Dire Wants (5 page)

Chapter 4

T
he truck had come out of nowhere—to this day, Kate wasn’t sure it had truly been an accident. One minute she’d been crying as her mother yelled at her for visiting the fortune teller, and the next, a bone-crushing slam threw her against the side window and the car was skidding off the road.

She turned over in her sleep, an attempt to stop the nightmare.

She knew she’d died that night, no matter what any doctor told her. She should’ve been covered with third-degree burns. At the very least, she should’ve been injured somehow, covered in cuts and bruises, if nothing else.

She’d been mainly fine, even though they kept her in the hospital for several days under observation. They were obviously confused as well as to how she remained unscathed except for intermittent back pain, although as the days went by and she remained in stable condition, they began to grow tired of her constant queries.

“You were thrown from the car, Kate—it’s a miracle,” the doctors and police told her, over and over.

She stopped asking about everything when one day she looked in the mirror and saw the unexplained handprint on her lower back that looked like a raised red brand on her skin.

It hadn’t been there before the accident, and she could almost hear her mother’s voice in her head.

Mark of the devil.

She’d been too scared of what it could mean to tell anyone. But shortly after that, strange things started happening, like being able to read people’s thoughts. Moving objects around her when she got angry became a more frequent occurrence. She felt out of control and it seemed like her mind and body agreed.

“She lost her family—she’s acting out,” her aunt would say in a hushed voice, but Kate knew she didn’t believe it herself. After one too many foster homes, she’d been grateful when the judge let her live on her own.

She sat up now, still trembling from the memories and not exactly sure she was out of the teeth of the dream. It used to come once a year on the anniversary of the accident. This year, she’d had one every single night since and her twenty-third birthday hovered days away.

She’d begun to dread sleep and the night, even as she was equally drawn to it.

And she rarely felt tired, which was odd. Her senses got sharper, she did her job better and the restlessness clawed at her until she felt as though she might combust.

Lately, the brand on her back burned all the time. She ran hot and cold, ached so badly at night she ended up pacing the floor of her basement apartment, flipping absently through the books on witchcraft she’d bought a month earlier, drawn to them inexplicably.

She knew it was too dangerous to go out alone at night. She knew all about the monsters. Knew they weren’t relegated to only the night . . .

But the night—the moon—sometimes she’d stand and stare at it for hours. She sketched it. Painted it. Filled pages of her personal sketchbook with it.

Sometimes she swore she heard wolves howling.

Tonight’s dream had been the most vivid, the most disturbing. She still smelled the acrid smoke in her nostrils. It made her go around the apartment to make sure nothing was on fire.

When the phone rang, she jumped, still in that place of half sleep, and for the first time since she’d met Officer Shimmin, she didn’t want to pick up the phone and talk to him.

But she did.

“There’s been another one.” Something made him sound different, like he was trying too hard to keep his tone level, and fear gripped her with icy fingers. She brushed the back of her neck with her palm to wipe away the thin sheen of sweat on her skin, despite the fact that it was chilly outside and pretty cold inside this basement apartment as well.

It was dark, but the streetlamp shone through the sheer curtain on the window. Her back throbbed—she was certain the brand was now bright red. And lately that was happening more and more frequently, like something inside of her was attempting to turn on.

It scared the crap out of her.

“I’m sending men for you,” Leo Shimmin continued. That was new, because he always came himself. Always. But in and of itself, that wasn’t enough to make her feel the burst of fear in her chest. “Kate, are you listening?”

“Yes. Sorry—I’m just . . . I’ll look for the car,” she lied, then hung up and turned off the phone. For a long moment, she stared down at the sketch she’d done earlier of the man who’d protected her, and she wished he was here to help her.

Which was ridiculous. She’d learned long ago to depend on no one but herself.

She checked the clock. It was just after eleven p.m. She’d fallen asleep less than forty minutes earlier.

