Returned

by Samantha Stone

  Check inside, assholes. I already started to help while Witchy Wolf was bent on destroying important stuff.

  They were quick to get inside, with Heath making it to the door first. Electricity zapped his hand on the doorknob, and he cursed loud enough to make Alex’s ears ring.

  “How are you a warlock, Alex?” Heath shook his offended hand furiously, then balled his fingers into a fist. “If that prick didn’t do something really helpful, I’m going to kill him.”

  The next time they tried the door, Alex offering to sacrifice his hand this time, nothing happened. No more surprises met them inside, which was also almost exactly like the preexisting house. They found what they wanted on the kitchen table: a book sitting next to a sleek silver laptop.

  Alex took the book while Heath grabbed the machine.

  Bound in black leather, it was a square about a foot long. Opening it revealed all of the pictures he hadn’t considered during his outburst. Leila would’ve wanted these—they were her family, whether she ever knew them or not. The pages brought the same fury he’d felt earlier. It grew inside him, building until he wanted to see nothing but the destruction of these killers, those who’d hurt Leila, again and again.

  As he went through the album, he noticed the pictures were becoming brighter. The children grew older. He hadn’t seen these before—they weren’t on the walls, or framed on tables. Brendon must have used a spell to gather all the photographs in the house; even the ones not displayed anywhere.

  Why had a group of hitmen kept the pictures of the family they killed? Why would they need a reminder of their sins?

  It didn’t make any sense. The photos were well kept. There were no bends or breaks, no stains or burns. Someone had carefully gathered these and stored them somewhere safe. But why?

  Finally, he reached the end of the album. By then, the pictures appeared to have been taken in the early nineties, judging from a shirt the mother wore that read, Librarians of Louisiana Conference ’93: Discovery Through Books!

  Under the last picture, in which the children appeared to be in their early teens, all skinny legs and elbows lovingly wrapped around their parents, was another photo where even more adults grinned at the camera. The mother hugged a woman who looked just like her—and Leila. They were obviously sisters. The two men stood behind their wives. With their identical green eyes, Mary favored their father despite having their mother’s ice-blonde hair.

  In the picture, Mary and Leila were held by the older children, one of whom held a wailing baby Leila as far away as she could, as if afraid Leila would bite, while her sister cuddled older Mary to her chest as toddler and teenager grinned in unison.

  The picture brought pain to Alex’s eyes that certainly couldn’t be tears. Except that familiar, seizing grief couldn’t be mistaken. Seeing Leila’s family brought forth a mental picture of his own family, also gone because of nothing more than senseless violence. Clearing his throat roughly, he blinked at the happy family until the blur over his vision faded to clarity…and then had a realization.

  What if this family was alive somewhere?

  Mary and Leila’s mother had to have died before somehow, to have been permanently killed by the hitmen. That didn’t mean this mother hadn’t come back, or that her daughters hadn’t either. The only person probably still dead was the father, likely a mere human who couldn’t come back an immortal after death like banshees, or take a bullet wound almost everywhere but the head and survive like a werewolf.

  As soon as Leila was safe, both from her conniving senator uncle and the float, he would find the rest of her family. While the pack was a fantastic family Alex had been proud to be a part of—and might be a part of again by some miracle, it seemed—it wasn’t her blood. She deserved as much love as she could have, and Alex would give it to her. She can’t have her parents back, but part of her mother was in her sister. He’d seen it. Part of that woman, the mother in the pictures, had surely died when Leila’s mother had.

  “This is great.”

  Alex had become so engrossed in the photo album Brendon must have magically put together that he’d completely forgotten the laptop the warlock had left for them. Sitting at the counter to his right, Heath scrolled rapidly, a mad grin covering his face.

  Glancing at the screen told Alex that the files Brendon saved were great.

  Names, photographs, addresses, and social security numbers lined about ten pages’ worth of the program Heath looked at.

