Kin Selection (A Shifter’s Claim Book 1)

by L. B. Gilbert

  Her mouth was tight. Every few minutes, she flinched as the car went over a stone or a pothole.

  “It’s not going to work,” he warned, wishing she would sit up and open her eyes.

  As much as he wanted to believe his captive was faking, he was starting to suspect there was something wrong. Denise was too much of a softie to ignore a pup. But she wasn’t petting him or cuddling Oliver anymore, despite his repeated whines.

  “Denise.”

  She didn’t move.

  “Denise.”

  Her lids cracked, but her gaze was bleary and unfocused.

  “Are you okay?”

  Denise hung her head and closed her eyes again. He swore and looked at the road ahead. Noting a sign for a rest stop ahead, he drove until he could get off the exit. After pulling the Jeep into an isolated corner of the lot, he got out.

  Cautiously, he stepped around and opened the car door, making sure to stay out of range of any kicking feet. She could only play that card with him once. This time, he was ready for her tricks…except no little foot came flying at his face.

  He reached in to put his hand on Denise’s cheek. No fever.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, giving her a little shake.

  Denise’s face immediately crumpled. She leaned over to one side and heaved, splattering vomit on the edge of the doorframe.

  “Shit.” After cutting the zip ties, Yogi unbuckled her, pulling her out of the car and laying her on the grass underneath a tree. The pup followed, pacing in front of Denise in a nervous circle.

  Yogi cleaned her up with a crumbled paper napkin he found in his pocket. “It’s going to be okay,” he assured them, but he didn’t know who he was kidding.

  What the hell was wrong with her?

  Denise mumbled something. He leaned down to catch her words, but she wasn’t coherent enough for him to make them out.

  “Are you sick?”

  Nothing about her smelled of illness—aside from the vomit. But there was no hint of anything seriously wrong. His kind could pick up diabetes and even trace amounts of cancer, but whatever this was, it had no scent signature. All he could tell was that she was in pain.

  “Migraine,” she whispered.

  Yogi relaxed. “Is that all?”

  A micro-expression of annoyance tightened Denise’s eyes, but even that seemed to hurt her. She covered them with her hand and groaned.

  “I didn’t mean it like that. But it’s just a headache. A bad one, sure, but you’ll be fine soon.”

  “Die a horrible bloody death,” she whispered.

  Okay, maybe that wasn’t as comforting to her as it was to him. Werewolves didn’t get headaches. Not unless they’d been bashed in the skull with something, which was more common than one would think. But he was genuinely relieved there was nothing serious wrong. Although…

  “Fuck.” They couldn’t continue driving. Not if every pothole hurt her. And spontaneous vomiting probably meant the pain was intense.

  Yogi exhaled and rocked on his heels, accepting the inevitable delay. They would have to find a hotel or cabin somewhere off the beaten track and wait until she got better. And he would have to find a pharmacy or something. Denise needed drugs.

  The sooner he got her back on her feet, the sooner he could wash his hands of her and the kid.

  “No offense,” he muttered as he picked up his limp captive. But this was already more human interaction than he’d signed up for.

  Undoing the car seat with one hand, he threw it in the back. He laid Denise across the length of the backseat, taking care not to jostle her head too much. Oliver jumped inside and onto her stomach.

  “Sorry, kid, but you should stay off for now. She’s not feeling well.” He set Oliver on the floor and closed the door.

  Yogi leaned on the hood and texted a few pack members, including the chief, to update them and ask for a place to stay. A few minutes later, he had the address of a no-name boarding house that was currently closed for the season. One of the pack’s members was an investor, so he knew where the key was hidden.

  It was a short drive away. Within fifteen minutes, he was at the apex of a circular drive in front of a sprawling Victorian.

  Yogi studied the classic dormer windows of the old house, surprised to find such a structure plunked in the middle of the woods. The brief text forwarded by his pack mate hadn’t given any details beyond the address and location of the key, but he imagined this house had an interesting history.

