by Celia Kyle
“What’s she look like?” He hoped a description would jog his memory.
“Tall, about five-ten, pretty brawny. Mixed race, if her warm, dusky skin that smells of vanilla lotion is any indication. Medium-length, curly black hair, but my guess is she keeps it pulled back most of the time. Dark brown eyes you kinda want to lose yourself in, when she isn’t giving you the look of death. Juicy ass and a nice, full set of—”
“I get the picture,” Zeke barked. The slightly lurid description didn’t match anyone he knew from Chloe’s life, which wasn’t a surprise. She’d kept to herself during college.
“I’m just saying it’s no surprise she drew some attention when she sauntered into The Lair,” Levi explained. “Reckon half the pack was panting after her.”
“So, what’s her story?” The headache surged behind Zeke’s eyes.
“No idea. She won’t talk until she gets in touch with Chloe.”
“Okay, so what do you suppose her story is?”
Levi took a moment to think, which was a nice change of pace. “Well, she’s obviously had some kind of training.”
“Training?”
“You know, the kind that turns a pretty little thing into a bad-ass bitch who can take on a wolf and win. I’d bet good money the guns up her sleeves are as impressive as the ones she’s got on her chest.”
Zeke winced at his enforcer’s distasteful words as he chewed on the rest of his report. It didn’t sit right with him. It didn’t sound right. He was no Don Draper wannabe like his father, but it was a proven fact that women were fragile creatures who didn’t go around kicking the asses of guys who bought them drinks. As Judge Judy liked to say, if it didn’t make sense, it probably wasn’t true. Plain and simple.
“Hang tight,” he told his enforcer. “I’m heading over.”
It wasn’t even ten minutes later that he opened the door to the Tremble police station, and then stopped dead in his tracks as a scent he never expected washed over him.
It was human.
It was female.
It was his mate.
At least, according to his wolf.
It mixed with the less-pleasant smells of sloppy drunks, piss, vomit and antiseptic, but his wolf’s reaction remained unmistakable and unwavering. His mate was somewhere in the station.
As much as he wanted to sprint through the place and track her down, he also had a pack situation to handle. Holding onto his last ounce of control with a death grip, he stepped inside and frowned at the sound of a dozen or so male voices chattering and shouting from the direction of the holding cells. The cacophony confused his already puzzled senses.
Movement to his left caught his attention. Trina, the pack healer, stood over a seated Newman. His head was tilted back while she held an ice pack to his face. She gave Zeke a nod of acknowledgment.
“How is he?”
“Busted nose and a concussion.” A sparkle of amusement glittered in her eyes.
Zeke stepped closer. “Evenin’, big guy. Heard you had some fun tonight.”
Newman raised his head miserably and Trina pulled away the ice pack to reveal the horror. His nose looked like raw hamburger and both of his eyes were already turning purple.
That’s when he spotted Newman’s other injury. “What the hell?”
He leaned in close for a better look, wondering what kind of weapon could cause such an unusual mark. Smack in the middle of the man’s forehead was a perfectly symmetrical, bright red circle.
Chapter Three
Perched on the hard metal bench that had probably seated thousands of petty thieves and rebellious youths over the years, Valerie sat slumped against the icy cold wall of her cell. She was both pleased and a little suspicious as to why she’d been given her own cell while the other two were jam-packed with twenty or so loud, inebriated men. All of them were looking to start fights and cause trouble.
As much as she wanted to think she had been isolated from all the other “drunk and disorderlies” for her own protection, she suspected it was the other way around.
The very thought made the corners of her mouth twitch. It wasn’t that she enjoyed beating the crap out of misguided Romeos at seedy bars, but she couldn’t deny relishing the idea she’d already established a tough-as-nails reputation in the small town. Not that she planned to stick around.
Fang sat on her lap, trembling while she tried to bury her little puffball of a head into the crook of Val’s elbow. Poor thing was scared to death. Cuddling the pooch in both of her arms, she kissed the top of her head, not minding the stray strand of fur that caught between her lips. She was just grateful the cops had let her keep the dog in her cell—even though they’d confiscated her Burberry handbag, dammit.
