by Lynn Hagen
Darren didn’t need the reminder. He had been right there when Demonian had scraped a tooth across Mitch’s arm. He had seen the pain his boss had gone through and the fight to live through it.
“Demonian had told Mitch there had been a reason he had gone to that house. Why do you think that is?”
Moose scooped a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. The scent of chocolate filled Darren’s nostrils. “Again, you’re asking the wrong guy. Why are we trying to figure out a hellhound’s motive? Do they ever really have one? They were born evil and inflict that evilness on the world.”
Darren wrinkled his nose. “Why are you eating right out of the container? That’s gross. Please don’t tell me you’re putting it back in the freezer.”
With his spoon, Moose pointed at the ice cream. “There won’t be anything left to put back once I’m done with it.”
When they heard a vehicle approach, Darren jumped from the recliner and Moose rose from the couch. Mitch’s cabin was tucked far enough back in the woods that they shouldn’t hear traffic on the road.
Someone was here.
“Not a moment’s fucking peace,” Moose growled. He set the container of ice cream on the coffee table, used the remote to turn the television off, and grabbed his weapon from its shoulder holster.
“They better be friendly because I’ve had a long goddamn day.” Darren pulled his gun from its holster at his waist and moved toward the front door. Whoever it was hadn’t used headlights, or he would’ve seen them splash across the room. It was after midnight. Too late for visitors.
They pressed their backs against the wall on either side of the door. Darren moved the curtains aside just enough to peek out the window.
Mitch needed to get security lights. It was pitch-black outside, and all Darren could make out was a tall silhouette. It would have been nice to know who and what they were up against.
“I don’t think Demonian would drive here,” Moose whispered.
“Me, either.” Keeping his gun in one hand, Darren opened the door then raised his weapon. “Announce yourself.”
A low, rumbling growl met him. “Lower your weapon.”
Darren furrowed his brows. “Sheriff?”
Sheriff Werth stepped into the cabin, his strides long and confident. “I’m here to check on Pat.”
Moose closed the door and turned to face the sheriff. Now that they stood so close to one another, Darren saw that Moose was a good two or three inches taller than the wolf shifter. They made for one scary sight.
“He’s asleep,” Moose said. “Why didn’t you call before you came?”
“Suppose I should have.” Werth removed his hat and ran a hand over his hair. “Pat is family. He’s been working at the station for a lot of years, and I wanted to make sure he was okay.”
“Why didn’t you check on him before?” Darren holstered his gun.
“Because you guys were moving around too much,” Werth answered, “and no one was telling where you were.”
“They’re fine.” Moose moved back to the couch and grabbed his container before taking a seat. “They’re sleeping.”
“This visit couldn’t wait until morning?” Darren asked.
“And risk them being moved again?” Werth looked around the room. “Can you wake Pat? I just want to talk to him, to see for my own eyes that he’s fine.”
Darren cut his gaze to Moose, who had already stood back up and set his ice cream aside. He was so glad the two thought so much alike. Or maybe it had been the dozens of missions they’d gone on together that they knew what the other was thinking.
Something was way off. He didn’t know Sheriff Werth well enough. But from what he had heard, and learned, the sheriff wouldn’t risk Pat’s safety by coming out there just to “check” on him.
“Tell me who you are before I blow your head off.”
Darren whipped around to find Mitch standing in the bedroom doorway, his gun aimed at the sheriff. Pat was nowhere in sight. No doubt he had been hidden in the closet or under the bed.
Darren and Moose drew their weapons, too.
Sheriff Werth smirked as a glint of dark humor entered his eyes. “Caught me, boys.”
“You’re not the sheriff,” Mitch said. “Who the fuck are you?”
“It’s obvious,” Moose said. “He’s a shapeshifter.”
“A chameleon?” Darren’s brows shot up. He had heard chameleon shifters existed, but he had never met one. Not that he knew of since they could shapeshift into anyone they came into contact with.
