by Maia Starr
He supposed that Dean wouldn’t be able to paint the town red with blood since it was so colorful already. Brendan smiled slightly at the thought.
Luckily, or maybe unluckily for Brendan, he spied a familiar, dangerous face a few minutes after entering the town, a wicked grin on the man’s lips as he disappeared inside the barbershop. Brendan’s heart nearly stopped as he physically did as well, causing an old man to almost stumble into him. Stopping to help the old man cross a street as an apology, Brendan’s gaze never drifted from the barbershop. He watched as the silhouette of the man he’d spotted sat down in a chair, conversed with the barber and then turned to commence his haircut.
Montego...Brendan thought, chewing on his lip. It was him alright. He’d recognize Dean’s face and body-builder physique anywhere. There wasn’t much question in Brendan’s mind, so while he waited and continued to eye the barbershop, he ordered a coffee and donut from the only food truck in the town and sat down on a bench to wait.
Dean didn’t come out until Brendan was licking up the donut crumbs off of his fingers and his coffee was lukewarm. With a knowing smile, Dean sauntered out, running a hand over his freshly cut hair. Short and spiking slightly in the front, Dean’s hair faded at the sides; a black wife-beater shirt covered most of his bulging torso, and black shorts matched the outfit. The classic look for Dean Montego.
He hadn’t noticed Brendan yet, thankfully, and so Brendan casually rose to his feet and strode forward, tossing his coffee cup into a trash can a dozen feet away with ease. Silently, he began to follow the man, keeping his distance until Dean hopefully walked out of town. Knowing Dean, things could turn quickly, so he’d rather avoid being seen in public pummeling that extremely punchable face of Dean’s. His mind deteriorated for a moment, thinking of all the violent acts he could put his rival through, but soon enough, Brendan shook that notion off.
Looking up, he realized he’d lost sight of Dean, muttering a curse under his breath. Raising his nose slightly, he sniffed the air, catching a whiff of Dean’s alpha scent quickly. Following the smell, Brendan turned a corner around a building, seeing, in the distance, Dean’s smiling face.
His rival peered back at Brendan, backing away into the forest, and beckoning Brendan forward. Grunting, Brendan gazed around as he slowly walked; an ambush wouldn’t be beyond Dean’s capabilities. Cautiously, Brendan made his way into the forest, following Dean’s obvious trail. Soon enough, he came to a glade, where Dean sat on a tree stump fiddling with a hunting knife between his fingers; the blade flashed in the one ray of sunlight that broke through the gray, cloudy sky. Brendan fought the urge to instantly charge the man and snap his neck, instead waiting patiently until Dean looked up.
“Oh, hey, Brendan,” Dean said, the blade still flicking between his fingers. “Didn’t see you there. How’s it going, old friend?”
Brendan grinned as he stepped forward. “Terribly, I’d say.”
“Oh? Why is that?”
“Because ever since you decided to come back, my pack’s been on edge,” Brendan said, striding forward until he was within a few feet of his rival. Dean eyed him, slowing his knife flicks to a more threatening rhythm. “Apparently your people have already been picking fights with mine.”
Dean snorted, letting a slight chuckle loose. “I’d hardly call them fights when your packmates keep fleeing in terror at the sight of my men.”
“You mean women and children? The elderly?” Brendan said, raising his voice. He growled. “Most of your attacks have been cowardly. If my actual fighters were around, you and your little posse wouldn’t be so eager to earn our ire.”
“That’s just the thing,” Dean said, smiling wickedly. “Your capable men and women were too relaxed, didn’t see me coming. Hell, even you didn’t, Brendan. From my understanding, based on what my people told me about the years I’ve been gone, we’ve been at a strange little peace...a tight peace, to be sure, but peace nonetheless.” His voice was heavy and he stank of alcohol. That was new to Brendan. Since when did Dean smell like whiskey in the morning? “Peace is like a blade, Brendan. It dulls the senses after being used, and it takes a while to sharpen it to full effect.” Dean slowly rose to his feet, letting the knife slip between his fingers. “And your pack, well, they sure aren’t sharp enough to fight back. They weren’t ready, and you aren’t either.”