“Shh, baby, I know,” she murmured softly to the dog. “I’m so sorry my temper got us both into trouble… again.” She grimaced. “It’ll be okay. I promise.”
Valerie would do anything to protect Fang. Anything. The teacup Pom had already been through enough pain and fear in her short life, and Val had vowed to care for her better than her previous owners. Nothing Fang did could ever make her angry.
People, on the other hand, were a different story. Lately, every last one of them pissed her off something fierce. Newman was a prime example. He’d accosted her, but she was the one rotting in a cell while a doctor pampered the little pussy. If only she’d been strapped, he would have known true pain.
Val froze in fear over her own thoughts. Wanting to kill someone simply because they hit on her seemed like… an overreaction.
“Huh,” she murmured, frowning over the dark turn her evening had taken. “Maybe I do have anger issues.”
Val took five deep breaths and her frustration at having to sit in a jail cell eased. She even managed to smile when Fang let out one of her adorable squeaky barks and then licked Val’s face like it was an ice cream cone. Suddenly, she no longer wished she’d murdered someone.
“Baby steps,” she muttered as she looked around her cell for the thousandth time.
It was tidy and clean, and much to her surprise actually smelled better than The Lair. It was as good a place as any to wait for the man the cop claimed he’d call—Chloe’s brother. He refused to say anything else about the man, or Chloe, which worried her. Why would her brother be summoned to “discuss” Chloe?
Before her misfiring brain had a chance to dig its morbid hooks into treacherous territory, the shouts and drunken laughter from the men’s cells lowered to a dull roar. Surveying the cells with her keen observation skills, she discovered that about half the men were sitting ramrod straight, their lips pressed together and their eyes trained on the main door.
The rest of the men continued their raucous ways for a few minutes before noticing their compatriots’ silence. One by one, they quieted as well, but not with the same attention toward the main door. Some slouched on benches, others took the opportunity to take a leak, and a handful took their chances and lay down on the floor for a beer-nap.
Every nerve in her body stood at attention and she instinctively sat up straighter. The air in the holding rooms sparkled with tension, like when a superior officer walked into a room full of subordinates.
A soft creak sounded from the other side of the main door, and then the door swung open slowly. Silhouetted against the bright lights of the station stood a very large, very muscular man. He stood in the doorway for a long time—almost too long.
Weird.
The other inmates didn’t seem troubled by his pause. They all sat quietly, but the first batch to shut up regarded the newcomer with obvious awe. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the man stepped into the flickering light of the room.
Valerie’s teeth clamped down on the inside of her cheek. She tried to swallow her gasp at the sight of him, but she couldn’t suppress that sharp intake of breath. He stood around six feet tall, with broad shoulders and deliciously narrow hips. Brown hair fell in wild waves almost to his jawline, and even at a distance, she caught
glints of copper in the strands. His face was just as handsome and chiseled as she expected.
Her body warmed at the sight of him, a tingling between her thighs startling her. Wild thoughts ran rampant in her mind, and her nipples hardened to diamonds. They hadn’t exchanged a look or even a word, yet she couldn’t stop from imagining what the man looked like under his tight black t-shirt and worn jeans. She imagined the feel of his firm biceps, pecs, and abs under her inquisitive fingers. She pictured herself nibbling her way down that sweet muscle that led down to his thick, twitching cock.
Fang’s whine snapped her back to reality. Damn, she’d had her share of talented lovers over the years, but she’d never had such an intense reaction to the mere sight of a man.
He strode down the hallway that ran in front of the cells, not stopping until he reached hers. The overhead fluorescents cast an odd amber glow in his brown eyes, and then he closed them, his chest expanding as he took a long, deep breath. While the holding area didn’t smell as bad as The Lair, it wasn’t a bed of roses. Yet this guy looked as if he sniffed the most delicious and irresistible scent in the world. Like buttered popcorn or something.