“Moose, call the sheriff and make sure he’s okay,” Mitch said, as if reading Darren’s mind. Chameleon shifters normally killed the person they were impersonating.
“On it.” Moose pulled his cell out and dialed as Mitch grew closer to the imposter. He pressed the barrel against the back of the guy’s skull.
“Why’d you come here?” Mitch asked.
Darren wished the shapeshifter had impersonated someone smaller. It was like looking up at a mountain of muscles. Or Moose. As badass as Darren considered himself to be, he had never wanted to go against his teammate. If Moose ever turned, like Holbrook had, it would be a fight to the death to take him down.
Thank fuck Moose was a big soft marshmallow on the inside.
“I got paid to do a job,” the imposter said. “Guess I failed.”
“Who paid you?” Mitch snarled.
“He was adamant about seeing Pat,” Darren said.
Both Darren and Mitch had to take a step back when the imposter moved to the side. He was a big son of a bitch, and Darren wanted to give himself room if a fight broke out.
Moose joined them and gave the stranger a steely-eyed gaze that made most men wet themselves. “I wouldn’t advise making a move.”
No one had ever seen the original form of a shapeshifter, so Darren had no idea of the guy’s true size. For all he knew, they could be dealing with a twink. But he wasn’t going to take a chance that the imposter was really weak under all those muscles.
“Five seconds to answer me or I’m putting a hole in your head,” Mitch said. “Who paid you?”
For the first time since stepping into the cabin, the stranger appeared scared. “I’m more afraid of him than you guys. You might as well kill me because I’m not gonna talk.”
“Sheriff Werth is fine,” Moose said. “He took a hit over the head, which knocked him out, but Deputy Sloane told me he’ll make it.”
The stranger curled his lip at Moose. “I’m not a cop killer. Not all shapeshifters are bad. I just needed the cash.”
“That doesn’t make you a good guy,” Darren said. “It just makes you an idiot.”
“I say we hand him over to the real sheriff,” Moose said. “Let Werth get his revenge.”
Mitch shook his head. “There’s been enough revenge going around lately.”
Moose cracked his knuckles. “Then can I have him? I need an outlet for all this pent-up energy.”
“You can do what you want with him just as soon as he tells us who paid him,” Mitch said.
The imposter shook his head. “Ain’t gonna happen.”
Mitch tucked his gun into the waistband of his pants. “We’ll see about that.”
* * * *
The irony wasn’t lost on Pat as he hid in the bedroom closet. Not too long ago he had been on the phone with Werth’s mate. Newt had called the cops and had hidden in a closet while some thugs had invaded his home. It had been Werth who had found Newt and coaxed him from the closet.
Now it was Werth standing in the open area of the living room while Pat hid in a closet. Only it wasn’t Werth from what Pat could hear.
Too bad Pat didn’t have anyone on the other end of his phone talking calmly to him, telling him everything would be okay. He simply sat there with his arms curled around his bent legs, praying this was over soon.
He wasn’t sure how much more of this situation he could take. If Demonian had walked away, threatening them if they followed, tha
t meant the hellhound was done with them. Right?
If that were true, who had paid the shapeshifter to come after him?
Pat had dreamed of finding his mate, but why couldn’t he and Mitch have met after Mitch and his men had dealt with the hellhounds?
Being in constant danger was getting on Pat’s last nerve.
He eased the closet door open and peeked into the bedroom to make sure it was empty. Mitch and the others had the imposter neutralized, which meant Pat didn’t have to stay hidden in the closet.
He could stay hidden in the bedroom. Besides, it was easier to eavesdrop while sitting on the bed.
Wait until he saw Maltese again. Pat had some stories to tell his friend. The demon who worked at the station would flip his lid when he found out everything Pat had been through.
Stop thinking about gossiping. Pat rubbed a hand over his face. Now wasn’t the time. He snapped his head up when he heard a loud scream.