  “Are those—” Alex started.

  “Oh yes,” Heath answered.

  Hitmen. Everything they needed to know about these hitmen and women. Now, it would be easy to bring them down. The entire operation was in their hands; with a few clicks, Heath showed him the same information for those they’d been assigned to kill, with notes from the senator attached. Of course, there were no damning signatures or details to give him away, but the man had said who paid him before Leila killed him, saving him from the gruesome death Alex had planned.

  The death he’d deserved.

  “We need to turn this over to the shapeshifters,” Alex said. Most of the panther shapeshifters in the city were police officers. Their position helped them keep human attention away from creatures while protecting those too weak to protect themselves. It was also one of the reasons the New Orleans Police Department was known for being so good. He had no doubt that within days they’d have every one of these human monsters behind bars.

  Leila would be safe.

  Not completely. As long as Senator Murphy was out there with the resources to have Leila hurt, she wouldn’t be. There would always be more guns for hire, just as there would always be politicians willing to do anything to stay in power.

  “I’ll get it to them.” Because of their position, Heath and Sophia had more dealings with the police than anyone else in the pack save Aiyanna, who was a shapeshifter like them.

  Barely able to keep himself from digging his nails into the tile countertop, Alex clenched his hands into fists. “This isn’t over until that senator is dead.”

  “Then we kill him.” Heath shrugged, as if the decision were simple.

  Alex nodded his agreement. For once, it was simple. There was no gray area here, no need for greater consideration. This man murdered dozens of people as if their lives were worth less than the tallies marking his votes. To Alex, there was no room in the world for those kinds of monsters, humans, or creatures who valued life so little that not even children were safe.

  “Do we have an understanding?” Heath asked, his expression unreadable. On the closed laptop, the eye on the back of his hand watched Alex through slitted lids, anticipating his answer.

  The other werewolf wasn’t talking about Leila’s situation, or the problems brought on by the warlocks. He meant the complications Alex had brought upon himself and the pack by choosing to become a warlock, then a werewolf. Oh and then losing his memories, gaining them back and leaving the pack high and dry when the warlocks threatened them. Those complications.

  I’m damned lucky they still want me. If they had any sense at all, Raphael, Heath and Sophia would ban him from the city and kill him for so much as looking at Leila. For all Alex knew, Raphael had done as much, but Heath merely disagreed. Basically an Alpha himself without the urge to actually be Alpha, Heath didn’t take orders well. Alex distinctly remembered the other were murmuring, “Respect my authorit-ay,” under his breath during a pack meeting back in October, pronouncing the last word like a certain South Park character and causing Alex and Sebastian to burst into laughter. It earned them an I’ll-kill-you glare from Raphael that made them laugh harder.

  They respected the hell out of Raphael, but after the decades in which they really had no Alpha, but a lupus dux who treated them like the worst of criminals, it was an adjustment to have one of their own, a fellow convict, leading them.

  Alex held out his hand, hoping their Alpha wouldn’t have a fit over what he was about to do.


  “Yes. Pack above all.” Even when he resigned himself to a life as a warlock, that hadn’t changed. He hadn’t allowed the float to attack the pack again, never intended to allow any battles to take place between the two sects. He only warned that something was coming in case the float acted without his knowledge—and with a group as unpredictable as they, it was an absolute possibility.

  The true reason the werewolves were left alone was because of the master plan—they’d be killed soon, so why risk warlock lives on those who would be dead anyway?

  Never would he step aside to let any creature or human hurt those he cared about, and that included the entirety of the pack and above all, Leila.

  Heath shook his hand, and Alex bared the back of his neck in a sign of trust, just as he would have to do for Raphael when he next saw the Alpha. Apparently, it was good enough for the Head Soldier. When Alex clasped his hand, he took them both back to the kitchen in the firehouse, where feminine shouts could be heard.

