Carnal Secrets (3 page)

Taryn shook her head. “No. The last time I spoke to her, she sounded happy enough. She likes her new job, and she’s decorated her new place. She’s starting to get settled. If I tell her that Nick’s on the hunt, it’ll have her panicking. Besides, there’s a good chance he won’t find her. He won’t for one minute imagine that Shaya’s hiding in the human world.”

Dante winced, running a hand through his short walnut-brown hair. “I don’t know. I’ve heard Nick’s a talented tracker. He’s also got a lot of contacts—not just through being an Alpha, but because of his time in juvie.”

“Juvie?” Taryn’s mouth dropped open. “How the hell did he end up in a juvenile prison?”

“When he was thirteen, he killed a human teenage boy and badly maimed two others in his wolf form while trying to defend himself and his sister.”

“
Thirteen
?” she echoed. “How long was he in there?”

“He came very close to serving a life sentence, but Nick had acted in self-defense—that’s a lot different than cold-blooded, premeditated murder, particularly when what could have happened to Nick and his sister had been cold and premeditated. But the human court ordered for him to remain contained until he was eighteen.”

“Shit,” said Taryn. Matters concerning shifters were dealt with by packs, but if the incidents involved humans in any way, the human authorities had a right to deal with it. “Time in juvie must have been hard as fuck.”

Trey nodded. “Hell yes.” Although humans had juvenile prisons specifically to contain shifters, they were run by humans who tried to make all their lives hell for committing crimes against their race. Trey had heard about the type of shit that went on in places like that, and he had to respect anyone who got out of them with their sanity still intact. Not only was Nick sane—or relatively sane—but he was an Alpha and a very good one.

“So when I say Nick has a lot of contacts, I mean it,” said Dante. “In juvie, shifters tend to band together, forming little packs of their own. They all keep in touch when they’re released—in fact, Derren’s one of the shifters who served time in juvie at the same time as Nick. It might be best to warn Shaya so she knows to keep a low profile.”

After a moment of thought, Taryn shook her head again. “What kind of life would it be to be constantly looking over her shoulder for the big bad wolf who broke her heart?”

Trick leaned back in his seat, frowning in a way that made the claw marks on his cheek seem to darken. “Nick’s right, though. Claiming Shaya would put her in danger.”

Ryan, a guy who somehow always looked grumpy and very rarely spoke, nodded. “A whole lot of danger—I’ve seen it happen before.” And they were probably the only words the enforcer would speak for the day.

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” said Taryn.

Trey narrowed his eyes at the roguish smile that curved his mate’s mouth. “What do you mean?”

She took a sip of her coffee. “Just trust me—Shaya’s no fragile flower. Don’t forget I sparred with her all the time growing up and taught her all my combat moves. And do you remember how talented I am with knives?”

How could Trey forget? When he’d pissed her off a few weeks ago, she’d hurled five knives at him—all of which buried themselves in the wall around him, framing his body. “Yeah.”

“Shaya taught me that.”

Dominic’s brows flew up. “Shaya?”

“And you remember those stories Caleb told you about how my ex-boyfriends often found their cars had been vandalized?” Caleb was a childhood friend from Taryn and Shaya’s old pack. Trey nodded. “That wasn’t me. Shaya’s good with a bat—thanks to Caleb teaching her how to play baseball. She’s real good with a rifle too.”

Marcus gaped. “You’re kidding me.”

“Her dad’s actually human, so he knows what it’s like to be targeted in a pack for being weaker. He didn’t want that for Shaya, so he taught her a few things. Being a Navy SEAL, he had plenty of stuff to teach her. Plus, he’s not totally stable.”

Dante chuckled. “No wonder I sensed a serious amount of impishness in that girl—there’s almost as much as there is in my girl.”

Jaime gave him a mock scowl and flicked her long sable hair at his face, making him puff it away. “I guess it’s an advantage that Shaya looks so sweet.”