They were interrogating the shapeshifter, and it sounded as though they were using extreme measures. Pat pressed his hands over his ears when another, louder, scream filled the air.
He jumped from the bed and paced as his gaze flickered to the door. He needed to take his mind off what was going on in the other room.
Pat went back to the closet, closed the door, and pulled out his cell phone. He dialed Zack, praying his brother answered. He needed to find out if Zack was all right, but the call went to voice mail.
Of course it did. It was after midnight, and Zack was probably asleep.
If he was alive.
Pat still didn’t know what had happened at that restaurant, and it was driving him crazy to find out. He would have called his mom to check on her, but it was late, and he didn’t want to wake and worry her.
After leaving the closet, Pat dressed. If anything went down, he didn’t want to have to run in his underwear.
He whipped around when he felt the displaced air behind him. Before Pat could scream, a hand clamped over his mouth.
“The others are busy. We wouldn’t want to interrupt them,” Syphon said. “Be a good little fox and come quietly, or I’ll rip your fucking throat out.”
He grabbed Pat and walked to the door before shutting the lights off. The room was bathed in darkness as Syphon moved backward. Pat suddenly felt himself falling. He screamed behind the hellhound’s hand before the falling sensation subsided.
They were in the middle of the field, the moon glowing above them. A soft wind ruffled Pat’s hair as he squinted to see the distant lights of a town. He couldn’t be sure it was Brac Village. They were too far away to tell.
Pat glanced around and saw a small shack not ten feet from them. He hadn’t the first clue where they were. The shack looked abandoned, weeds growing all around it from years of neglect, but surprisingly, the windows were still intact. He couldn’t say the same for the roof. From what he could see, a few shingles were missing and the wood of the eaves looked like it had suffered dry rot.
“I’m sorry, but this is the only way.” Syphon pulled him to the shack. The steps looked as though they would fall apart at any second as Syphon dragged him inside.
To Pat’s amazement, the inside of the shack was clean. There was a table and chair off in one corner and a shelf to his left, which was littered with old rusted tools and glass jars holding nails and other odds and ends.
“The only way for what?” Pat asked. He stayed by the door, ready to bolt the first chance he had.
Syphon shoved Pat toward the table and chair. Afraid the hellhound would hurt him, Pat sat.
“This isn’t who I am,” Syphon said. “But you guys have left me no choice.”
“No choice about what?” Pat forced himself not to cry. He reminded himself that being near a hellhound zapped all happy feelings. But even knowing that, Pat felt as though his entire world was ending—that he had never see Mitch again, that he would never smile again or laugh or gossip with his friends or be held by his mate as Mitch made love to him.
His chest felt heavy as he wiped at his eyes.
Syphon hunched down in front of Pat. “I’m truly sorry, little fox. But Demonian will never let this revenge go so we can live our lives if you and the others still breathe.”
“Me?” Pat dropped his hands into his lap. “But I wasn’t part of the takedown.”
“No, but you’re still a vital part of this.” Syphon stood. “You’re Mitch’s mate, which means you die first so Mitch can feel the pain of loss, feel what he almost made me feel. Then I’ll kill him and his men so Demonian can move on.”
Pat cocked his head to the side and used his calming, soothing voice when he spoke. “Why are you apologizing? Hellhounds don’t apologize for being evil.”
Syphon leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “Let me tell you a little story so you can better understand we’re not like the rest. And when I’m done, you’ll see why you guys have to die.”
Chapter Nine
Mitch removed his claws from the shapeshifter’s side and wiped the blood that clung to them on his jean-clad thigh. He was sick and tired of the threat hanging over their heads, sick and tired of being punished for doing his job.
A job he had been paid handsomely for.
A job that should have been easy to finish.
But there was nothing easy about Demonian and Syphon, and Mitch was still enraged that he hadn’t been told the two were firstborns. That would have been nice to know before they had gone after Demonian.