She dressed quickly. Left everything behind except her wallet, her Mace and her sketchbook, not stopping to pick up the few loose pages that came out. Everything in her apartment was shaking from her stress, and it got so bad the walls started to crack. She was sure the building would come down on her head if she stayed longer.

She made it out the doorway on the other side of her small apartment, one she never used since it led to the middle of a creepy alleyway. Tonight she didn’t care, but the panic threatened to overtake her. Kate forced herself to calm down before she did nothing but spin her wheels. Took a few deep breaths and then got her shit together.

She went down the alley as silently as she could and realized she had absolutely nowhere to go. No friends. Nothing.

She refused to go back. There was a motel by the hospital. She would cut through the woods so the police wouldn’t see her as they cruised the streets. She knew Shimmin would send officers to look for her.

She felt the panic ease slightly when she took a momentary look up at the sky. The half-moon seemed to shimmer and she felt as if the brand pushed her toward the moon.

She was finally going in the right direction.

* * *

Stray stayed up late, broke into Kate’s CPS files to read the interviews. It seemed that Kate had too many needs, like the recurring nightmares, and weird things occurred around her.

He found a video on YouTube of ghost hunters who’d helped her foster family investigate for poltergeist activity and found a significant problem. One that disappeared when Kate moved out.

There was never a poltergeist. Kate was the cause of the problems. Stray was sure of it. And Jinx agreed with him after looking at the evidence.

Stray left the house that afternoon with a sense of purpose, like he’d known he’d find something. It was dangerous for him to be walking the streets the way he had, but they’d all agreed it would be more dangerous if he didn’t. Of all the Dires, he was the least known. A tall, lean Dire killing machine with the chiseled good looks of a model wrapped up in a hell of an attitude. The chip on his shoulder was more like a cement block. Had been for as long as he could remember and he didn’t see it changing anytime soon.

He managed to break into Kate’s file from three years earlier, which was about an assault she survived with no memory of her attacker, according to the police report. The accompanying picture made him sit up and take notice.

There were claw marks along her calf. Four of them. Made by a wolf.

He broke into a sweat as he stared at it. He wasn’t the only one who knew she was a witch, not by a long shot.

As if Kate somehow agreed, she called to him. He couldn’t explain how, but she was pulling at him. Needing him. It was a strong enough sense of panicked urgency to get him up and moving, out of the Dire mansion before dusk and speeding on his custom Harley that he’d tuned to be as sleek a predator as he was.

This could be a trap, but spells didn’t necessarily work on him. He’d tread carefully. Parked the bike in an alley and scented the person—woman—who needed him.

Kate lived here. He’d have known it even if he hadn’t swiped the address from her files. He broke into the back door from the alley and felt the building shaking. The lights in the hallway dimmed and the floorboards quaked.

Usually, when he smelled witch, he went in the other direction. Now he was following his nose like she had him on a leash. But he stopped momentarily, because his gut told him she’d left the building not that long ago.

She lived alone. The only person who would miss her would be Leo Shimmin.

This would be his only shot. Stray was shocked the trappers left her unprotected, but maybe they didn’t know what they had. Either that, or they figured the Dires had no clue as to Kate’s existence.

He still needed to know what had happened inside her apartment to make her run, so he pushed forward.

It wasn’t unlike last night’s hunt. But this time, his prey was entirely human and surprised as hell when he slammed through the door.

The men looked from the pages they held to Stray, and Stray didn’t hesitate. In seconds, he had them, backs against the wall, held by their necks, asking, “Where’s Kate?”

Neither man answered, and when Stray looked down at the page the man held in his hand, he realized it was a sketch—and that he was looking at a drawing of himself.

“Who are you working for?” he demanded, and Vice came up behind him. Stray had heard his Dire brother’s bike behind his, trailing him here. He’d never been more grateful to be watched over.

“Trappers?” Vice asked, and the scent of terror both men gave off confirmed it.

“Don’t know, but I’ve got to find Kate.”

Vice took the sketch and looked from it to Stray. “Nice picture. She managed to make you look good.”