Dean snapped his fingers, and Brendan’s instincts went wild as a myriad of shifters emerged from the forest around them both. Brendan did a quick head count, spying seven other shifters in total, each mimicking Dean’s grin. He didn’t need to smell the intent on them to know what was about to happen; their tense bodies told him everything.
In one smooth motion, Brendan whipped back and sprinted, spying the only escape route being the way he came in. Even if Brendan were the alpha, taking on a huge group would never end in his favor. Only a fool would think he could fight off seven other shifters and his equal at the same time. But just before Brendan could break free, a ninth body stepped out from the brush; colliding into the stocky figure, he was pushed back immediately, and Brendan stumbled into the glade.
Glaring around, Brendan cursed the idea of not bringing help with him. Dean had been right; he’d been dulled by the peace, not thinking about truly trying to win this still on-going battle.
Dean’s laughs echoed in the air, with the alpha shifter doubled over and pointing at Brendan. “Did you see how quick he tried to run away? Did you see? Now that is a cowardly act if I ever saw one!”
A chorus of laughs reverberated around the glade, causing Brendan’s heart to spike and his mind fade to survival instincts. One moment he spun, double checking his headcount, trying to calculate his route to victory; the next, his clothes tore and ripped at the seems as he let his inner wolf out. The beast inside came to the surface, elongating his figure and producing endless tufts of bright brown fur. His claws dug into the ground as the smiles across every face faded, and with his subsequent howl, most of the shifters recoiled, gripping their ears. Maybe Brendan had a chance after all.
With a blank face, Dean motioned with two fingers at Brendan. “Get him already.”
All at once, the eight other shifters turned into snarling wolves; each padded the ground and howled. Brendan didn’t waste any time, charging one of the wolves to his right as the female finished changing. The female shifter startled, but before Brendan could reach her, two other wolves slammed into him on either side; one wolf chomped down on his ankle, sending heatwaves up his leg, while the other bit down on Brendan’s hard back. He cried out in pain as he was stopped in his tracks, trying to swipe at both wolves. But as he bonked one wolf on the snout, two more appeared to rip into him.
Pain rippled through Brendan as the wolves continually battered him, tearing at his skin and forcing his blood to flow out. He eventually became so dizzy from trying to fight them all off that he couldn’t tell how many wolves there were any more, instead collapsing and trapping a few underneath him.
“Leave him alive!” Dean said, his voice ringing out. Brendan looked up as he exhaled raggedly, his tongue hanging out as Dean stepped forward. Placing a boot on Brendan’s snout, Dean pressed hard and smiled down at his rival. “We leave him as a message. If I want to rule this town again, then I want Brendan to succumb to my new leadership first. I’ll break him as many times as it takes.” Lifting his foot off of Brendan, Dean stepped back and whistled to the wolves around him. “We head back! Leave him to bleed out in the forest for now. Someone will come for him.”
Brendan closed his eyes moments later, only to open them and find Dean and his posse gone, Connor’s familiar handsome face peering into his. Connor was saying something, putting his arms under and around Brendan as he felt himself lifted off the ground. Whatever was happening, Brendan didn’t get to think about it long.
The pain hit him again like a torrent, piercing nearly every part of his body, and immediately after, his vision went black.↡¶
Chapter Four
&n
bsp; Sam
Sam saw off her final patient for the day with a sweet smile and a sigh of relief. Her influx of new patients was significantly lower than the amount she received back home, but her energy was sapped much quicker than normal.
It wasn’t hard to guess as to the reason; moving was always stressful and being bombarded right off the bat with patients concerned about their well-being didn’t help in the least.
At least she had Megan to help mitigate the flow of people through her office; for a woman who hadn’t been an assistant before, she had done well under pressure. Sam watched as Megan waved goodbye to their last patient, exchanging a sweet laugh all the while. If Megan did anything, she gave Sam’s clinic a good reputation. With that charming smile and sprightly attitude, Sam could foresee Megan becoming the new face of her clinic. It would be a welcome addition, if Megan were willing.