Taryn’s smile widened. “Yeah, everyone’s fooled by Shaya’s innocent exterior. They never see the mad coming. If Nick does manage to find her, he’s in for a few surprises.”

CHAPTER TWO

SIX MONTHS LATER

I
won’t aim this hairspray at her eyes. I won’t aim this hairspray at her eyes.

Shaya Critchley chanted it to herself over and over as she made the finishing touches to her client’s hair, pointedly ignoring the irritating woman at her side who was delivering snide remark after snide remark. It wasn’t that Shaya gave a shit about the peroxide blonde’s opinion. It was kind of hard to care what a person thought of her when said person’s face was so caked in makeup that she looked like a warrior going into battle. But after a long, busy day spent mostly on her feet, Shaya simply didn’t have the tolerance required to deal with Paisley right now.

Each of her fellow hairstylist’s insults had been delivered with the most patronizing tone and the falsest smile, and the message was clear: Shaya’s hair was too red, her body was too thin, and her skin was too pale. Yeah, well, at least Shaya wasn’t smeared in fake, blotchy, unevenly applied tan. The girl looked like she’d rolled in Doritos.

Having Paisley hanging over her shoulder as she worked only served to increase Shaya’s annoyance, and she had a feeling that Paisley was well aware of that. And why would she be so set on driving Shaya insane? Simple: Although Paisley had been working at the salon for four years, Shaya had more clients than her. Sensing Paisley’s distaste, Shaya’s wolf bared her teeth—she could be sassy and snippy like that. Though her wolf wasn’t a fan of confrontation or the type to begin brawls, she was quick to defend herself or those she cared about and had little tolerance for petty people like Paisley.

If Paisley knew that Shaya was a half-shifter, her attitude toward Shaya would be even worse. The girl and her family were all strong supporters of the human extremist groups that had been calling for certain laws to be put in place to monitor, control, and isolate shifters. There would be a court hearing in four months’ time to address the matter. If the human extremists were successful, all shifters would be chipped, placed on a register like child molesters, forbidden from mating with humans, and confined to their own territory. It also meant that any lone shifters would be forced to live outside human society in what had been referred to as “gated communities”—it was simply a way to contain and isolate them.

As such, Shaya had ensured that no one other than Kent—her boss, friend, and a fellow half-shifter—knew what she was. Not even the local shifters were aware of her mixed blood, as she had ensured she was never close enough for them to sense it. Why? Easy. Members of the Sequoia Pack had a nasty habit of “disappearing.” Given that their Alpha was a drug lord, it wasn’t difficult to guess who was responsible.

“How’s that for you, Mrs. H?” asked Shaya, angling a handheld mirror at the back of the middle-aged woman’s head so that the reflection would be seen in the large mirror opposite.

Mrs. Harley turned her head from side to side, touching her perfectly straight dark hair as she examined the reflection. Then she shot Shaya a beaming smile as she stood. “How you manage to make my hair look so smooth when it’s usually like straw, I have no idea, but I love you for it.”

Shaya laughed, removing the black waterproof cape from Mrs. Harley’s shoulders. “It’s not like straw.”

“Oh it is, honey. Not like your beautiful hair. What I’d give to have curls like yours.”

Paisley made a face at that comment, while Kent nodded his agreement and reached out to tug on one of the corkscrew curls. “They just make you want to play with them.”

Shaya scowled playfully as she swatted his hand away. He did that a lot—mostly because he knew it irritated her. If he wasn’t such a good friend, she might have chopped off his spiky blond hair. Years ago, she and Kent had studied hairstyling together at college, and they had clicked instantly—not sexually, though, seeing as he was gay and all.

They had never once lost contact over the following years, and he’d asked her to visit him plenty of times. When she had called six months ago and asked if he would allow her to stay with him for a while, he’d been delighted. More perceptive than Shaya was comfortable with, Kent had immediately sensed that it wasn’t simply a social visit. She had admitted that she was hiding from someone but hadn’t wanted to say more—she had promised herself that making a new start would include not dwelling on having been rejected by the Prick of the Century, otherwise known as her true mate, Nick Axton.