  Leila had more control than she’d ever given herself credit for. Her angry voice set his teeth on edge and made him extremely uncomfortable, like nails on a chalkboard. It was probably her intent. She accomplished all of this without causing him any real pain, showing an incredible level of control over her powers.

  Those lessons she’d taken with Birgitte had worked better than anyone had hoped for.

  “They’re in a house where hitmen live and work, and a warlock showed up! If you don’t send reinforcements, I will go over there myself!” Leila was in a nearby room. He heard something break without seeing the projectile. “If you dare try to stop me, Cael, I’ll—”

  “Leila!” Alex shouted over her, hoping she’d hear him before attacking poor Cael. As much as seeing her kick the other man’s ass would have amused him, Alex was grateful Cael had kept her out of harm’s way.

  Impressively, she managed to run into the kitchen, smiling with tears streaming down her face, before the other weres had a chance to step over the doorway. Fury covered Cael and Raphael’s faces as Leila leaped into Alex’s arms with the practice of a woman used to flying and being caught.

  Having thrown the album on the counter, Alex held her, rubbing soothing circles into her back as she sobbed into his neck. Her hot tears running onto his chest made his own damn eyes sting, again, but he kept his composure as the two angry werewolves swarmed them, eyes flitting to the color of their wolves’, their claws releasing. Heath and Sebastian seemed completely relaxed where they leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over their chests.

  Raphael, it appeared, was ready to jerk Leila from his hold. Alex sincerely hoped the Alpha didn’t attempt as much because he was fairly certain his reaction would be every bit as uncontrolled as it had been back at that house.

  And throwing Leila’s brother-in-law into the center of the Earth probably wasn’t a move she’d appreciate.

  “He’s back with us, men,” Heath drawled. If Alex hadn’t been watching him, he wouldn’t have noticed the quick fist-bump Sebastian and Heath exchanged.

  To Alex’s surprise, Raphael inclined his head. It wasn’t enough to bare his neck—that wasn’t something Alphas ever had to do—but it was an accepting gesture all the same. After watching Alex and the others for a moment through narrowed eyes, Cael mimicked Raphael.

  It meant he was officially back in the pack. Even more importantly, it meant no one planned to separate him from Leila.

  “I need to inform the Elders,” Raphael murmured, as if to himself. Before the Alpha turned to leave, Alex turned his neck so the back was visible to Raphael, which was slightly more difficult than usual with Leila still clinging to him, crying quietly now with her legs wrapped around his waist.

  The Alpha gave him the barest hint of a smile before leaving; although, his eyes were on Leila. The rest of the pack followed, Heath clutching the laptop and calling for Sophia as he went. Alone now, Alex gently set Leila on the counter where her back was braced with cabinets. As tenderly as he could, he wiped her tears away with the pad of his thumb. Footsteps sounded behind him, but he paid them no heed. Leila was his focus now.

  “They were my family,” Leila cried. She shook her head violently. “And he is family too—and what he’s done…” she broke off into tears again, leaving Alex at a loss for words.

  “Move.”

  He was roughly shoved aside by someone less than half his size, but at this moment, he realized with a shock, could probably take him on and win.

  Mary’s emerald eyes blazed as she held her sister close, tears streaming down her face over smudges of red, blue, and purple. She must have been painting when Raphael told her to come. Now Raphael stood, expression grim, far enough away to watch without getting in the way. Seeing this as a wise decision, Alex took a position next to him.

  “You’ll want to look at that album,” he told them.

  Both sisters looked up, puzzled, but Mary was close enough to the book to grab it and hold it between them. For the next hour they looked through the pictures, the tears flowing but at a reduced pace, until they reached the image where the entire family was together.

  As they spoke in voices both awed and saddened, Alex leaned toward Raphael.

  “I think they’re alive—the women, at least.” He spoke so low Leila and Mary couldn’t hear him. He had no intention of mentioning his hunch before he was positive he was right. To give them hope and yank it away was the worst thing he could do for the sisters right now.