“Fuck you,” Stray muttered as he let go of the men to grab the paper from Vice. He tucked it inside his jacket.

“Go ahead.” Vice cracked his knuckles as he stared at the two men who coughed and were attempting to actually run from Vice. “We’ll have fun together.”

Vice liked it when they ran. All the wolves did. Stray knew these trappers wouldn’t survive the next five minutes. Normally he’d want to try to get more intel from them, but this time he didn’t care.

He would not let them get Kate. The instinct to save her burned hot through his blood and the intensity would’ve frightened him if it hadn’t felt so right.

It’s for Rogue.
For all his brothers, he told himself, and it was, but it was way goddamned more than that.

He bared his teeth, canines elongating as he caught Kate’s scent. The smell of human—weretrapper—was heavy in the air. He caught sight of police cars moving slowly up and down the street, searching.

He was faster and he had no doubt she was in the woods.

He went through the door that led to the alley, following Kate’s scent, but there was more to it than that. He sensed her, as surely as if she’d called his name out loud. It was odd and had never happened to him before, beyond his brothers. And certainly that had never felt like this.

She was really scared, running for her life. His canines lengthened as he ran in human form. Brother Wolf wanted his turn, but Kate didn’t need to come face-to-face with a wolf now. She was terrified enough.

He stopped. Listened. Felt her presence close by. Took several more silent steps and came up behind her, realizing at the same time that they’d been followed by more trappers.

Hopefully, Vice was on his six too. If not, Stray could handle the trappers. By this point, he was so worked up that he welcomed the opportunity. For him, hunting and sex held a similar pleasure, and the wolf was more than ready for either.

There
, Brother Wolf said. He was in front of Kate in seconds, held her arm and put a hand over her mouth until she registered that it was him. Even then, she struggled, which was weird since her call still echoed in his mind. Brother Wolf growled a welcome inside his head, and Stray pulled her behind him as two weretrappers crashed through the trees and into the small clearing in front of them.

“Don’t run from me. I’ll make sure you get out of this safely. Just don’t run,” he warned her.

He turned and heard her feet crunching on the leaves behind him.

Son of a—

“Get him,” the man said, and the woman with the Taser approached him, said, “Come on, little wolf.”

Stray simply smiled at her. Reached out and grabbed the Taser before she could react. Read her mind.

It’s a Dire,
she told herself as her face drained of color.

He hated being recognized, but he wouldn’t have to worry about them any longer. The Dires’ no-kill rule didn’t extend to this branch of humankind. They’d tortured and killed too many wolfkind for him to take pity on them.

And still, without knowing his name, Kate called for Stray inside his mind.

He Tasered the woman and then the man, broke their necks cleanly—a more humane death than they deserved—and stripped them of clothing and ID. Vice showed then, took the bundle from him. “Go get her. I’ll get rid of these.”

Stray ran in Kate’s direction, determined not to let her go this time.

He would save her. And then ruin her life forever.

* * *

It started to pour as Kate ran deeper into the woods. She slogged through the wet earth, the only sounds, her feet slapping the mud. She could barely see.

She didn’t stop even when she was sure her lungs would explode, not until she saw two figures pop up in front of her. Then she pulled up short.

“Kate, please, what’s wrong?” It was Leo Shimmin. He wore his uniform, had his gun in his hand. And he wasn’t alone.

“There are people . . . after me,” she managed before she remembered that she should be running from him as well. The look on his face told her that things weren’t right here. The fact that he’d been lying in wait for her in the woods confirmed it.

“Just let me help you,” he said. “You need to come with me. For your own good.”

Bitch should’ve stayed in her apartment and this would’ve gone fine . . .

She’d never concentrated on reading his mind because he was a police officer and probably thought about a lot of confidential information. And after that initial thought, she couldn’t read his thoughts again, even as she tried. It was as if he knew what she’d done and dropped a brick wall between them.

Still, she absolutely knew he was responsible for what was happening to her.