Being as fabulous as he was, Kent hadn’t pushed her for more information. Instead, he had helped her find a place to live and had given her a job at his hair salon. In other words, she owed him big-time. But she still often found herself yearning to go back to California. She missed all her friends, especially Taryn, Jaime, Dominic, and Caleb. She often spoke with them over the phone or Skype, but it wasn’t the same. And, though she would never admit it to Taryn because her friend would come to collect her, she wasn’t happy.

It wasn’t just because of Nick’s rejection. Despite having a job, it didn’t exactly pay well. Although the home she rented was cozy, it was also slowly falling apart. Shaya did
not
specialize in DIY. Of course it was her landlord’s responsibility to fix the problems, but he was extremely good at dodging that responsibility. Then there was her hypochondriac of a mother and her constant calls to deal with. Each call was the same—she would moan about all her “ailments,” complain that no one cared, send Shaya on a guilt trip for leaving, and then become insulting when Shaya refused to return. It wasn’t that the woman was pissed about not knowing Shaya’s location or even that she missed her. She didn’t even care that Nick hadn’t claimed her. The woman just didn’t like not having someone to fuss over her and cater to her every whim. How nice was that. Shaya had taken to ignoring the calls altogether.

And then, of course, there was the fact that she missed the social touch her packmates had always provided. Her wolf, too, missed that closeness. Nonetheless, Shaya had no intention of returning to California. No intention of ever again coming face-to-face with Nick, even if he was the other half of her soul.

Shaya had already lost part of her soul before she was born. That was exactly what Mika, her twin who had died in the womb, had been—an integral part of her. All her life, Shaya had felt an emptiness inside like a part of her was missing…because it was. She had always felt the sense of being “alone” much more acutely—something that had been worsened by the incident that happened when she was four.

The guilt had lingered deep inside—guilt that she had survived and hadn’t been able to save her twin, despite how little sense it made. “Vanishing twin syndrome” people called it. During her teens, that guilt had led her down a path of self-sabotage as Shaya had felt that she hadn’t deserved to be happy. With support, she had eventually given herself permission to live a full and healthy life, honoring her twin and using her as her motivation. But the pain, the emptiness, was still there.

Losing Nick before she’d even had the chance to know him was exactly like it had been with her twin. She hadn’t had the chance to know Mika, to have a life with her…and now she would never have a life with her mate either.

Her wolf was going through a similar pain. She didn’t understand why Nick hadn’t staked his claim, and she viewed his actions as a rejection. But although her wolf was angry with Nick for rejecting her, she was also angry with Shaya. Her wolf still wanted to be in close proximity to her mate, not understanding that Nick had no intention of ever claiming her and that he would make life difficult. Awkward animal.

Snapping out of her ponderings, Shaya walked to the reception desk to say good-bye to Mrs. Harley, who was at that moment taking her receipt from Paisley. When Mrs. Harley tried to give Shaya a most generous tip, she shook her head. “That’s too much.”

“Honey, I’ve been going to have my hair done regularly for a long time. Usually, my stylist patiently listens as I moan and groan about all the trouble going on in my life—things that were always difficult to talk about with family members.”

“You don’t moan,” objected Shaya. If anything, the woman was a delight.

“Not around you,” agreed Mrs. Harley. “Because for the two hours that I’m with you, I totally forget all about my problems and find myself laughing and joking with you. What’s more, you always have me walking out of here feeling good about myself. So, honey, you
will
take this tip.” She forced the large tip into Shaya’s hand, winked, and walked right on out the door.

“You have a way with people,” Kent told her. “They like being around you, even seem to gravitate toward you. Considering you haven’t been here very long, you’ve built yourself a nice clientele. You should be proud of yourself. I’ve never known anyone to form connections with people so easily.”