Definitely weird.
When his eyes opened again, they blazed almost entirely amber. Talk about a trick of light! He just stood there scowling at her with those flashing eyes of his. Val thought about scowling back at the guy, but it was pretty clear he was some kind of big wig in town. Otherwise the dipshits in the other cells wouldn’t have shut their yaps. Hell, even Fang sat perfectly still on Val’s lap, watching every move the man made.
Hmm, if she trod carefully and kept her temper in check, maybe he was powerful enough to make the charges go away. The last thing she needed was an assault charge on her record during a time when she was desperately trying to prove she didn’t have anger issues.
“How’s that Newman guy?” she finally spoke, needing to break the silence somehow. “I didn’t mean to hurt him, but you don’t grab a soldier from behind and expect a hug instead of a fist.”
Once the anger had fled—when had that happened, exactly?—she realized she actually felt remorse over breaking the guy’s nose. At least she assumed it was broken. She’d done that kind of damage enough in her life to know what that sickening crunch meant.
Tall, dark and hot-as-hell’s frown deepened. “Wait, did you say shoulder?”
The guy might be sexy, but he was clearly hard of hearing.
Val stood, keeping her back as straight as possible while holding Fang. “No, sir. Soldier. United States Army.”
He blinked in surprise, some of the amber she’d thought she saw replaced with brown. “Wow. Impressive.”
Val clenched her jaw to keep herself from snapping at the guy. She’d heard it before, countless times. God forbid a woman could become a kick-ass Army Captain. She was torn between thanking him and telling him to fuck off. Considering she was on the wrong side of the bars, she opted for as much diplomacy as she could muster.
“Thanks,” was all she could manage.
She dug her fingers into Fang’s fur, hoping to soothe her anger, but the damn dog seemed much more interested in meeting the new arrival. She panted happily and wriggled in Val’s arms as if she wanted to be put down. Yeah, that wasn’t happening.
“Don’t worry about Newman,” he said, his lips twitching. “He’s got a hard head, and it’s not as if he’s going to win any prizes for his smarts. Besides, he never should have touched you without asking, even if he was just being… friendly.”
You mean horny, she wanted to correct him, but she held her tongue. Barely.
“One thing’s for certain,” he continued. “He’ll never do it again.”
Val wasn’t sure if he meant Newman would never try it again with her or all women in general. Hopefully both.
“That’s good to hear.” She took a couple of steps closer to the bars.
He stepped closer too, until little more than two feet separated them. Valerie only stood a couple of inches shorter than him, and even though she felt flabby and out of shape at the moment, she knew by civilian standards, she was tight with muscle. Yet somehow this guy made her feel like a tiny, delicate flower.
That’s new.
Her gaze skimmed him up and down. How the hell did someone grow so freaking sexy anyway? It didn’t seem fair.
“The name’s Zeke Soren.” The man shoved his hand through the bars. “I’m Chloe’s brother. I heard you were asking about her.”
Once he said it, Val spied the resemblance between her bestie and the handsome stranger. She shook his hand as she would any other man’s—hard and firm. No limp-fish, girly handshakes for her. The moment their skin touched, though, she yanked her hand away as if he’d burned her. Then she did her best to pretend he had no effect on her whatsoever.
“Barney Fife out there told me you were coming to ‘discuss’ Chloe. What happened? Where is she? I’ve been calling, but her damn answering machine never picks up. Who has an answering machine in this day and age anyway?” she grumbled.
When she realized she was rambling, she clamped her lips shut and waited for him to stop chuckling. She just wished she knew why he was laughing.
“Barney Fife?” His broad smile hit her, and her knees nearly buckled. “Second, I can’t tell you how many times I nagged Chloe to get voicemail, but as you know, she’s stubborn.”
“Whatever,” she mumbled. She wasn’t affected by his smile. She wasn’t. “Just tell me what’s going on with her. I need to find—”
“Settle down.” Zeke’s roaming gaze set her skin on fire.