  By the time he finished filling Raphael in on his plans, the other were made it clear he supported the search and agreed to alert the Elders so they could put out feelers of their own for the banshees.

  Raphael, Alex noticed, watched the women with the same wonder that he did. He met the other man’s dark eyes. Neither of them had had a real family in so long that they couldn’t remember what it was like to have that kind of love. Now, they were so close to such a thing, connected to it by these two amazing women, and neither he nor Raphael knew how to handle it.

  If Leila did become his mate, he would have a family.

  That idea struck him in the chest, hard, making it slightly difficult for him to breathe. All at the same time, he felt joy, apprehension, and most of all a fierce sense of protectiveness that was almost all-encompassing. It was as if he could go Hulk-fierce at any moment, becoming a mindless beast with no goal except to destroy anything that intended to harm Leila or his new family.

  His breathing shallow, he realized he’d never been more happy or terrified in his life.

  Chapter 10

  “THEY’RE all being arrested, sir.”

  Newt Cunningham simply wanted a job after he graduated law school. He’d received two offers: one to work for Senator Murphy, and another to bag groceries at Rouses. Out of pride, he took the one where he could use his hard-won degree.

  He would’ve been paid more at Rouses.

  More importantly, he wouldn’t be scared for his life in the other, more relaxed setting. Senator Murphy prowled his office like something from Animal Planet, squeezing his stress ball hard enough for it to strain. It would burst, releasing its powdered contents, and Newt would be expected to clean up the mess. He swallowed his sigh before he showed his discontent and really set his boss off.

  I’ll never be an intern again. Ever.

  “Are you sure? They’re trained professionals; surely a few of them can outsmart a bunch of cops.” Rodney Murphy spat his words, as if the police were the type of idiots who slipped on banana peels and landed into cream pies. Newt had always feared cops, if he were honest. The one time he’d been pulled over he cried, and he was pretty sure that officer pitied him. A fully-grown man.

  Nodding, Newt scrolled through his messages. They were sent from the private investigators hired to watch the hitmen. The senator liked to know exactly what he paid for, and at the expense of a dozen PIs, he had tabs on virtually everyone on his payroll. Even Newt, although it was something he t
ried not to think about on those blue moons when he had a night to himself where he could sit alone at his house and watch television.

  He shouldn’t have come to the senator with this information. But what choice did he have? His sole job that week had been to screen the information sent by the investigators, setting aside anything of import or anything involving Murphy’s wife.

  Oh yeah, she was followed too. Not that she did anything except get her hair done, shop, and lunch.

  About ten minutes ago, the e-mails coming in from the private eyes increased exponentially, as did the numbers of calls and messages meant for the senator. From Newt’s count, every single hitman would now be a lot easier to track because they weren’t going anywhere for a very long time.

  “I’m sure, sir.”

  “Incompetence,” Murphy growled, a burst of white powder puffing up from his hand. “Give me the pictures. I want to see for myself.”

  After a second of fumbling with the cardstock images he’d printed the moment they were sent in—Murphy preferred paper everything rather than digital—Newt was able to hand them over. Murphy curled his lip as he took the pages.

  For some reason, Newt’s hands didn’t work quite right when he was around the big blond, blustering man. Senator Murphy always appeared calm in the media, which was what mislead Newt until he got into his job here as an intern, but the man was rarely calm or happy.

  Angry was his usual state, and now he was furious, red blossoming on his cheeks, spreading to his ears and neck. Had Murphy’s eyes changed color? No.

  The senator slammed the stack of papers down, sending about half of them flying onto the pristine tile floor of his top-level office. They spread from landing a foot away from Newt to sliding under the door, but Murphy didn’t seem to notice. His hands and eyes were on one thing—a photograph of a beautiful, very light-haired woman walking next to a tall man with curly blond hair. They were on the sidewalk headed for the front door of the house where the hitmen operated.