The imposter panted heavy, sweat gathered over his brows and upper lip as he closed his eyes and lowered his head. “I c-can’t tell you.”
“Let me try this.” Moose hunched down in front of the stranger. “Hey, open your eyes.”
The guy did as Moose asked.
“We’re not gaining any pleasure from hurting you. I swear we’re not.” He chucked his thumb over his shoulder. “This guy here, he’s just trying to protect his mate. You know how precious a mate is, right?”
The stranger nodded.
“What would you do to protect yours?”
“I don’t have one,” the guy said with a note of sadness in his voice.
“Neither do I,” Moose replied. “But I can tell you that I’d scorch the planet to keep mine safe. Mitch isn’t going to stop interrogating you until he finds out who wants to hurt his mate. Please tell him.”
Mitch’s brows slightly rose. Moose had never said please to a thug they were interrogating. He usually used sheer muscle and a lot of pain to get results.
Mitch was also bothered by the fact that the shapeshifter looked like Sheriff Werth. It felt as though he was hurting a friend, and that didn't sit well with him.
“I-I didn’t know the guy was your mate.” The stranger looked up at Mitch with beseeching eyes. “I promise. But I needed the cash.”
“And we can protect you,” Mitch said. “But you have to tell us who we’re protecting you from.”
The guy shook his head. “No one can protect me from him.”
“Demonian or Syphon?” Mitch asked.
“Who?” The shapeshifter lowered his brows. “I don’t know who those men are.”
Now it was Mitch’s turn to be confused. He would have bet his life that one of the hellhounds had paid this guy to kidnap, or kill, Pat. Mitch would have liked to have said he had no other enemies besides those two, but he had been on too many missions, taken down the scum of the earth, and there was no telling if one of their family members, a mate, or a business associate was out for revenge.
The list of people who might want him dead was too fucking long for Mitch to figure out who was behind this. He needed an answer, and fast. Time was running out. If the culprit found out the shapeshifter had failed, he, or she, would send someone else to finish the job.
“You don’t want him to continue.” Moose’s calm voice brought Mitch back to the here and now. “Because if Mitch doesn’t break you, I will, and that’s something I don’t want to do. You just got mixed u
p with the wrong guys. You can still walk away from this with all your body parts intact.”
Darren stood across the room, studying them, his arms crossed and his gun still gripped in his right hand.
It was never good when the coyote shifter went quiet. If Mitch knew Darren, and he did, the guy was contemplating how to break the imposter.
Which would involve a lot of blood and a hell of a lot of screaming.
But Moose was right. The shapeshifter had gotten caught up in this simply because he needed the money. Still, he had been after Pat, and Mitch would break the fucker.
Mitch walked behind the kitchen chair that the imposter was bound to. He gripped the man’s shoulder and squeezed and then bent so he could whisper into his ear. “How about this? What if I let the Ultionem know that you’re interfering with a mating? Pat and I haven’t been together long, and this is still our honeymoon period. What do you think they’ll do? How do you think they will punish you? Maybe some time in the underworld? Does that sound better than telling us a name?”
The stranger shook in his seat. Mitch smelled the sweat covering the man’s body. He had the shapeshifter right where he wanted him. He just had to press even harder.
“Fine, don’t talk. I’ll make the phone call, and you’ll be doing time in a place that makes you relive your worst nightmares over and over again.”
Mitch pulled out his phone.
“Wait!” The guy’s breathing became shallow and choppy. “You can protect me?”
“You have our word,” Moose said.
“His name is Holbrook.”
Mitch snarled as he yanked the bastard’s head back by his hair. “Holbrook is dead. Try again.”
“No!” The guy shook his head as he struggled with his restraints. “He was badly wounded, and nearly died, but he survived.”
That was bullshit. Mitch had gunned Holbrook down. He had seen the traitor crumple to the ground. He had checked the guy’s pulse. There hadn’t been one. “Liar.”