Wrong move. Val could take an order with the best of them, but she didn’t like being condescended to, especially by a civilian. The anger bubbled inside her again, but this time she couldn’t hold it back.
“Who the fuck do you think you are, telling me what to do and how to feel? Now tell me what the fuck happened to my best fucking friend and where the fuck I can find her!”
Any noise coming from the other cells died instantly and she sensed the weight of everyone’s gazes as they settled on her and Zeke. She barely noticed, preferring to glare at Chloe’s brother until he spilled every detail. Zeke stared at her for a long moment, as if he was deciding how to react, and then he held his hands up in surrender.
“Sorry to offend you. Chloe’s fine. She’s actually on her honeymoon with her new mate— er, husband.”
Val dropped her eyes and pretended to focus on petting Fang, partially to hide her shock that her bestie had found a man and hadn’t bothered to tell her. She couldn’t be too butt-hurt about it, though. Their friendship had always been punctuated by long periods of silence, mostly due to Valerie’s career choice.
Mainly, she didn’t want to let on that she caught his slip about “mates” and how hearing her werewolf BFF had found hers affected Val. When Valerie had discovered her roommate’s secret back in college, Chloe had sworn her to secrecy. Something about it being against werewolf law or something. Val didn’t need a reason or excuse—the fact her best friend had asked her to keep it secret was enough.
Returning Zeke’s gaze, Val realized he must be a werewolf, too. Duh! Half the drunks in the other cells probably were as well—the half that quieted down right before he walked in, no doubt. Double duh!
“Mind if I ask why you’re turning Tremble upside down looking for my little sister?”
Val kept her gaze locked on his before answering. No way in hell was she going to admit to this handsome stranger that she didn’t have anywhere else to go, much less that she was on leave to sort out her alleged post-traumatic stress disorder.
“I wanted to check in on my best friend,” she muttered defensively. “Is that a crime now?”
Everyone in the holding room stared at her openly, even Fang. The silly pooch’s eyes were wide and adoring, as they always were when she looked at Val. Zeke’s gaze wasn’t nearly as affectionate. In fact, it looked downright suspicious.
“Fine.” He sighed. “He
re’s the deal. I’ll only make this offer once, and you have exactly one minute to give me an answer. Got it?”
Val glared at him, unwilling to commit to anything until she heard the details. “What?”
He shook his head, just like so many people had when dealing with her. “Either you spend the night in this cell and get processed for assault—”
“Oh, hell no!” she snarled with a ferocity that matched her boiling blood. “There isn’t a jury out there who would convict me of assault when your hard-headed pal was the one to grab me first. We both know that. Don’t be stu—”
“Stop talking right this second or I’ll walk out that door and leave you behind.”
Anger flashed in his rich mahogany eyes and Val knew he wasn’t bluffing. She summoned every bit of self-control she had so she didn’t sass him further. Out loud anyway. She couldn’t stop her eyes from unleashing hell’s fury on him. Too bad he wasn’t fazed a bit.
“As I was saying… Either you stay here and get processed in the morning, or…” he paused dramatically “…you stay at my house tonight.”
Valerie’s jaw dropped as she gawked at him. The brass balls on this guy. Was that really how people did things out in the sticks? She half-expected his offer to be one gigantic, ridiculous prank destined for a reality TV show, but Zeke’s steely gaze never wavered.
Perhaps she should have been offended by his proposal, but she couldn’t deny that going home with Zeke sounded a million times better than her other option. Sit on a hard metal bench all night while the quickly sobering assholes in the other cells bickered and shouted …or … spend a pleasant evening with the sexy brother of her best friend.
But she couldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing she’d already made her decision. She counted backward from sixty as she pretended to think it over. She wanted to make him squirm, and she only had to get to thirty for it to work. His stony facade crumbled a little when he shot a look at the men in the other cells. Good to know she didn’t need a full minute to make her point.