  Leaving Denise to rest, he explored the Victorian with Oliver at his side. The dust in the living room wasn’t terrible, but it was enough to make him and the cub sneeze. Luckily, the bedrooms off the central living room were in much better shape.

  The house needed a little work, but it had good bones. Despite the fussiness of the gingerbread molding, Yogi really liked the old pile. It looked like a friendlier version of the Psycho house. He’d fantasized about living in it as a child—minus Anthony Perkins, of course.

  After changing the linens, he dropped a glowering, but silent Denise on top of the big California king in the master. Feeling guilty, he zip-tied her unresisting arms to the headboard.

  “I’m going to go get some food and something for your head,’ he said, motioning Oliver onto the bed so the cub could watch over Denise.

  “Get bent,” she rasped.

  “Yeah…that’s fair.”

  He patted Oliver. “Keep an eye on her. I’ll be back soon.”

  10

  Lifting the opiates had been way too easy. The mostly empty grocery store had an attached pharmacy with one young and overworked pharmacist and an obviously fake security camera. In what Yogi considered his only lucky break so far, the pharmacist happened to be single and interested. It had been simple to convince her to leave her post to go find him something from the front of the store.

  He managed to get behind the counter and grab the bottle of pills in less than a minute.

  Yogi didn’t know the names of specific migraine medications, so he stuck with the ones he’d seen mentioned on television. He shook a small number into his pocket and was back on the other side of the counter with seconds to spare.

  After picking out more provisions, he drove back to the boarding house just above the speed limit. Though it had been necessary, he felt crappy over leaving Denise alone for so long.

  Alone and tied up.

  He rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen his stiff neck muscles. Just get back and give her the pills. Once she’s able to walk again, take her to the Averys.

  The tightening in his throat was telling. He really didn’t like the idea of leaving her with Jessup. While he knew the Avery patriarch wasn’t the villainous bastard his father had always portrayed him to be, that didn’t mean he could be trusted to treat a prisoner right.

  Guest. She’ll be a guest.

  Damn. Even he didn’t believe that.

  I need to talk to Douglas.

  Yogi wouldn’t take Denise to Colorado until the chief himself assured her safety and comfort. That last was becoming increasingly important to him. And why wasn’t exactly a mystery.

  What wolf could resist a hellion with curves that didn’t quit?

  What he needed was to get away from Denise as quickly as possible. Instead, he was hurrying back like his pants were on fire. Maybe the chief could have someone else come pick up his charges now that he’d secured them?

  Except Yogi wouldn’t even suggest it. Douglas Maitland had stood by him and his siblings through their recent trouble. Yogi owed him his loyalty. This one favor wasn’t too much to ask, even if it was taxing his control.

  Ahead, the trees began to thin as the road widened around the boarding house. He parked the car and narrowed his eyes. Outwardly, there was nothing wrong, but his instincts were prodding him. Denise was loose, and Oliver was with her. He knew it in his bones.

  Yogi swore when he finally found the dynamic duo in the woods behind the Victorian. Denise had somehow managed to get t
he zips off again, but she hadn’t been feigning her illness. Incapable of walking, she had apparently stumbled and crawled out the back door, her furry accomplice at her side.

  Picking her up without a word, he dusted off her clothes and carried her to the bedroom.

  “I hope you learned your lesson,” he scolded Oliver, who was trotting at his heels. “She wasn’t ready for prison break part two.”

  The pup hung his head and whined.

  “Don’t yell at him,” Denise muttered.

  He frowned at her, taking a pill out of his pocket and placing it in her hand. “Sweetheart, I wasn’t yelling. Here. This should help.”

  “Don’t call me sweetheart,” she rasped. “What is it?”

  “Something you can’t get without a prescription. Are you going to take it or not?”

  Denise grimaced, but took the pill anyway. He fished a bottle of water out of a bag and put it to her lips.