Finally getting her fill of Megan’s vigor, Sam returned to her office and began to clean up after herself. There wasn’t much, but still enough to be called a mess in Sam’s book. Megan came in after another few minutes, helping Sam to put away her various tools and take out the trash.
“I’m fine now, Megan,” Sam said after half an hour. Feeling a crick in her neck...well, all over her body, Sam began to stretch, working the muscles that had been tight practically all day. Megan came over to follow along, gladly giving Sam the company she secretly desired. “You don’t have to stay here just for me.”
“Nah, I’m fine! Seriously,” she said, though the bags under her eyes said differently. They betrayed the energetic exterior she displayed.
“Go home, Megan,” Sam said, rubbing her neck and straightening, finishing her set of stretches. “I’ve got everything here. Tomorrow’s the weekend, and we’re closed, meaning you get some time off to rest a little.” Sam pointed to her eyes, noticing the widening in Megan’s. Her assistant chuckled nervously.
“So you noticed, huh?” she asked, straightening herself and sighing. “This job is much harder than I anticipated.”
“Tell me about it,” Sam said, giggling along with her assistant. “I have some stories I need to share with you sometime about my time as an assistant.” Seeing Megan’s curious raised brow, Sam chuckled. “It wasn’t that long ago. Remember, I’m not that much older than you are.”
“Almost half a decade!” Megan cooed, reaching around behind her head to tie her dirty blonde hair into a ponytail.
“Go home,” Sam repeated. “I better not see you around here until Monday morning, yeah?”
“Yeah!” Megan said, her smiling matching Sam’s. With a simple nod, Megan backed out of the office, still tying her hair and calling a goodbye as she left through the front door. Sam waited for a moment, expecting Megan to come back and retrieve something. Every other day she had, forgetting an umbrella the first, her wallet the second, and her phone the third. Sam had thought it ludicrous that a woman like Megan would have forgotten her phone of all things.
After a while, Sam heard nothing. No front door banging open and no high boots clopping on the front office tile. No sweet voice called back to Sam, apologizing for popping in unannounced. Sam tapped her finger against her counter, realizing quickly that she was waiting to see Megan again already. It hadn’t been long since she was on the island, but already she thought of Megan not just as an assistant, but as a friend. It wasn’t every day that Sam was forced to leave behind her whole social circle at the drop of a hat; she could still call and text her old friends and family, of course, but it probably wasn’t the greatest of ideas to go out and see her loved ones in person. At least not now.
For the moment, Megan was the one person she knew anything about, and so far, that meant at least a shallow friendship. Maybe over the coming weeks, she’d be able to deepen her bond with Megan, maybe have her assistant introduce her to other people, maybe even a new boyfriend.
Or maybe Sam was just putting too many expectations on one person. Would she even really be comfortable showing Sam around? Did Sam even want to be set up with a new man right away? Maybe it would be better to wait and see how Sam dealt with the immediate future of adjusting to this new home. She’d be here a while, until Dean lost interest in pursuing her.
Taking a deep breath, Sam stepped out of her office, making sure everything was in order with a flick of her eyes, and she flipped the light switch. Shutting the door with a satisfying click, she wobbled off down the hallway to her bedroom.
Suddenly the front door slammed open. Sam’s heart rate shot up, turning to listen for Megan’s voice. She supposed her assistant really couldn’t leave without forgetting at least one of her possessions. Stumbling back, she wondered what the woman had forgotten this time.
“Doctor Samantha Byrd!” a voice called. She stopped in her tracks, hearing the stretch and pull of the desperate voice calling out to her. “We need your help now! Are you home? Please tell me you're here!” the voice grunted as something slumped to the ground with a thud, shaking both the ground and her heart at the same time. Hesitation grabbed hold of Sam’s senses, but soon her doctorly instincts kicked in, her drive to help whoever had frantically stormed in bringing her forward around the corner and into the lobby. She caught a familiar face in her olive eyes as she turned the corner, staring blankly as Ace’s father stood in the middle of the room, sweating and panting like he’d just run a hundred miles. His usual happy features were twisted into something more akin to a stinging sorrow.
