you want him to tear out your throat.”

  Melnyk dropped his arms. His eyes were wide, the whites showing as he sucked in a wheezy breath.

  The fight around them seemed to be dying down. In the distance, Avery heard sirens approaching. This might be his one chance to question Melnyk. Maybe the timing wasn’t ideal, but he had to know. He had to ask about Lacey. She was the reason this had started, after all.

  Avery aimed the gun at Melnyk’s forehead. “Tell me. The girl, Lacey Acker. The redhead I showed you a picture of at the precinct. Do you remember her?”

  Melnyk sneered with bloody lips. “Fuck. You.”

  Dylan tightened his grip on Melnyk’s throat and loosed a growl so fierce Avery smelled the ammonia of urine as Melnyk pissed himself.

  “One more time,” Avery said. “Do you remember Lacey Acker? Was she taken by your people?”

  Melnyk grimaced, pale-faced. “Yes.”

  Avery tried to keep the gun steady as fury coursed through him. “Where is she, you bastard? Where do you have her?”

  “Sh-she was sold.”

  “To who?”

  Melnyk groaned.

  Avery kicked him in the side, not caring if he hurt his foot in the process. “To who?”

  “Don’t know,” Melnyk gritted out.

  Furious, Avery kicked him again, this time to the side of the head. It was apparently one hit too many because Melnyk went limp. Avery was half-tempted to shoot him anyway, maybe in the kneecap just because, but before he could decide whether or not to act on the urge, a hand landed on his arm.

  Avery turned to find a winded Lucas, who was naked save for smudges of dirt and blood. Aside from some bruises, he appeared relatively unscathed.

  “We need to get out of here.” Lucas gestured to their surroundings. “The cops are coming. How the hell would we explain this?”

  He had a point. Unconscious men littered the ground and their wounds had clearly been caused by animals. No way to pretend those injuries were anything but bite marks and scratches. Bu
t Avery couldn’t leave until he knew the girls in the cages would be rescued.

  Fuck.

  Beside him, Dylan began to shift. “You go,” Dylan said as soon as his snout had shrunk enough for him to speak. “We’ll stay here, come up with something.”

  Lucas hesitated, looking torn. “I don’t like it.”

  “Do it anyway.” Dylan knelt upright and pressed a hand to his oozing shoulder. “Take the guys and go.”

  After a moment, Lucas nodded curtly and took off.

  The sirens were getting closer. Avery looked at Dylan. How in the hell would they explain this? There was no way, and they didn’t even have time to try to get their stories straight.

  Avery realized then both he and Dylan were standing there without a shred of clothing on. Just another crazy element to make excuses for. Oh God. The cops were never going to believe them. They’d probably be hauled off to jail like everyone else.

  Most of the men lying around were knocked out, but a couple of them were sitting up groggily. They’d have tales of being attacked by a group of random wolves. This was a clusterfuck and a half.

  Suddenly the sirens were right there, outside the loading bay, surrounding the building.

  Avery swallowed hard and reached for Dylan’s hand. Dylan’s fingers twined with his and he tried for a smile. It didn’t work. Avery couldn’t seem to manage the expression, so he tightened his hold, clinging to Dylan like he was a buoy in the middle of a raging sea.

  When a couple of cops burst in, the tension fled Dylan’s shoulders and he muttered, “Thank fuck,” under his breath.

  “Dylan,” one of the cops said. As he got closer, Avery saw the name “Wallace” on his uniform. He and the other officer smelled like pack. Like wolves.

  Avery’s head spun. “Thank fuck” was right.

  “Alpha Odell sent us,” Wallace said. “We don’t have much time before the other officers get here. Someone from one of the other warehouses called in to report gunfire. What happened here?”