  “There you go,” he said after she swallowed. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep? You can have something to eat after you wake up.”

  Her hot glare would have been intimidating if her eyes weren’t glazed over in pain. In a few minutes, she began to relax as the medication began to take effect.

  “You’re starting to look stoned,” he observed approvingly.

  “Not going to tie me up this time?” she asked.

  “No need. I’d catch you before you hit the door.”

  He smiled when she flipped him off. She’s feeling better.

  “C’mon, you,” he said, herding Oliver to the door. “You’re hanging with me from now on, you little traitor.”

  Oliver whined.

  “Don’t think I don’t know who cut those zip ties,” he told him. “I can see your teeth marks.”

  The cub yipped.

  “Excuses, excuses,” Yogi chided, closing the door so his “guest” could get some sleep.

  11

  Denise Hammond wasn’t rich. She was filthy rich.

  Curious to see if Denise had the means to bribe him, Yogi had gone through her belongings. He had found an old Virginia ID among several high-end fake ones, figuring that one had her real last name. And he’d been right.

  The pack’s resident IT wolf, a female named Jania, had done a thorough background check. She’d dug up an article with a picture of a much younger Denise and her parents—a notice that described how the prominent couple had died.

  Denise had only been sixteen.

  The Hammonds had left their substantial old-money fortune to their only child. Denise had no other close relatives. Rather than going into the rich people equivalent of foster care, she had elected to spend the last few years before her majority in boarding school. There was no mention of her in the press after that.

  Yogi didn’t know which was worse, knowing Denise was a multi-millionaire or that she was alone in the world. Aside from the unimpressive boyfriend—the one who had just texted her about arriving safely in Africa.

  He hadn’t liked doing it, but it had been necessary to reply as Denise—a brief and impersonal message wishing him a good trip. He had no idea why this Max character was halfway across the world, but he was obviously a terrible boyfriend. Look at what had happened to her since he’d left town—she’d gotten kidnapped.

  Ignoring the fact he was the kidnapper in question, he went to season the steaks and marinate the eggplant he’d sliced up for Denise. Afterward, he let Oliver out in the backyard to stretch his legs while he had a beer on the wrap-around porch.

  He liked that detail. It reminded him of the porch around the chief’s place in Colorado. This house didn’t have the same hum of activity, but it was more relaxing without it. There was even a stream burbling just a stone’s throw away.

  Yogi pivoted at the telltale click coming from the hallway, frowning. Not again. He crossed his arms, debating going to investigate.

  This time, the slight scratching sound was much closer. Denise had made it down the hall.

  Maybe I should have tied her to the bed again. She wasn’t going to feel any better if she didn’t get some sleep.

  Calling Oliver, he sighed and went to pick Denise up from the hall floor. She was too weak to do more than flick her thick lashes at him disdainfully.

  “Here, take another half a pill,” he said, slipping the medication under her tongue. “Then sleep. When you get up, we can eat.”

  12

  Denise bent over and put her eye to the keyhole. The only thing she could see was the dark oak paneling in the hallway. Keeping her balance was too much effort, so she knelt before falling over with a giggle.

  It felt like eons had passed since she’d last tried to make a break for it, but it had probably been less than an hour.

  Time to try again. Her head was feeling much better, although she still felt kind of loopy. Almost disembodied or drunk.

  Denise didn’t know what those pills were Yogi had given her, but it must have been the good stuff. She scrabbled to her knees, trying to get the doorknob to turn. It finally did on the third try. When she managed to get the door open, there was a tree wearing denim blocking her way.

  Irritated at having to squeeze between the doorway and the tree, she swore a blue streak, something that made the tree chuckle—up until it bent down to help her up.

  “Shit, sweetheart, you threw up again.”

  “Hmm.” She had no idea what the tree was talking about. It was warm, though. Her hands were cold, so she tried to cuddle against it.