Connor’s eyes darted to her a half-second later. “You can help him, right? Please tell me you can help Brendan!”
Samantha Byrd blinked, hiding the buzzing of the butterflies infesting her stomach amid the steady gaze she wore. “Brendan?” she asked, spotting the drops of blood on the front tiles. Her chest pounding, she furrowed her brows and clenched her jaw as she followed the trail of blood droplets to another man collapsed on the floor. Blood dripped from fresh cuts and welts, his entire, muscular body deformed with uncharacteristic bumps and bruises, his skin black and blue. The man groaned, coughing up even more blood, and even from this distance, she could hear his irregular wheezing.
“Can you help him?” Connor asked, darting forward to stare her in the eyes. She glanced at him, seeing an ocean of worry behind the man’s eyes. Gulping down her saliva, Sam nodded, pointing down the hallway.
“Yes!” she proclaimed. “But you’re gonna need to get him off that floor this instant and onto a table where I can examine him better.”
“Oh, thank god,” Connor said, backing up to lift the broken man in his arms. He heaved, and at a glance, Sam could tell the strain carrying such a heavy man had on the already exhausted Connor. She noticed his back muscles contracting, and his biceps seemingly tearing. He didn’t even have time to speak as he groaned under the man’s weight.
“This way,” Sam said, beckoning him forth. She turned and marched down the hallway, her brain racing at full speed. Connor followed her, turning to fit into the narrow hallway.
At the moment, Sam didn’t have any kind of long table to lay the man on...except her kitchen table. It was just long enough to fit the man from head to ankle, with his feet hanging off the edge. Suddenly Sam began to curse not having all her equipment shipped in immediately. Glancing back at Connor, she wondered how the man had gotten so beat up.
“Animal attack?” she asked as she opened her kitchen door, allowing Connor to file in. “Lay him down on the kitchen table.” Unceremoniously, Connor shoved aside the vase of flowers adorning the table, grunting as he did his best to lay the man down carefully. The man moaned as he sprawled on the table, with Connor running around to tuck his limbs in.
“Yes,” he said angrily, growling. Sam nearly jerked at Connor’s growl but forced herself to focus instead of replaying old memories. “Well, no, actually, not exactly...it’s complicated.”
“If I can know how exactly he was attacked, I can get a better idea of what might have happened to him, Connor,” Sam said in full doctor mode. Running over to her sink
, where she kept a box of gloves ready in case of something unexpected like this, she pulled out a pair and darted back over. Leaning in to inspect the man’s abdomen, she finally noticed how he as naked, with strips of cloth clinging to parts of his chest. She didn’t bother getting embarrassed. Letting her eyes and fingers run over his chest and abs, she frowned at the many cuts. “Dozens of lacerations…” she said. “Seemingly hundreds of bruises and welts.” Poking one of the welts caused the man to moan again, his voice thick yet very animal-like. “If I had to guess at a glance, I’d say this man was mauled by some animal…like maybe a bear or wolf.”
Connor froze, scratching his chin. “He was attacked by a group of jackasses, a rival gang,” he said, almost robotically. “They pinned him down and tortured him. Didn’t show any mercy. The only reason they didn’t kill him was because they meant to send a message to us…” Connor trailed off, speaking to himself. “Those damn animals! I should have gone with…”
Nudging Connor out of the way, Sam frowned. “Are you sure an animal didn’t get to him? These deep cuts look like claw marks...and some even look like a wolf bit down on his skin.” She pointed her pinky along his bicep. “Look here; no human could have nails to match a clawing like this so perfectly.”
“I’m sure it was people who did this...though they don’t deserve to be called human beings,” Connor said. “I bet they made it look like an animal attack to throw people off. To throw us all off.”
Sam wanted to punch him. Really? Could people really make these animalistic wounds so easily? The bruises could have been from anything, sure, but the cuts definitely matched what she’d studied up on in medical school.