  “Sorry, doll, under other circumstances, I would be all over that, but my kind have really sensitive noses.” The tree took hold of her shoulders and held her at arm’s length.

  Denise thought the tree was being too picky. “Can’t trust fucking Ents,” she muttered.

  “What did you call me?”

  “Probably in league with the Orcs,” she spat at him, finally recognizing the walking tree from her favorite Tolkien tale.

  Treebeard had betrayed the cause! If he had his way, he’d burn down the whole forest. I need to get wet or I’ll burn too.

  “I’m not going to burn anything, but maybe a shower would be a good idea. We can’t leave you covered in vomit. Oliver won’t get near you until you get cleaned up.”

  “I don’t smell bad,” she protested.

  “You do right now.”

  Denise’s face crumpled, and Treebeard looked panicked. “We just need to give you a quick wash. Oliver likes your natural scent.”

  “But you don’t?” She sniffed. Damn picky tree.

  “I like it a little too much,” he mumbled, steering her into the bathroom.

  “Of course you do. I have the best pheromones,” she said, fitting the tips of her thumb and forefinger together. They tingled in response.

  The tree scratched its head and turned on the shower before giving her a gentle shove toward the stream.

  She stared at the sparkly water. It shone like liquid gold against the sunlight that poured through the window.

  “Um…Denise?”

  She reached out to touch the water, but became distracted by how puffy her hand was. She waved it in front of her face, the faint glow at the edges flaring with her movement.

  Was that because she’d touched the water? Would it just make her sparkle or would it turn her completely to gold like King Midas?

  “Denise, are you going to get in the shower? If you are, you need to get undressed.”

  She tentatively reached out and poked the water. Just sparkly. That was a relief.

  “Do you need help?” The tree frowned and put his hands on his head, quickly moving them in front of his face when she splashed him.

  “We can play later when you’re sober. But first, you need to take that shirt off.”

  The gold light of the water had attracted fireflies. She didn’t know if they needed the water to recharge, but they were getting too close for comfort. Did the fireflies bite? Was that why they were so tiny, like little gnats?

  They start
ed buzzing in her face. She started swatting them away, but that just seemed to upset the tree because he grabbed her wrist.

  “You know we have to get rid of them. They could be bark beetles,” she told him. “You won’t like that—not when you’re all chewed up on the inside.”

  There was a deep sigh. “Okay, my eyes are closed now. I’m just getting you started by helping you take that shirt off. You can do the rest yourself.”

  Denise batted the annoying tree branch away, but it wouldn’t leave her alone until her top was snagged up and off her body.

  Treebeard’s eyes were squeezed shut. He looked ridiculous.

  “All right, that’s the most I can safely do and not feel like an asshole. Can you do the rest yourself?”

  “The rest of what?”

  “The rest of your clothes.”

  Denise looked down, surprised to find herself in only her bra. Ugh. Trees were pervs. “Get out!”

  The tree turned around. “I’ll keep my back turned, but I can’t leave you alone like this. You might fall down or drown.”

  Fine. It was just a tree anyway. Denise stripped and got under the waterfall. She splashed around, finding some soap. Convenient. She took advantage of her good fortune to wash up.

  She rubbed the soap up and down, enjoying the way the soap foamed over her dark skin.

  “Shiny,” she said, playing with the liquid gold and bubbles over her chest.

  In the distance, the tree groaned.

  Denise washed and played, glad it was warm out in the woods today. Except she was starting to get tired. Slumping over, she leaned against a wall she hadn’t noticed before.

  “Okay, I think you’re done. We’ve left Oliver alone too long.”

  Treebeard took a quick peek, long enough to turn off the water. When he tossed her a towel, it hit her in the face.

  So rude. Denise wrapped the towel around herself, but she was tired now. Yawning, she started to lie down.

  The chilly tiles stung where her skin was exposed, but she was far too exhausted to care.